Through a film of tears I could see a totally different person.Through a film of tears I could see a totally different person. My forehead was incredibly, impossibly high. Like those old portraits of Elizabeth I of England. My head was completely bare in front of my ears. He removed my gag. I said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was too late. I just stared at myself in the mirror, horrified and quaking, a jumble of conflicting emotions and sensations. He must have cut away the tape, but I just stared at myself, seeing nothing but my forehead. He helped me to my feet and half-carried me to the bed, where he tenderly took off the torso, unzipped the bodysuit, and gently removed the vibrators. They were still going strong. I was in a daze. I didn't even help him when he rolled me over to remove the second vibrator. I don't think I even blinked. I felt ruined. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. The only thing I could think about was my hair. Without the vibrators in me I continued to experience a kind of visceral nervous tremor, like when you get off a lawnmower or a tractor you have been riding all day. My body was thrumming with the sudden absence of vibration. But that didn't matter. Nothing did. "Look at me," he said. I couldn't. I just stared dully at the ceiling, the bodysuit open, my feet in the boots hanging over the foot of the bed. He sat on the bed beside me and turned my chin with his hand. My eyes met his. "I love you," he said. |