The Wild In Me
Nothing is more lethal than the combination of fear and sex. The rush of adrenaline pumping in my veins brings me closer to the zenith of euphoria unlike any I’ve experienced before.
Her name was Amaranta, like the flower. Timid yet graceful, she lit up the room on the day I first met her; thin waist, wide hips, ample derriere— oh she was the stuff that drove men crazy. She glided across the room like a lone feather in the wind. The hypnotic rhythm of her hips in sync with my breathing brought forth a familiar tingling south of the belt. When she sat beside me and uttered those words- “May I borrow a pen?”, I felt something primal to all rational beings, namely, the need to satisfy one’s lust.
That night, I decided to play my cards right.
Classes ended at half-past nine. It was dark outside the building what with only a few lights scattered around the area; there were no people around save a handful of students. Amaranta was nearing the exit and I had to move fast. She was walking towards her car as I eased my way behind her, I took out a penknife from my pocket and put an arm around her neck. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” I declared, whispering into her ear. She didn’t struggle and from where I placed my arm around her I could feel the slow heaving of her chest. Instead, she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I knew you’d come for me.” Her breath was cold and it sent a chill up my spine.
We got in her car and drove to a nondescript motel. We lost no time in conversation, tearing up our clothes in the heat of the moment. My lips grazed her alabaster-like neck, fumbling with her bra as her supple fingers sought the buttons of my pants.
She was laid out on the bed, in all her naked glory and my eyes hungrily feasted on her body. I stared straight into her eyes and she returned the gaze with equal intensity.
Again, I grabbed the penknife from my pocket. I didn’t take my eyes off of her. I let the blade skim down her chin, her neck, the valley of her breasts, her belly, stopping to hover the knife on the tuft of hairs just below her navel. It was during this time that I first caught a glimpse of something akin to fear on her eyes. A slow smile creeped up my features.
“Allow me to show…the wild in me."
It all happened the day before. I now sit on the dining table, reading from my iPad the latest headline on the news:
VAGINA SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN
I could still hear her muffled cries beneath my hand. Her blood, it tasted sweet. But nothing could be more sweeter than the fear in her eyes. In their eyes. Virgins making love to a knife.
I felt the stirrings of heat in my groin and knew I needed it again. Lust, like all addiction, must be sustained at all costs. But this isn’t just lust, it’s my nature. The thrill of it all is knowing I’m being hunted down but never getting caught. I doubt it that they’ll ever catch me. I'm free as the barrenness haunting a wasteland, and I linger like a scavenger waiting for the next prey.
After all, to the wilderness, the wild belongs.
Her name was Amaranta, like the flower. Timid yet graceful, she lit up the room on the day I first met her; thin waist, wide hips, ample derriere— oh she was the stuff that drove men crazy. She glided across the room like a lone feather in the wind. The hypnotic rhythm of her hips in sync with my breathing brought forth a familiar tingling south of the belt. When she sat beside me and uttered those words- “May I borrow a pen?”, I felt something primal to all rational beings, namely, the need to satisfy one’s lust.
That night, I decided to play my cards right.
Classes ended at half-past nine. It was dark outside the building what with only a few lights scattered around the area; there were no people around save a handful of students. Amaranta was nearing the exit and I had to move fast. She was walking towards her car as I eased my way behind her, I took out a penknife from my pocket and put an arm around her neck. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” I declared, whispering into her ear. She didn’t struggle and from where I placed my arm around her I could feel the slow heaving of her chest. Instead, she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I knew you’d come for me.” Her breath was cold and it sent a chill up my spine.
We got in her car and drove to a nondescript motel. We lost no time in conversation, tearing up our clothes in the heat of the moment. My lips grazed her alabaster-like neck, fumbling with her bra as her supple fingers sought the buttons of my pants.
She was laid out on the bed, in all her naked glory and my eyes hungrily feasted on her body. I stared straight into her eyes and she returned the gaze with equal intensity.
Again, I grabbed the penknife from my pocket. I didn’t take my eyes off of her. I let the blade skim down her chin, her neck, the valley of her breasts, her belly, stopping to hover the knife on the tuft of hairs just below her navel. It was during this time that I first caught a glimpse of something akin to fear on her eyes. A slow smile creeped up my features.
“Allow me to show…the wild in me."
It all happened the day before. I now sit on the dining table, reading from my iPad the latest headline on the news:
VAGINA SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN
I could still hear her muffled cries beneath my hand. Her blood, it tasted sweet. But nothing could be more sweeter than the fear in her eyes. In their eyes. Virgins making love to a knife.
I felt the stirrings of heat in my groin and knew I needed it again. Lust, like all addiction, must be sustained at all costs. But this isn’t just lust, it’s my nature. The thrill of it all is knowing I’m being hunted down but never getting caught. I doubt it that they’ll ever catch me. I'm free as the barrenness haunting a wasteland, and I linger like a scavenger waiting for the next prey.
After all, to the wilderness, the wild belongs.
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