Pleasure Machine

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Waltzing back into the room, she hands me one of the beers. Swigging from it before pressing the cold bottle against my forehead, I watch as she places the dog down onto the floor between her bare feet. Removing the towel wrapped around her body, she begins to dry the thing while speaking to it in Japanese. Smiling at how tenderly she’s treating him, and how he’s enjoying the attention, I’m eyeing her nude hips and breasts and every inch of skin between. The colours of her make my gums itch. I can taste each one as if they were a bag of Skittles. As she said she would, she’s shaved her sex. Catching fractured glimpses of it between the towel and the shaking head and ears of the dog, I subconsciously grab my balls. The sight of her pussy ignites me. The smoothness. The way I can see everything with no curls of hair obscuring my vision. Noticing my leering gaze, she tuts at me while rubbing the dog’s paws.

“You only like me shaving because it gives you the power. Without hair, I’m defenceless against your gaze.”

Nodding in agreement, I drink more beer.

“Not that it bothers you, does it?” she says with a frown.

Ignoring her question, I ask a question of my own.

“You didn’t let him watch you while shaved, did you?”

As if appearing to understand the thread of conversation, the dog looks from me to Meeko.

“I told him to the look the other way.”

“Did he?”

“No.”

“Dirty boy,” I scold the dog.

“When he refused, I had to put a flannel over his head to cover his eyes.”

Smiling at the absurdity of it all, I suddenly frown.

“I never knew we had a flannel?”

“I keep it in the medicine cabinet.”

Grunting in response, I continue to snatch glimpses of her noonie.

“You’re no better than the dog,” she says, “in fact, the two of you are just as bad.”

“You know,” I go on, “the sight of it freshly shaved reminds me of plasticine. The stuff I’d play with as a kid in school or around my grandparents’ house. I think it’s because they’re both soft and playful. I haven’t played with plasticine in years. Perhaps that’s why I like playing with you? Because it reminds me of the carefree days of my childhood?”

Shaking her head, she inspects the dog’s paws, dabbing them as she goes.

“It’s always sex with you. Everything you say or think goes back to that.”

“Well, what do you expect?” I say, “it’s why we’re here. For sure, there are mysteries such as love, dreams, death and beyond, but the gift of our existence comes from the merging of bodies such as yours and mine. The gift is the magic we attribute to our being here, and yet the reason for our being here is a simple and obscene one. I say it’s obscene. It’s not. It’s as natural as sorrow. Anyhow, that’s what it’s all about. And that’s why I like looking at it; because it’s where I came from, where I enjoy returning to, and where one day, I shall return forever.”

“You know,” she says, “I might be inclined to believe you with your fancy words and theories, yet I think it’s because you’re seedy. That you enjoy having me and treating my body as if it were a pleasure machine.”

“Yeah, well, it could be that.”

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US

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