... Die... There and Then...

by Peter Hunter

" die" there and then"

" I wasn't sure if I was alert - or fumbling in semi-reality" maybe still dreaming - or the transition between the semi-conscious intoxication of not wanting to - not having to wake up and face hard cold fact"

but Bobbi, her slim body was - and had been - very real"

" of that I was certain"

" her full breasts, the swell of her nipple filling my palm as I cupped one in my hand - her small round bum - the warm, moist patch at the hinge of her endless thighs"

" they were at least an aching, almost painful tingling reality - as were her kisses and above all the soft, sensual feel and slight pleasant aroma of her skin"

" again reality

why, I thought, did so many people wear things like night clothes and such, in bed"

did they not realise how much they were missing?

" the almost searing sensation of exciting warmth where parts of me touched her

" but"

Bobbi had not been relaxed"

" she wanted more and more" more of what I had done" more than I was at this moment capable of giving her"

'Bobbi"' I suspected, she'd think my tone serious '" what on earth do you see in me - a man more than twenty years older than you? " You're beautiful, successful - a celebrity, and have so much going for you?'

Bobbi laughed in that delicious husky chuckle, hinting at some arcane knowledge.

'Trakka - don't be so naive" I have had lots of men - too many to count - most of them not worthy of being called men. But you" the others? How many of them have your skills, seen and done what you have. I know you could look after me"

" whatever the emergency"

Have you any idea of how attractive that is - the sexual effect of the power you have"

" real power - the power of life and death"?'

We agreed that" as I was lacking in energy or enthusiasm, at least on her terms. I would stay in her flat and she would go out alone for the evening - for a drink at one of her regular haunts"

" a seedy subterranean wine bar in Mount Street, Mayfair.

As I slid into the greyness of hopeful sleep, I thought of the history of the location of the flats" St Georges Fields was built on five acres of what had been a large cemetery, not just where they had buried the cadavers of the unfortunates hanged at nearby Tyburn, now modern Marble Arch"

" but which had earlier served as a plague pit - a mass grave for thousands.

Earlier - whilst leaving my Land Rover in the underground car park, I had been very conscious of that fact. Did the earth around the cavernous car spaces still contain bones I wondered - or had they removed them before building the gardens and the three hundred flats above them"?

" and were their ghosts still there - as when parking in the empty small hours they appeared to be"

Now I seemed to be rapidly spinning"

" down - down -down, through a steep black spiral into a deeply pointed vortex below - some sinister whirlpool taking me helplessly into I know not where"?

I saw myself as clearly a baby" a tiny baby" somehow I could tell I was only a few hours old"

" and my mouth reached out towards the reassuring dimpled pinkness of a nipple only an inch away"

except it didn't taste of milk - it was like some sort of filthy vinegar"

" my mother must be poisoning me - delivering it from her own breast - but I could not resist the strange fluid, as it trickled into my mouth, slightly acid but fatally exciting"

" and slowly - ever so slowly I died"


Peter Hunter 2012

Extract from " death of an Eroticist" Amazon and Kindle

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