The End of the Beginning

The wine was expensive. The girl was exquisite. The sex was rough. I think she was alive when I left her. I wish I could remember that part.

I wish I could separate the sensations. Why I wanted to keep her eyes. Why I hated the tiny freckles across her breasts. How she could please me and make me want to destroy her all tied up and contained in one violent act.

Did I take aggression out on her? Or was she the cause of it? Did I humiliate her because of all my frustrations? Or because she inspired it?

I played her like an instrument. I reduced her to the basic female instincts she harbored in her core. I pieced out her emotions and I ate them. I fucked her until she was nothing more than a stain on my cock.

Was it because I was angry? Or was I angry because of it? Where did the surge of energy come from? I hated her pale flesh. I think I tried to rip it off. I liked the way she crawled on her belly in the dirt and begged me to hurt her again. I hated the word please and I know I slapped it from her lips.

She got more than she had bargained for. I hated the set up of it all, even through the fog I knew it for what it was. I know that when I was done with her she was a more honest female.

I also know she was not the driving force behind it. I don't know how I know it. I just know it.

What did they take me for? Yesterday they took me for a thirsty dusty rider. And I was. Yesterday they took me for a drunk. And I was. Yesterday they took me for an easy mark. And I wasn't.

I remember I liked the feel of her throat exposed in my fingers. I think she was alive when I left her. I wish I could remember that part.