The word that most comes to mind for this woman is `grave.The word that most comes to mind for this woman is `grave.' Not grave as in place of the dead, but grave as in stillness, gravi- ty, even a touch of the sad and somber. The woman has several smiles; an evil, knowing smile; a girlish, delighted smile; a quiet, pensive smile. But in repose, she looks grave, like a figure on a very old monument, stone-carved eyes forever looking out and away, at things you or I can't quite see. It is this gravity which I will shake. In body she is a girl-child still. Long, smooth legs and arms. A tight, athletic bottom of a totally gratuitous degree of beau- ty. Understated but classically lovely breasts. Strong shoul- ders and an unusually striking long neck, with a very prideful quality. Her head is graceful and well-set. A mane of long sometimes-light and sometimes-dark blond hair. It is this wholesome prettiness which I will degrade. The face? Unusual. The woman's eyes, changeable as to shade and hue, draw one in, over and over. The storm-grey eyes that you smiled into yesterday may be dark umber tomorrow. There is also a peculiar asymmetry, in that not only are her eyes not in hori- zontal plane (true of many people), the eyes are slightly differ- ent sizes. This is not discomfiting; rather enchanting, further proof that THIS one is THE one, and not just another one. This is the one whose eyes must be made to see into Hell, and smile at what they see. To kiss this woman is to draw close enough to get inside the orbit of those eyes, to taste sweet lips and a lively tongue and for a moment forget what one might have seen mirrored in the eyes... But today is not a day for kissing. *** This woman feels that she has done wrong. Her great intelligence wars with her sexuality, analyzing and measuring the very feel- ings that defy analysis and corrupt measurement. In order to be taken away from her own constant scrutiny, she must be abused, treated with rough disdain, as though enough humiliation and pain trips a relay that not only allows her to come, but stills the dry, pedantic voices in her head. *** When I enter the room, she has been standing, roped to the top of a door, almost on tiptoes, for about ten minutes. |