The Red Room
November 28, 2012 in Uncategorized
The bedroom light went off.
Not long afterwards, I became aware of her presence in my room. I knew immediately that it was her. She has an unmistakable, distinctive sound – instantly recognizable and highly annoying.
I sighed – loudly and irritably.
Through a clenched jaw, I said a silent little prayer.
Oh please God, not again. Not tonight. Please.
My heart pounded because I knew, deep down, that she was there to stay, for a while at least, until she had her way and got what she came for, whether I liked it or not.
I was filled with dread as she began her familiar little ritual of approaching slowly, sounding more intense, exposing herself in the light filtering through the bathroom blinds, illuminating my bedroom, just enough for me to see shapes and movement .
Then, she would retreat almost out of earshot, hiding beyond my peripheral vision and concealing herself behind something in the room.
Seconds later she would appear again, right up close, brushing my cheek as she continued her sinister little game of dancing in the dark, teasing and tormenting me as she went along.
Anxiously, I struggled to control my breathing, trying not to panic.
But, she’s attracted to fear, it seems.
The faster you breathe in, the quicker and harder you breathe out. The more carbon dioxide you exhale, the more excited she becomes, spiralling her into an attacking frenzy.
I spotted her in the red hue of the clock radio beside my bed as she bore down, sucking on my thumb.
She stared at me, boldly, head-on.
I glared back at her.
She stayed there just long enough to show that she was in charge, confirming her dominatrix fearlessness, seemingly mocking my powerlessness and inability to move.
How dare she?
I wanted to scream but, I didn’t want to give her that satisfaction.
She appeared delicate, almost fragile looking but, I knew different.
My personal experience and her reputation leave no doubt that she’s dangerous, so cunning and extremely calculating.
Instinctively, every fibre of my being wanted to protect myself against her. I wanted to jump up and lash out at her physically, grabbing something to use as a weapon against her – anything that would do her serious harm or, preferably, kill her.
Very few have the ability to bring out such a violent reaction within me.
But, being paralysed from the neck down, my rage is mostly confined to a pitiable quivering of the lip and a pathetic shaking of my head from side to side against the pillow, as violently as possible, to which she paid absolutely no attention.
Clearly mistaking my lack of action and immobility for submissiveness, she moved swiftly into my neck with only one goal and that was to satisfy her own needs or fetish.
She claimed me, then, for the night, despite my disgust.
She started prodding me all over, looking for a suitable place to insert it, as if I was her own personal red room of pain, to use and abuse at her convenience without the bother of all the strapping and hassle with bondage.
She was pure evil – definitely no Christian. The only grey was whether she was carrying the deadly disease or not.
Still, she had no qualms about doing it, viciously drawing blood in the process, also leaving behind some saliva as she drank me in.
I was left inflamed, sore and swollen and feeling utterly violated, crying tears of frustration and complete helplessness.
Sadly, for me, the torture will continue long after she leaves, often lasting many days especially since I have no way of touching, rubbing or scratching to ease the discomfort.
Worst of all is she probably went away bursting, feeling fulfilled, energized and satisfied, boasting to all her buddies, encouraging them to join in the following night – inviting them over for an orgy, and the next night, and the next.
If you think that you are too small to make a difference then you have never spent a night with a mosquito. Believe me.
If you see a mosquito, swat it. Just for me. Just because you can.
Dear God, please get her to bite me anywhere below my neck so that I don’t go insane from not being able to scratch.