Trade, Part Two

by: Frederick Foote ((Header art is by the phenomenally talented artist Eldzier Cortor.))

Part Two of three-part tragedy. A caustic creationary story that continues as malicious bad luck nears, bearing dangers more heinous than death.…

Trade 3 (maybe 2 - Eldzier Cortor)

Catch up with Part  One here!

I meet her every thirty days now. Always at night. Always in a different part of the forest. I gush at her. “Every time I’m with you it’s like the best day of my life all over again. It’s like Christmas and my birthday, all the holidays rolled into one.”

Under the dappled moonlight among a copse of trees on my old worn blue tarp, I hold her body close to mine. With my lips still wet with her sweetness, I kiss her and taste my seed in her mouth.

I start to speak. She pulls away, places her finger over my mouth. “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your woman, your wife or your concubine. I’m not your friend, your pal or your buddy. I’m not your future. This is a trade. A business arrangement. I may depart without notice and never return. I could drain you to a dry husk on a whim or crack your spine just for the sound of it.”

I look deeply into the sparkling brightness of her eyes. I cannot look away.

Quick as a blink she’s standing, pulling her dress down over her head, shuffling her feet into her brogans. Just as quick I’m up in her face.

“You never told me your name. I think your name is Evil. Sometimes I don’t know you at all. But, I know when you’re lying. I’m more than just food to you. This is more than just a business arrangement.”

I snatch up the tarp and fold it as I turn from her. I walk away without looking back. In a second she’s whispering in my ear, “My food. My toy. Nothing more.”

Thirty days later. In a different spot in a different woods with the tarp stretched over us amid the dripping, plopping sound of rain. I satisfy my insatiable lust for her again and again.

“You’re not a little girl are you? You fooled me good. You were never my age in your whole life I bet.”

She uses her cool fingers to bring a hard stiffness to my dick as she responds. “I have never been young. Now, you feast on me. On my creamy, gray milk and grow older in your mind with each feeding.”

She mounts my dick and leans over me dropping her hard-as-a-pebble nipple into my mouth. I am hers completely.

She whispers. “You grow older but not wiser.”

I flip her over and, on top now, I fuck her with every ounce of my being. I would drain, deflate the breast in my mouth were it possible. Exhausted, by her side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip under our improvised tent. I give my response. “Evil, you’re a great liar. In your words and deeds. I think we could go for many months without our every thirty-day meetings. I believe you come here for the sex, for the company, for me.”

She sighs deeply, rolls over on top of me thrusts her tongue down my throat. She leans back, looks into my eyes. “I spoke too soon. Perhaps, maybe a little wisdom too. Perhaps.”

As I walk away, she’s again at my ear, “Remember, sex is not love and company is not friendship.”

She’s slow, slow sipping the life from my neck as I push deep, deep into her pussy slow, slow fucking her. For me, it is as good as fucking gets. The tarp is a windbreak. We sit across from each other savoring our feeding and fucking. She winks at me, a tender touch to my cheek with two fingers.

“Why’re you smiling?”

“I’m happy for you and your skinny girlfriend…“

“Mary. Her name’s Mary.”

“Well, Skinny Mary shared the pleasure of her upper thighs with you at last. Congratulations.”

Evil looks pleased and mellow. This look’s all new to me. I don’t even ask how she knows.

“Have you tried to drain her fountain as you do mine?”

I shake my head no. “She’s not ready yet. Why’re you so interested?”

“She’ll be ready soon. You’ll make her ready, eager, an addict to your tongue, teeth, lips and penis. That’s what your kind’s good at.”

“Fuck you, Evil. My kind is humankind. I’m human, one-hundred percent human.”

She laughs now loud, long, deep. “Boy, you know little or nothing of the world. You’re not my kind or humankind, but you need a life with the humans. I need you to have that life, to protect me. To protect us. Fill her up with brown babies, feed, fuck, and suck her to satisfaction and beyond. Do that, and we’ll have a long time together if, if we are lucky.”

I’ve told her again and again; I’m not like her. I’m human. Everyone, but her sees that. I sit, stare into her bright eyes, study her smile. “And if we’re not lucky?”

For a second she freezes in place, thaws, raises a finger to her lips and moves silently to undo one side of the tarp. I quietly undo the other side. Flat on her stomach she crawls deep into the shrubbery. I follow dragging the tarp. The wind whips the bushes into a frenzy. We wait in the dark and listen for what I don’t know, but I do know deep down in my soul that whatever’s out there exists only to find us and utterly destroy us, her kind and mine.

Hours later she whispers to me to go home by a new route. Pack a traveling bag. Act normal, be patient, be ready to flee. To never return.

I whisper back, “Why?”

She replies, “Malicious bad luck nears, bearing dangers more heinous than death.”

Ninety-five days later in the crisp early cold of winter, she comes to me again. Summons me down into the frozen woods. I attack her with a raging lust I never knew was within my grasp. I’m deeply ashamed by my loss of control. She finds it humorous, attractive, even delightful.

“Your Skinny Mary keeps you well fed. Yet, you attack me on sight. Do you have an explanation for your odd behavior?”

I snap back at her. “You brought the bad luck to our backyard. Your laughter summoned it here. You called the threat close to us, far too close. Can you explain that?”

Her instant anger ripples through her entire body like a speeding wave. I feel it on my skin like a hot wind. She’s too angry to speak. She bares her teeth and in spite of her anger or because of it I’m excited and move close, join her, enter her, merge with her, absorb her anger.

The next night, in the wee hours, in the comfort of my bed, in the security of my home I come fully awake in an instant. Death is in my bed, beside me. Unrelenting and remorseless she’s under the cover with me, inches away.

I can’t turn to face her. To look upon her true face is too much to bear. I sweat and tremble. “Evil, why?” I choke out my words.

There’s no sound from her, no breathing, no movement. No sounds in or outside the room.

I move my hand to wipe my brow. She grabs my hand, holds it, gently, almost a caress until her hand is as cold as death. Now, her nude body is on top of me; her teeth are at my neck. I pray. I try not to cry, but the tears come.

“You have undone me.” Her breath’s icy on my neck, her body’s sucking the warmth from me.

“How? How?” I gasp out my words. My eyes are squeezed shut. My head turned away from her.

Her words are arctic blasts against my neck. “You turned me into your broodmare. You planted a pestilence in me, growing within me, infecting me. You had no right! You are not my kind!”

I try to speak, but her freezing hand is over my mouth. “I will not bear your poisoned fruit. You have desecrated me. None of my kind will touch me, ever.”

“No! No!” I form the words, shout them out, but they don’t escape the gag of her hand.

“Bid me goodbye. Whisper me farewell. Beg me to spare your sire and your skinny consort that will soon be a mother without a partner. Quick!”

She lifts her hand from my mouth. “Not, not, not me. The bad luck got you, you…”

My lips are so cold I have to stop, gather strength, slow my shaking. She’s listening. Her ear’s close to my trembling mouth.

“In heat…I attacked you…You were in heat.”

Nothing from her, no movement, no reaction. The freezing cold takes me away into indifferent blackness. I wake still shivering, her warm breath in my ear. “You live by my grace to find the bad luck creature.”

“How? How can I do that?”

“Find a way. Your kind knows the way. Find it.”

She’s gone. Disappeared, but near, very close, and waiting.

Shroud. My shroud. The tarp I sit on. Sitting on my shroud, on the frozen snow. She stands behind me, patience gone, on a moonless night in a maple grove.

“Evil, I don’t even know where to start. I have tried…“

“Try harder.”

“I, Evil, how do you know about me, my kind? How do you know about your kind? How do you even know what you are?”

“I know.”

“And how do you know about the bad luck creature? How the hell do you know?”

“It’s in me. I know.”

“Are you the last of your kind? Have you ever met another one like you?”

“There are others like me. We were a mighty tribe.”

“Have you met any of them? Ever?”

“I know what I know.”

“Were you searching for them? Did you spend the last ninety-five days looking for them?”

‘Near, near and close at hand. Time and time again.”

“How did you find me, recognize me?”

“Once we ruled this world. Owned it. We thought.”

I stand up as the moon breaks through the clouds shining like a silver sun. I step out of the grove into the full moonlight.

“Evil, you’re the bad luck creature. You needed to be in heat, to breed, to reproduce at any cost. I think you are the last of your kind.”

She’s behind me. Like a shadow on me. “No! I feel the others, hear them whispering, catch glimpses of them in the corners of my eye. They live. They do.”

In her mind they do. In her memory. In her history. I don’t look back. I start for home. I leave my shroud. I’m terrified of what lies ahead for me. For us. For what’s growing inside of her.

She shouts out to me. “Kenyon, Kenyon, my name is Eve. That’s my name.”

Of course, it is. It has to be.

To Be Concluded…

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