Intimacy

When Henry awoke, he could not remember where he was at first. The room, lit only by pale moonlight and the dim flicker of dying candles, was not his own and, therefore, unfamiliar to him. It wasn't until he saw the blood---and then the body---that his memory came flooding back all too clearly. He screamed, just as he had done before. What else could he do?

Goldie was exactly the kind of girl that Henry had been looking for. For years, he had been cruising the local goth scene, hoping to meet someone just like her. It had become a kind of ritual of disappointment. Friday night would come around, and Henry would squeeze into his leather pants, throw on his torn poet shirt, zip up his boots, make sure his eyeliner was perfect, and then head out to the clubs in search of his Dark Queen. Some nights, he would settle for some cheap, boring college girl or other---one with sparkling black nails, or a spider's web drawn on her face, or some similarly irritating quality. He'd take her back to his place and pretend he enjoyed the same three "tricks" that all of them seemed to know before coming up with some excuse to get rid of them. The routine had become less and less satisfying as the years had rolled on.

And then, one summer night, as he sat by himself at a table, drinking his watered down absinthe and trying to drown out the noise this club passed off as industrial music, he happened to look up and meet the gaze of a goddess. Straight blonde hair framed a regal, high-boned face. Even at a distance, Henry could see that her eyes were a piercing ice blue. They seemed to glow as the deep-red lips beneath them curled into a smile. She seemed to float effortlessly as she moved toward Henry. Within seconds, she was seated across from him.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Goldie. What's your name?"

"Henrik," said Henry. "I've never seen you here before."

"I'm never been here before." She smiled coquettishly, revealing a pair of matching dimples, one on either side of her cherry lips.

"If I may say," Henry said, "your dimples are especially lovely."

She lowered her eyes bashfully. "Thank you," she said. "I made them myself."

Henry swallowed a mouthful of absinthe. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? "Excuse me," he started, "did you just say...?"

She didn't let him finish. "I made them myself,” she repeated. “Wanna know how I did it?"

She did say it! Henry was already hooked, but now he needed to know what she was talking about. "Please," he said.

"Well," she began, "I was looking in the mirror one day and I thought, 'Wouldn't it be something if I had dimples?' So I took a nail file and sharpened my two thumbnails.  Once I had them good and pointy, I jabbed them real hard into the sides of my face.  I kept pressing and pressing.  Every day for about six months I did this, never drawing any blood, just pressing really hard.  And then, at last, I had dimples."

Henry was flabbergasted. "Surely that must have hurt you," he offered.

"Of course," she said. "I wouldn't have done it otherwise." A sly smile crept over her face.

That was it. Henry was officially in love. He needed no more convincing that Goldie was the girl for him, the one he'd been waiting for. Who else would have a story like that to tell? Certainly not one of the sorority girls or lesbian vampires that had run rampant in all of these clubs. Henry had finally found his match.

Before they parted ways that night, Henry and Goldie shared their first passionate kiss right in the middle of the dance floor. It was as normal a moment as they would ever have in their relationship.

Several months of bliss passed. The couple were happy with their discussions of dark topics. Goldie would show Henry her scars, and tell him the story behind each one. "This was from the first time I experimented with blades," she would say. "That was such a life-changing night. Oh, and here's from when I first tried blood play!  They say you should always start with your own blood and, if you like the taste, you can branch out.  To be honest, I didn't like the taste very much." Henry hung upon her every word.

It wasn't long, however, before he began to feel that something was missing. Four months into their relationship, the couple still had not slept together. Oh, they had been to Henry's apartment, climbed into his bed fully clothed, and fallen asleep while cuddling with Cannibal Holocaust blaring on a nearby laptop. That had happened several times, and with some predictability, but they had never shared even the simplest of sexual encounters. Henry, ever the respectful gentleman, had yet to bring it up, telling himself they'd get there eventually and that Goldie was worth waiting for. Lately, however, he had begun to wonder if he was, in fact, waiting for nothing. He missed orgasms that he didn't have to give himself, not that he'd forsake Goldie for such cheap pleasure. Even so, he realized he'd have to at least bring up the subject.

To his complete surprise, he didn't get the chance to. He had prepared his approach very carefully, but on this night, it was Goldie who spoke first. "Henry," she said, her icy eyes gleaming with excitement and a tinge of nervousness. "I think it's time for us to take things to a completely different level."

Henry's heart began to race. "What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. "I think I'm finally ready for a deeper kind of intimacy."

Henry tried his best to stay cool. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure. I'm ready to let you in.  I want you to know what's really going on inside of your little Goldie."

They kissed, sweetly at first, and then with more passion. Henry let his hands wander, finding their way under her top.

She pulled away suddenly. "No," she said. "Not tonight. Not here." She must have sensed his disappointment, because she very quickly offered, "Tomorrow. My place." She kissed his hungry lips once again, and whispered into his ear, "Come at midnight."

Henry didn't need to be told twice. The next night at midnight, there he was, looking his best and waiting to be let in. Goldie greeted him at the door with a kiss, saying nothing with words, but practically eating him alive with her gaze. Silently, she led him through her modest apartment to her bedroom. Nearly every surface was filled with burning candles. The only one that lay empty was the double bed, which Henry eyed hungrily.

Goldie spoke at last. "Are you ready to be the first man to help me live out my fantasies?" she asked.

The first! Henry had no idea. The prospect excited him even more than the situation would have otherwise. "Yes, baby," he said. "I want you so bad."

"You must agree to give me complete control," Goldie said firmly.

This caught Henry off guard at first, but the more he considered her words, the more excited he became. "Yes, goddess,” he said, stepping closer to her. “Control me.  I'm yours."

She breathed deeply and smiled. From some unseen place, she produced a number of silken scarves. "Take off your clothes and lie down," she commanded Henry. He was all too happy to obey. Lying naked on the bed he followed her with his eyes as she moved from one corner of the great bed to another, tying his wrists and ankles to the bed posts. When she finished, she stood at the foot of the bed. Henry's head, luckily, was elevated enough by a pillow, allowing him to see her without much strain. He watched as Goldie looked him up and down, her eyes taking on a distinctly eerie and deep emotion, one that Henry couldn’t quite place.

"So beautiful," she said softly. A quaver in her voice suggested to Henry that she was nearly in tears. She continued, "I have often wondered what you would look like. You exceed my expectations." She looked directly into his face. "Oh, Henry, I love you so much."

"I love you," he said, his passion growing from just the knowledge that her eyes were upon him.

"And now," she said. "I want you to know the inside of me."

She turned and took something from the table behind her, something Henry had missed when he first came in. When she turned once more to face him, he saw that it was a knife with a long, gleaming blade.

"What are you going to do with that?" Henry asked, trying to conceal his rising concern.

Without another word, Goldie began a striptease. She danced slowly to music that Henry couldn't hear, using the knife to cut the clothing off of her body, piece by piece. Henry was put at ease, losing himself in the show. Before long, she stood bare before him, whereupon she climbed onto the bed, knife still in hand, and straddled him. She stared directly into Henry's eyes as she slowly raised the knife.

Henry let out a scream as Goldie plunged the knife down into her own abdomen. Her face contorted in pain, but the sounds she made seemed more in line with ecstasy. Over and over, she drove the knife into herself, stabbing and tearing at her own flesh. Blood flew in all directions. It practically poured from her. Henry could feel it on his skin and taste it in his mouth. The metallic saltiness made him gag.

At last, Goldie had produced a gaping hole. Without resting even a moment, she reached into herself with her free hand and pulled out a section of small intestine. Her ecstatic cries grew louder and she fished around inside herself, pulling more and more organs from their rightful places. She showed each one to Henry, seeming to find a kind of spiritual gratification in the entire situation. All Henry could do was scream and writhe.

Goldie seemed to weaken. Even in his panic, Henry knew she couldn't hold out for much longer. With what little strength she had left, she raised the knife to her neck and slashed deeply across her own throat. The blood sprayed out all over Henry. Goldie collapsed onto his chest, and all movement ceased.

Henry had no idea how long he had screamed before losing consciousness. Now fully awake, lying on that bed, tied up, covered in blood, and bearing the weight of a corpse on his chest, oh how he longed for one of those boring college girls.