The man in the suit was speaking to them both, “I want you to lie down in front of the window. People will be filing past, and that will give them the best view.”
“What exactly do you want us to do?” asked Callie, the shorter of the two, and younger by a few years. Her short curly hair, matched the short curly hair between her legs, which the man was looking at now. She followed his gaze and looked down. “Do you want me to shave it?”
“No. It’s fine. Everyone has their preferences, and I’m sure someone will like to see what you’ve got there. Besides, there’s no time.”
Emily, who was already shaved hairless as a babe, looked at Callie, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes. It’s easy money. And you’ll be here with me. I’ll be fine.” Callie looked away.
The man in the suit continued with his brief instructions, “The crowd will begin filtering in around 10. They’ll wander past, gaze in…but some will linger, so try to change it up a bit – don’t always do the same thing. Don’t ever forget you have an audience, and making them happy is what I’m paying you for.”
“Simple enough,” Callie mumbled, and glanced away. She was obviously afraid, and ashamed.
The man left them alone in the room. They had thirty minutes to prepare for the “show.” Emily put her arm around Callie’s bare shoulders, “Are you really sure? We can find other ways to pay the rent.”
“No. I mean, yes…I’m sure. And no…this is easiest. And no one’s sticking their cock in me. I’m safe here.”
“You’re always safe with me, Callie.”
“I know. I just wish we didn’t have to work so hard to make it.”
“It won’t always be this way, Cal. It won’t.”
Callie looked up into Emily’s amber eyes. Emily always tried to keep her up, but Callie hovered just above rock-bottom no matter what Emily did.
“Just keep your eyes on me, Cal.”
Callie took her place on the bed, her head just below the dark window. Emily lay beside her, resting her hand supportively on Callie’s muscled thigh. It was tense, and Callie’s face was cemented into a frown.
“You should smile, Callie. Our tips rely on how happy we make our audience.”
“I know,” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do? Just fuck myself?”
“Just take your time, Cal. These guys just want to see you enjoy yourself.”
“That’s rich, Emily. You know that ain’t gonna happen.”
“You could try, Callie. Just close your eyes.”
Callie closed her eyes just as the lights in the room behind the window came on. They were dim, but the moving shadows of bodies shaded the light over Emily’s head. She chose to focus on Callie.
“Okay, Callie. Just listen to my voice. Let me tell you a story, okay?”
“Put your fingers between your legs, Callie. Play a song there. Follow the rhythm of your favorite poem. What’s your favorite poem?”
“Une Charogne. Baudelaire.”
“That’s a dark one, Cal.”
“But you know it, Emily, don’t you?”
“I do. Do you really want me to recite that one?”
“It seems fitting. This is a sort of a death for me. A death into a new life. A new life that mama would cry for. She’s rolling over in her grave right now, Em. Tell me the poem.”
“Alright then, Callie. But, you need to begin.”
Callie put her hand between her thighs. She spread her lips and began circling her forefinger around her dry clitoris.
“My love, do you recall the object which we saw,
That fair, sweet, summer morn!
At a turn in the path a foul carcass
On a gravel strewn bed,
Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman,
Burning and dripping with poisons,
Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way
Its belly, swollen with gases.”
Callie felt her cunt begin to pulse. The words always did it, when her lover spoke them. Dark, brooding, ugly words that made her soul seek her own black depths.
“And the sky was watching that superb cadaver
Blossom like a flower.”
There were men, looking in the window. Men touching themselves through their pants, beneath long jackets. They had come prepared, with handkerchiefs in hand, hats to cover their crotches when they exited.
Callie arched her back just a bit, and slipped her finger inside herself while Emily’s voice hummed in her ear.
“— And yet you will be like this corruption,
Like this horrible infection,
Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being,
You, my angel and my passion!”
Yes, that was it! Those were the words! Callie reached over, her eyes still closed, and took hold of Emily’s hand, “Touch me, Em. Touch me when you speak. I need to feel you close to me….”
Emily, placed her hand on top of Callie’s between her legs. Her forefinger merged with Callie’s and both slipped into Callie’s slowing softening cunt. Emily followed Callie’s rhythm, but then began to create her own, to the words…
“Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces,
After the last sacraments,
When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers,
To molder among the bones of the dead.”
Callie breathed in sharply as Emily slipped a second and a third finger inside of her. The words she whispered in her ear set her free in a melancholy way. She hovered just above hell. But she never touched down. Emily’s voice kept her from dropping.
“Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will
Devour you with kisses,
That I have kept the form and the divine essence
Of my decomposed love!”
Callie released all of the breath within her. Her cunt clamped down on Emily’s three fingers and began to pulse. Emily kissed Callie’s earlobe.
“I love you, Callie. No matter what. We’ll be okay.”
“I know, Emily. I know.”
The light above them went out. Callie opened her eyes.
“Is it over?”
“Yes. They’re gone.”
“That wasn’t so hard.”
“No. No, it wasn’t, was it?”
“I can do anything, Emily, with you and poetry. I can make it through anything. You are my muse.”
“I know, Callie. I know.”
Callie pressed herself against Emily, feeling her breasts being crushed beneath her lover’s, their nipples missing each other’s by at least a few inches due to their height difference. Callie pulled away and leaned over just a bit. She placed her hand beneath Emily’s breast, cupping it gently, pushing it up to her mouth like a glass of wine. Bringing it to her lips, she placed it between her teeth and bit down just a little too hard. Emily winced and whimpered quietly, trying to control her reaction. Callie’s kisses were often brutal. Especially after an “encounter” like tonight’s. It was as if she somehow needed to sink as deeply as she could into the sin by hurting herself and the people around her.
Tomorrow morning, she would see the mark she left on Emily’s breast. She would apologize, make her coffee, buy her flowers. She would wipe away her actions with breakfast and cleaning the kitchen in their tiny apartment. She would conveniently forget. Until they needed rent again. Or groceries. Or the electric went out.
She would forget for one blissful morning.
P.S. I have to admit…this was not a post I was going to write. I was not going to even attempt writing a story for this photo, because I didn’t feel inspired, and I felt it was too dark. But. Yes, that word gets me in a lot of trouble. But…I decided to just start and see where it took me. I had several glasses of wine and just opened myself up to the muse – and…well…she took me where she took me. And this is the result. It’s a bit dark, but so is the photo. No smiles, no one looks happy, everything looks clinical and forced for an audience. Hence…my story. Regardless, I enjoyed writing it. I’d completely forgotten, consciously, of the poem “A Carcass,” and I’m not really sure why that’s the one that entered my brain, but when I’m writing, I don’t question, I just roll with it. So there you have it. The backstory. And the apology, I suppose.