She hails from suburbia, taking her weekly jaunt to dingy downtown London’s dripping wet underbelly. Her uniform, black leather boots that rise up over short legs dipped in fishnet pantyhose, a wiry black corset that makes her breasts look bigger (she’s only sixteen and is at the stage of her life when flaunting the larger-than-average C-sized mounds of flesh brings her a sense of self-worth) and a pair of long striped socks with finger holes cut out of them pulled tight up her arms. Tucked into her bra, wrapped in plastic, two ecstasy tabs.
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At first the bouncers, two large shadows sneering out of flowing trenchcoats, don’t let her in, but after she gives them both handjobs inside their coats they are no longer concerned with her lack of proper identification. She twists her black lips in a seductive smile and slips by, letting her hand glide over their crotches on her way in.
The lights are dim, no surprise, and a green strobe light caresses the made-up faces that dance in the dark. She scans the club as black shadows fill up and take human shape whenever the light stops on them, then, as it moves on, their bodies fizzle out, leaving their outline light-stained on her retinas. She slinks, all hip and ass, across the dancefloor, her fingers fondling any bit of exposed flesh. The music is slow and kinky, obscure, hopeless lyrics bringing sweaty bodies together.
She sits in a corner and ingests the ecstasy, her tongue wrapping around her fingers and pulling them into her mouth. It’s quite the show; someone is watching –someone is always watching. Once that warm, hyper-static feeling sets in she finds herself on the dance floor. She feels sharp black nails scratch her naval as it moves down her body, wriggling down into her pants.
She closes her eyes and laughs.
When she opens them she is on her back in a dark room, a thin wiry body rubbing against her own. She thinks she sees God floating above her – she feels just perfect. She digs her nails into his back, hard, drawing blood. He doesn’t flinch, though, and lets her carve herself into him. After he is done he lays on his stomach, exposing his wounds to her.
She’s seen this in a movie once and is eager to prove herself. She gets on all fours and squeezes his skin, lapping up the crimson droplets. His blood tastes like copper. After the scratches have clotted they kiss, deep and wet, then she puts on her clothes and hails a cab. She takes it to her friend Mary’s house to wash off her make-up and put on her pyjamas.
Mary’s mother is an alcoholic and has already passed out on the couch in front of Oprah.
After changing out of her sweaty clothes she tells Mary all about it. Mary is envious, wishes she could have been there, but tonight she had to stay home and watch her mother. Her mother sometimes takes pills.
They giggle, then go to sleep.
"Imperious, choleric, irascible, extreme in everything, with a dissolute imagination the like of which has never been seen... there you have me in a nutshell, and kill me again or take me as I am, for I shall not change."
From his Last Will & Testament, Marquis de Sade