Tim looked over at Stacey, she looked so lovely in her pretty new negligee against the generic vanilla interior of the motel room, he felt his heart wince as he took a deep breath.
Stacey was searching for the answer in the popcorn ceiling, what was wrong? This was there first time; it should have been as magic as there courtship had been thus far. There had always been some underlying feeling with other men that told her to stay reserved, but not with Tim. She sat up and looked at him, “am I not pretty enough? Talk to me baby. I’ll do anything you want, you know that.”
As if a bell went off in his head he reached over and smeared her lipstick across her right cheek and spit in her face, with his fingers he pulled her mascara down her cheeks like black tears. As he was ripping her negligee he looked into her face and said, “I love you, but I can’t do pretty.”
At first total shock, total shock at how wet she had become so quickly, it was flowing. She wanted him to flow, as the word pretty left his mouth she punched him in the nose, the blood began to flow.
They looked at each other with excitement and recognition, finally after only whispering such things in hidden dreams, flesh! And so it began.
Hours later, beaten, bruised, bloody, defiled, and content, they lay in each others arms exhausted, sleeping like babies. The air smelt of debasement, the room looked like murder. They lived happily ever after.
The End
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