The Recursion,

The Recursion.
 
         With the open sight of a .44 Magnum pressed against the roof of my mouth, I yearn for the salvation from this wretched place that can only be provided with a single pull of the trigger. Using my thumb to release the safety, I prepare the way and tighten my grip in anticipation of the jolt from my mental purgatory.  If I were to hazard a guess about why you’re here, it would be because you are meant to be. It couldn’t be accidental that we should meet this way?  Once upon a time we may have shared lunch over business or made small talk while standing in line at one of those “super-marts” while I judge your character and moral disposition by the brand, quantity, and relationship of the items in your shopping cart.  No, it couldn’t be that easy but none of that matters now. We are in this tale together and despite how it appears, I know what I’m doing.  This isn’t my first time

         I can understand the hesitation that occurs when thrown into a fucked up situation and expected to do…something.  Smile nervously while quickly taking note of all available escape routes and how to politely head toward them?  Assume the savior position and justify your own crappy life with anecdotes and charity?  I know the tell-tale signs of someone wanting to run away screaming while wearing a half hearted look of worry.  This is the reaction I have grown accustomed to.  “Ohh…well that’s interesting,” they choke out from behind a pursed half-smile when I finally tell them the truth; the rot and decay that reside in my closet; the entirety of my perverse sexual addiction.

         I really wish I had a dark and mysterious story to entertain you with about how I was involved in a cuckold during middle school with the neighbors and their chocolate lab “Brownie.” Perhaps I could mention that one time I was forced to experience emergency surgery to repair a perforated colon after “accidently” slipping in the tub onto 3 rolls of pennies. Anything other than what my childhood was really like could possibly explain why I am elbow-deep in a guy who bears a striking resemblance to the late Colonel Sanders, while mentally recalling everything the wife had asked me to pick up on my way home from work.  I grew up in middle-class mediocrity with loving parents and a personal computer.  Every free second of my time was spent browsing porn and neither sock nor lotion would be spared.  A normal kid should know about launching model rockets, or how to score pot on a school night instead of possessing the ability to precisely explain the grammatical misuse of Fletching and Felching to random assholes on the internet. A Fletcher will carefully craft accurate arrows for you while a Felcher will suck sea… on second thought, it’s not that important and I’m clearly getting off topic.  What is important is that by the time I could even drive, I had developed a sexual identity that would make Baccus blush.  My sexual exploits with people began during my teens and even then it would pale in comparison to what I actually wanted.  Sure, performing coitus in the missionary position with the lights off could be fun for most people who are attractive or desperate enough to warrant such an opportunity but not for me. My boat retains it buoyancy with butt-plugs and latex. I get my kicks from wholly and truly dominating someone.  I was a closet “dom” with no real authority outside of my fantasies.  The vanilla life no longer appealed to me and I craved the perversity and excitement of the forbidden.

         Ringing broke the silence of the Colonels fisting session.  “Maaa ahh ahh ha ahh,’’ uttered the old man whose gagged mouth was now causing a huge pile of drool on my office carpet.  “What did I tell you about turning off that fucking phone before your appointment!?” I sternly say as I rip my arm from him.  “Session’s up so answer your goddamn phone and get dressed If this shit happens again, well… you wait and see what happens!”  Poor fucker doesn’t have a clue that I figuratively shit myself when I have to be like this.  I need him to come back and often.  He is one of the clients that ensure that I have a roof over my head and food on the table.  The old fuck pays well even though he likes to be diapered and fisted while handcuffed to a crib.
 
         I can’t afford to lose anyone, not after quitting my job as a manager at one of those shady rent-to-own companies after being blackmailed by a new hire into giving her a raise or be accused of “molestation and attempted rape.”  I issued the raise and quickly cut my losses out of fear that the crazy bitch was serious.  I couldn’t afford a divorce and honestly I didn’t want to lose my chance at “old money” that would one day be handed down to my other half.  So instead of explaining why I no longer have a job, I made up a position with the company that had me out of the office and traveling to different stores within the region.  I can’t fathom a situation in which it’s ok to tell a loved one that you no longer enjoy working a normal nice-to-five and would rather get people off for a living.  My wife, whom I had married out of sheer longing to not be alone, is clueless to my lifestyle and my new line of work.  We barely talk as it is so my answers tend to not be important, only that I acknowledged she spoke.  It was the fact she entertained my interest enough to have some sort of functioning cohabitation even though I faintly felt any sort of real attraction mentally and physically, that has kept us together for this long.

         Ringing once again shattered the silence of this rented office-turned-dungeon but this sound was familiar and it signaled that a client would be arriving in thirty minutes.  Yeah, there’s an app for that!  The heads up gives me time to make sure all bodily fluids are cleaned and all props are put back in place.  A quick glance at my shows that the next client is the new girl I had exchanged emails with last week; kind of nervous but well spoken young lady.  Normal procedure is for me to send a waiver and list to fill out releasing me from being held liable for any injury or duress obtained from my services.  Not that I feel what I am doing is completely legal, I still feel a need to have some sort of base covered in case the proverbial shit hits the fan.  This new client, whom had introduced herself as Kat in her emails, had mailed her paperwork back only earlier today but had left blank the page designed to gather the clients likes, interest, and things they refuse to do during the session.  “No worries,” I thought to myself as this is usual for some first timers who have no real understanding what they are truly into until after a few visits.  The only fact I had thus far was that in less than twenty minutes a new girl would show up and likely expect me to love her like “daddy” did when she was still young and breast-less. 

         A soft knock echoed from the door as I notice the handle being turned in vein.  The door won’t open from the outside.  I have carefully planned my security system which is highlighted with a lock that only opens from the outside by keycard.  Pesky maintenance workers for the building and jealous spouses cause me a constant state of paranoia, but for an income of two hundred an hour I find myself able to deal it.  Quickly throwing on a plain black shirt, I check my appearance in the mirror and finish dressing as I rush to greet my new source of income.  I enjoyed my role as master but the satisfaction had started to dwindle over time.  I knew I needed something new but I never thought that something would be just on the other side of the door. I released the lock and the door opened revealing a set of crystal blue eyes that appeared to penetrate all the layers of defenses fortified and guarded against feelings such as love, and intrigue.  I was told once to “never kiss a gift whore on the mouth,” which has developed into the notion that mixing feelings with my line of work always ends in disaster.  Most of the time clients are sporting tan lines from rings, or feels the need to inform me of their wonderful but otherwise unsatisfying significant other.  Despite the fact that I may have just penetrated every orifice of some worthless slaves bound body, it doesn’t entitle them to a kiss or feelings of affection.  I am married so what kind of person would I be if I were to fall in love with someone else? With my attention upon the work again, I begin to introduce myself but for some strange reason I can’t stop myself from being immersed in her fiery gaze. 

         It was on the third…or maybe fourth time she had said hi that I finally was able to snap back to reality and respond.  “Hi uhh…come in and have a seat,’’ I chokingly say as I move around the two red leather loveseats I positioned in the waiting area.  “Kat I assume?” I say as I reach out to shake her hand with form people use when dealing with any sort of formal or business introduction.  “You may call me that, and no… it’s not my real name,” she softly replies as she turns and gently scoops the coal black hair covering her neck, revealing a tattoo of a hissing black cat no bigger than a quarter directly behind her left ear lobe.  I shyly grin to show her my understanding and amusement over such a connection.
With Kat letting her obsidian locks return to their natural state of rest, nervousness creeps over my body as words begin to escape my trembling lips. I know I have to ask about why she’s here and what she hopes to experience. “So what do you know of....well you know…all of this, yes what do you know about all of this?”  Jesus fucking Christ I can’t believe I am stumbling over a simple question.  What keeps drawing me into her eyes and why do I just want to skip all of this non-sense and just stare at her for the next hour?  She seemed to understand my nervousness and frustration as she scooted closer to my direction with a forgiving and sincere look of concern.  “Would it help if I just told you about myself first?” she asks while moving down the couch to sit directly across from me.  I am a fucking train wreck of emotions at this point and nothing I try and say comes out.  A strange feeling sweeps over me like I know this person from a distant memory.  Chill the fuck out and look her in the eyes…No! Don’t look her in the eyes! Just relax and speak.  I have this under control.  She is here for the service and not me! The only thing I should do is to fulfill her sexual desires and…dreams.

         Kat slowly moves down to the floor and rest her head in my lap.  The blood from my racing heart supplemented my arousal to the point that I felt I was about to ignite and take everything out with in a ten-foot radius.  Strangely I instinctively knew what to do next and I drew the black leather collar from next to me and fastened it around her neck.  “It fits perfectly my love,” I exclaim as I stare down at the black cat tattoo resting peacefully near her ear.  Kat cuts her eyes to watch me from her peripheral vision as I slowing drag my fingers down the nape of her neck and back up to her crimson lips.  “As it always does love.” Kat whispers as she licks and slowly kisses my wrist.  With a consuming desire to experience the softness and warmth of her interior, I wrap her long black hair around my fist and force her head up to mine.  Strange feelings sweep over as once again lock into her gaze.  With one fluid motion I lean forward and bite her bottom lip, gently tugging as my fingertips comb through her hair and down to the black cat hiding underneath.  With her lip still clasped between my teeth, she jerks widely toward my hand biting down on the soft pad of skin between the thumb and wrist.  Memories begin to flood in as I struggle to understand what the hell just happened and why I feel so strange about being bit. Yanking my hand away I twist her hair furiously in my fist and drag her face to mine.  I twist my wrist to the side causing her head to flip sideways exposing the tattoo from behind her ear.  I lurch forward and sink my teeth into the tattoo, ripping away the ink stained flesh. The clarity of my memories brightens as I finish tearing away every reminder of her. Silence soon followed. 

         As if nothing had taken place, Kat continued to nuzzle her face into my blood soaked jeans.  After an hour of sitting in silent terror from watching the horror unfolding from my lap, I finally concede to logic and start the preparations that will end to this shit.  Closing my eyes, I slowly fill my lungs with air and imagine there to be a gun lying next to me. Like expected, opening my eyes reveal a glint of light brings my attention to the dull shine of a brushed nickel .44 magnum.  I grab the gun and instinctively raise it up and flip the safety with my thumb.  I brace for impact and I pull the trigger.

         Hopefully you understand a little bit more about the gravity of what we face at this point in our lives.  Hopefully you understand my intentions and how it’s necessary for you to see this.  Remember how I told you it wasn’t my first time?  Well after a few minutes, I believe I will have blown my goddamn brains out for the seventy seventh time.  I am real right now however you are not real.  You just haven’t realized it yet.  You are a ghoul feasting on what little body is left and I plan on ridding myself of this awful burden we share.  I need you to understand that this isn’t the end but merely a rebirth.  You must watch me die so I can wake up and face reality. Kat is real, or was real. Technically she is real but no longer living. Terrible fire… nothing I can do to stop the burning. I was only trying to please you!  So please forgive me as I shouldn’t be held accountable because you know I would have never really hurt you.  I had big plans for the two of us, and I was willing to give up the fortune to have you but that dream of our perfect life living in blissful pleasure is no more and now I tire of dreaming.  I no longer want to endure our meetings.  I no longer can handle the fact that I wake up with the same feelings I had that night we lost our way.

         I keep in the top drawer of my nightstand a brushed nickel, semi-automatic .44 magnum.  Purchased with the intention of protecting myself from harm, the primary function of this lonely piece of machinery is to blow my imaginary brains out.  It took awhile to be able to grab the gun while dreaming but eventually I was able to fire it off.  Now I will finally get to use the round I loaded into the chamber right after purchase.  So with the open sight of salvation pressed against the roof of my mouth, I say goodbye to you and from this wretched place. Using my thumb to release the safety, I prepare the way and tighten my grip in anticipation of the jolt.  I slowly pull the trigger and bright light and fear paralyze my body as my consciousness drifts into the unknown. My nightmare is almost over and the only company I shall keep in out parting is this familiar ringing that echoes faintly in the distance.