Truly


Whet

Rivulets of whispering sweat
Fluidly tracing sinew taut
Limbs and loins aching, longings whet
Convulsive carnal release sought
Explodes with risk of being caught

They met in an internet cafe. She animatedly browsing a popular dating site, and he taking special note of the way she twirled her wedding band with her thumb when she happened upon an ad that particularly piqued her interest. Before either of them had even finished their latte, he had gently niggled her into accompanying him to a book signing taking place next door.

His evocative recitation of a poem entitled “Whet” from the work that was being showcased- half whispered, half growled into the nape of her neck as they waited in line to meet the author, culminated in them abandoning the book store in favor the adjacent alley where under a broad bright moon, they unleashed the demons of the flesh against the unforgiving backdrop of a cold brick wall.

In the weeks that followed, they gorged themselves on the rush that accompanied their all but clandestine couplings.  Each time choosing rendezvous points that brought them closer to the brink of discovery, heightening the element of risk, until alas, it reached its crescendo late one evening in the flickering light of a crowded subway car as it plunged deep into the ill lighted tunnel beneath the river that separated the city from the sleepy bedroom communities that surrounded it.

As they waited for their respective trains heading back to the undisclosed areas of the city in which their otherwise mundane lives waited patiently for their return, he broke from tradition and asked her if she’d like to take a walk with him.

“Why not?” She heard herself saying aloud, despite the fact that her only interest in him had been well sated on the trip over.

He slipped his arm in hers and guided her out of the station and into what could have easily been a park. Grateful for his silence, she followed willingly, taking pleasure in the quiet of the evening that contrasted so with the ever present bustle of the city she was used to.

They meandered like lovers, arm in arm across the park and through the distant tree line, to where a small pond shimmered tranquilly in the dim light of the crescent moon. He leaned against her gently, holding her fast to the curved trunk of a tree at the water’s edge and kissed her with uncharacteristic delicacy, allowing his finger tips to follow the wisp of her hairline, trickle down past her chin; his thumbs coming to rest at the hollow of her throat.

A soft breathy moan of unexpected pleasure escaped her lips, as he wound his taut sinewy fingers around the back of her neck, pressed his thumbs against her windpipe, and tightened his grasp until there was no question as to his intentions.

Rivulets of silent sweat ran down his temples as she kicked convulsively, her aching legs hoping to connect with his loins, as if doing so could save her. But he knew- she had no need to save herself. For in dispatching her thusly, he was saving her. Truly.

Jezebel that she was.

This was written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto Prompt, with the help of Twiglet #117 “under a broad bright moon’ provided by Misky.

27 thoughts on “Truly”

  10. My suspicious mind saw the murder coming when he suggested he take a walk. Because of that, his every move was harrowing to watch. The motive I did not foresee.
    Curiously, the motive actually jives with something a cop who investigates serial killers once told me years ago. Perhaps the information is now outdated, but at the time the authorities had not a single instance of a caught killer who was not “religiously abused in a violent manner”. My friend put it this way, “Being butt raped in a closet by your uncle at age eight while he’s screaming Bible verses at you.”
    There were three other things all known serial killers had in common at the time, but that’s the one I thought most curious.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    • The key to the motive is in the first paragraph, and hinted at once again when they are waiting for their respective trains. There are many serial killers that hate “loose” women and make a name for themselves killing as many of them as they can. Sad but true. Thank you for your input Paul.

      Like

      Reply
  12. Pingback: Photo prompt round-up: Tranquil #writephoto | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo ~

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar
WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Cancel

Connecting to %s