FSE

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I do not know how I was able to spend a night with such an equally fascinating, lovely, and beautiful woman as her. It felt almost dreamlike when I had first laid eyes upon her, first moving into my apartment.

I was heaving boxes crammed with several series of books and dark clothes, and schlepping furniture up those tedious stairs. I had taken many trips from my truck below, in a foolish attempt to resolve my moving without aid from anyone else. I might be an electrician - which I shall add is a very physically demanding job, as well mentally - I was no titan of a woman, infinitely abundant with energy.

It must have been around the third or fourth ascent up the steps when she came down to see what string of feverous events were unfolding in the hallway of peeling olive green wallpaper and flickering fluorescent lighting. Armfully, I carried boxes crammed full with the alluringly seductive works in relation to the romanticized vampire done by their queen, Anne Rice, and novels of fictitious scientific enquiry and mystery, starring a most famous Victorian detective, which I thought of as an idol, written by the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

I was ginger with my footing - keeping my eyes on each and every step. I was terribly anxious in the event of ill footing or, one that is all the more unlikely, the stairs collapsing underneath the weight of the boxes - which felt greater than my dainty mass - and myself. The dark oak floorboards ominously creaked underneath my every stride, causing a strange fluttering worry to beat in my stomach.

When I had first bought the apartment I was informed that it was worn by time: being built shortly after the first world war - and the landlord only bothered to update its electrical system in the last decade to a more modern design. This was something I was secretly hoping to look into, to make sure everyone and I were in a building that was not about to short out and catch into a terrible blaze.

When I mounted up to the second landing I must have been too invested in my current affairs to notice the groaning of the flooring underneath the dainty steps of her feet. I was often prone to venturing blankly into the depths of my mind, giving little thought to the world outside of myself. Occasionally, this would prove more harmful than bothersome.

It was not until I heard the deep, yet silky softness of her voice that I was aware of her presence. It was at first startled me, nearly causing the boxes to drop to the ground and send me soaring through the faulty fluorescent lighting.

"Excuse me?" the voice asked.

I stopped, of course, though current of electric shock coursed through my body, sending goose pimples to rise instantly and my heart almost falling out of my heart. Instead it hammered away in my breast thinking of such a horrific prospect.

With grace, I managed to not drop my precious cargo of paged world, where I would escape to on a daily basis. I peered over the boxes rather quickly to see her - this beautiful angel - standing with her hands behind her back and her head pointed forwards in what looked like question.

The first article of business I noticed, when I began to focus on her, was her eyes. They were sparkling ever so brightly, hued in a dark blue, aking to an unfathomable ocean where liquid secrets were kept (like that of my right eye of my mismatched orbs of seeing. Her face in its entirety was the next thing I had observed. Its fairness sculpted into small and sharp features, with the roundness of her eyes the most prominent feature of it. The third was the long, puffy golden blonde hair that seemed to reach the base of her spine; its bangs parted to the right, falling to her angular cheekbones. Finally - a tad more devious of myself to espy in such a light - was the curvature of her body: an hourglass-shape that was hugged tightly in a midnight black turtleneck and blue jeans, seemingly pronouncing her figure furthermore.

I could feel my face growing crimson in heat as I continued to inspect this angel. I saw how the fleshy curve of her breasts were two seemingly perfect black spheres that had not known the harsh tides of time, which caused many before hers to diminish and sag. At the time, I suspected, they would look like cantaloupes in my long pale palms, squeezed lightly in spidery, slender fingers. Her bottom looked firmly tucked away in those blue jeans, though it had a certain profusion of cushioning meat that could make any creature aroused from the mere sight of it, let alone a squeeze of it in an odd, sexual curiosity.

The crimson of my visage spread across like an untamed fire. I was never one to be completely aroused by the first sighting of an individual, especially those lacking in a plethora of adipose tissue collected at the waistline. It was strange of me to feel this heat of lust at such a shapely creature.

"Excuse me?" she said, once more.

The trancing entrapment had shattered from my mind, and the crimson lust had changed to a scarlet of embarrassment for staring at her.

"Yes?" I squeaked bashfully; her dark blues fixated upon me.

"Are you the new neighbour?"

"Yes!" said I. A sudden wave of relief passed over me, thinking she was oblivious to my observing intrusion. "Yes, I am." I tried to sketch a smile on my face, but a residue of scarlet was weighing down the sharpness of my cheekbones.

I could see a beautiful painting of a smile brushed across her face - soft, genuine, matched with eyes of calmness, like a windless sea.

"What's your name?" asked she.

A panic ensuited through my mind, despite the simplicity of the question. I shuttered; the words coagulating to the roof of my mouth.

Just say Shadow, I thought. Just say Shadow. Just say Shadow.

"Just!" I obtusely blurted out.

Having heard of the idiocy spewed from my lips, the scarlet burned back across my face.

"I mean Shadow! Shadow!"

My heart was crazily drumming inside my best, yelling at me You are an idiot! You are an idiot! while all I could internally respond to it I know! I know!

I heard a heartfelt giggle emitting from the long, swan-like neck of the blonde angel. A part of me worried she was giggling to wordlessly dub me a fool, while another part of me was warmed to the idealism she giggled in dubbing me the fool, but thinking it was something rather cute.

"Nice to meet you, just Shadow. I'm just Michelle." Her tone seemed rather playful, rather than cynical.

Her eyes quickly glanced over to the box weighing down in my arms, then back to myself.

"I've been hearing you go up and down those stairs, a fair bit. Do you need any help moving your stuff in?"

"Yes!" were the words to unconsciously drip from my mouth, as if another entity had taken control of my form. "There are a lot of boxes in my truck, and I was going to try and get everything up on my own, but I have a chaise lounge to heave up, which would be a pain in the nether region to get up by myself." I gave an awkward laugh, trying to play along with what I had just spoken.

I was going to attempt to drag the chaise up those several flights of stairs, but pondering on it now it would have been a terribly foolish to try such a lonesome feat.

"Ah, I understand." Another giggle. "Sure, I'll help with that!"

"Brillant! Thank you! I just need to quickly put these boxes up in my apartment."

"No sweat!"

With that, I briskly ascended up the stairs to the fourth landing. As I made my small trek, I could not help think of this Michelle. How the shimmering goldenness of her hair floated through my mind's eye; her dark blues seeming to hover in a strange wonderment; her body was dancing with itself, as I envisioned her small hands undressing herself to reveal the intricate details of her physical-self. With each motion the body unclad itself I could feel the crimson once again scintillating up, spreading from the sharpness of my cheekbones, down the thin, cuspated features of my long, pointed face, past the smallness of my breasts, through the toned flatness of my stomach, to the sex between my thighs where it stopped. I then felt small fingers beginning to tickle in teasing desire, just as a musician would warm up its instrument, though solemnly never truly play.

Once I had arrived at the black door of my new apartment - its brass 407 tarnishing - I pushed open with the bump of my hip and I carefully placed the boxes by the entrance, where I had placed the other boxes, seeming to building some form of a wall. I went back down to Michelle, who was waiting patiently with her hands behind her back and the softness of her fair, rose smile relaxed in a state of contentment. As I saw her, the impish fingers still tickled crimson between my legs. The heat was intensely rising from my flesh. I felt as if I was oozing like a waxen candle with a flickering wick.

"You ready?" she asked, beaming towards me.

"Yes," I squeaked, very mouse-like. I was trying not to make any further eye contact with her, keeping my head bowed down as my eyes darted wildly across the floor, seemingly unable to focus. I led her down the stairs, out the door to the parking lot where my truck resided.

I seldom said a word to Michelle for I was afraid I would sour myself towards the title of fool with this girl, of which I had barely met.

It will pass, the Saint of my mind told me. This lust will past.

"So, what brings you here to this part of town?" she softly asked.

"School!" I shortly said. I tried my best to hide my colours of crimson and scarlet. I wish I would have just faded off into dust to avoid such an awkward encounter.

Hopefully, she will not think too poorly of me in the future, I thought. Hopefully, we will be simple friends - neighbours - without any strings of sinful desire attached to her form.

"Nice! I assume you're going to the University?" she asked as we were nearly out of the door, to the city streets. Its cars passing the paved roadway, sounding like crashing metallic waves against a distant shore; its people wandering as insignificant shadows where they busied themselves in their stress-inducing lives; and its buildings that reached closely to the pinnacle of God, whether one believes it to be fictitious or of truth, barely tearing open the curtained grey skies.

"Yes," said I, as we turned towards the cobbled parking lot - where only my steel-coloured truck, that had splashes of mud caked by its wheels and faint scrapes across the rubber basse of the trunk, and a violet smart car resided, awaiting their masters.

"Very nice! What are you taking in university?"

"Psychology," said I, as we came up to the truck. I quickly mounted up to the trunk, where I pushed the one-armed couch - the chaise longue - towards Michelle. Its design was printed like a leopard - a sandy orange like the dunes of the Sahara, underneath a lowly sinking sun, dotted in detailed spots that looked almost like the rings of an aged oak tree. It was a gift from my grandparents before they passed away the year prior.

As I pushed the chaise towards Michelle I saw that she was beginning to shower from a dainty column of light. Her already golden hair glittered and radiated brightly in an almost ethereal glory. Her shapely, seductive form looked almost like an ancients God carved eons prior by a long forgotten civilization which we knew only of from half-destroyed artwork and complex texts scripted from symbols we could only speculate their meaning. We were strangely so foreign to something we thought we had unearthed most, if not ever, of its enigma: the human species of both past and present. That was what I saw her as: a perfectious curio, carved from a sparse yet tantalizing material that was fabricated from the dark flames of a volcanic titan who only granted its gift to veritable masters of their craft, sacrificing their entire lifetime to one day hope to build their Magnum Opus of indescribable beauty.

I tried not to look at her bewitchedness as I pushed the chaise towards her, bringing it from the couch back up to the apartment. We heaved it up those several groaning stairs while we moaned and wheezed with the weight of the chaise tediously heavy in our arms. We were slow in our quest, but we were successful in our endeavours. Nevertheless, I felt a terrible strain pushing down on my wrists, and I was fearful they were going to snap off. I tried not to look at the tension and conflict penciling itself across Michelle's face, for I was fearful those impish fingers would drawl back and tickle down between my thighs, and I would cease pushing the chaise, causing the weight to be too much for Michelle and I would be crushed beneath the weight of my own inability to subdue my devilish desires.

Regardless, we were successful to get on the fourth landing and to the black door labelled 407. We were both panting by the end. Our bodies no doubt relieved from the damned weight of that accursed chaise.

"Good work," she said, in between heavy breaths.

I merely nodded, saying nothing, in fear that it would appease the Devil, causing it to run rampant, cackling along in echoes in my mind.

"Hey!" Michelle suddenly said, after taking a few deep breath. "When we're done putting your things in your apartment, would you like to come over and have a few drinks? You know, a 'welcome to your new home' thing."

Suddenly, my fingertips felt a cold surge spread through them, up to the palm of my hands, to my arms, as if an icy virus was gnawing away at me.

Is she serious? I thought to myself. Did she just ask me for drinks?

She just wants to get to you know, said the Saint.

No! cackled the Devil of Desire. No, she wants you, my dear girl. She wants your body. She wants you, my dear girl.

The scarlet and crimson was still burning brightly across my visage, while the coldness of disbelief was continuing to creep up my pale, slender arms.

Just go for drinks, talk a bit, laugh a bit, know her better, the Saint lulled.

Know her better! snarled the Devil. Laugh with her, drink with her, dance with her, kiss her, touch her, fuck her! Fuck her, dear girl! Fuck her! Fuck her!

"Shadow?" Michelle's voice rang through my head, like a warm tide that drowned out the bickering of the Devil and the Saint.

I gazed at her, seeing her radiant beauty glimmer upon me.

"Yes? Yes! Yes, I would like that!" I cried out, trying to silence the two to aid a fragile tranquility within me. "Drink would be nice!" I poorly sketched a smile: its edges wiry and awkwardly positioned.

"Wonderful!" her dark blues shimmering brightly in what looked to be excitement. Her small mouth was painted alluring in that soft rose colour.

"Do you need any more help?" she asked.

"No," I uncomfortably chuckled. "No, I think I will be fine. It is just a few more boxes and everything will be superb."

"Awesome! Just come down to apartment 203 when you're all set and ready to go." She then left, with another soft, yet sincere, smile, going back to her own abode, which was something I would be greeted to in what felt like great yawning jaws of eternity. Regardless, I did look at her as she walked away, seeing the curve of her bottom in those jeans one last time before she descended to her apartment.

The time I used to acquire my boxes from my truck, marching back up those plentiful and creaking stairs, placing said boxes in my apartment, the Saint and the Devil continued to echo in my mind.

Just get to know her.

Fuck her!

Just be friends with her.

Fuck her!

Just drinks and talking, that's it.

Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her!

When I had finished my unloading the sun was already sinking low in hues of oranges and pinks, shrouded by a deepening blue. I had started my shift to my apartment around the afternoon. Gazing down at the last box, my body feeling numb, fear starting to coagulate in my throat, I thought This is it, and, with a sigh, I began my trek down to Michelle's apartment.

With each step I took closer to the apartment the more my heart hammered in my ear, like a war drum going off to a silly war. It felt as if the Devil was hitting the drum of my heart, cackling away, screaming Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her!

I found myself at her door - the black similar to her own, its brass 203 tarnished by time. I had to swallow the dryness of my worriness.

You are only going there to know her better, the Saint repeated in chant.

I raised my shaking arm and I proceeded to knock with my frozen, pale knuckles. Tap-tap-tap. I weakly rapped against the door.

Maybe, I should turn back, I thought. Perhaps, I should claim to have fallen under the weather. I should go back to my apartment, back to my books. We could be simple strangers down the hallway. Simple--

The door swung open and Michelle stood tall, her soft rose smile curved earnestly and her ocean blue eyes sparkling in contentment to see me.

"Shadow!" said she, beaming excitement. "Come in! Come in! Make yourself at home!"

I sheepishly followed her into her domain. My heart was heavily thumping in the smallness of my breast and the fear still sticking between the walls of my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. It felt as if I was a traitor to a sovereignty, and I was being led to the firing grounds where I would be shot and left to bleed. In this case, the sovereignty was my promise to abstinence to myself and the bullet fired from their gun would be any possibility to make the horned beast with two backs, of which the Devil kept insisting what this night would become.

I untied my shoes at the front, taking a knee, when I looked over to see my own reflection staring back at me, flushed at the similar ideas of sin that was racing wildly through my mind. My gingery hair, which was not unlike the hue of unrefined copper, was tied out of my face, with its paintbrush-like ponytail end looking as if it was dipped in a can of pale blue paint; my pale face was composed of sharp angles and hard features, making me almost look skeleton-like; across my thin nose and my pronounced cheekbones I bore seed-like freckles; my eyes were mismatched, as if they had belonged to others - my right that oceanic blue, like Michelle's, and my left being an amber colours that shone like the morning sun; and a scar was drawn across my forehead that was near faded from the waters of time.

If reflections could speak on their own account, mine would urge me to make the night short, and simply have a spark of familiarity in this foreign land. Nevertheless, it only stared back at me in a mismatched bashfulness, its flushness scarlet and crimson, like my own.

"So, Shadow," the reflection shattered, as I looked back at Michelle, who was standing around her living room - oddly spacious (though that could have been an illusion for most of the furniture seemed to be pushed away from the centre of the room) - where two tall glasses filled with a bubbling, rouge substances stood soldier-like, where a thin-necked green bottle loomed overneath in dictatorship-like - its golden letters read in fine, black letters Apothea ~ Red Wine.

"You said you were going into psychology?" Michelle asked.

Before I could even respond, I heard the shuffling of two sets of feet, and their owners had come briskly from the small hallway, clad in gym attire and carrying two large duffle bags.

The first to come out had a resemblance to Michelle. I hypothesized her as her younger sister, for she held that golden blonde colouring in her hair, though it was cropped short, its shagginess groomed to the right; her eyes were as big and as blue as Michelle's. However, her jawline, in contrast to Michelle's, seemed to be broader, her chin further pointed, and her features seemed further pronounced, which was supported by a shorter, slightly thicker neck. She held a similar voluptuousness like Michelle, but her form - which was squeeze into a navy blue workout bra and black shorts - seemed more bottom-heavy than hourglass-like. She seemed more youthful than Michelle, having a bubbly energy I could feel floating around her.

The one behind her seemed more of the shy-type, being the follow of this duo. Her hair, too, was cropped short and shaggy, in its raven black colouring. Her jade green eyes were more angled than the roundness of the two blondes. Her face seemed softer, giving her an already existing look of innocence. In her black tank top and her dark shorts, she looked, thin, while her limbs looked toned, as if exercise was a daily ritual for her.

"We're off to the gym, Michelle!" said the blonde, giving a wave and a broad smile. "We won't be too long, just a quick--"

Her blue eyes had met on me, giving me a momentary study, then she glanced back at Michelle. I felt as if I were being observed underneath a microscope, then being discussed whether or not I was fit for dissection. Regardless, when most people would look at me, then talk about me I felt a sickening feeling of judgement weighing down on me. I do not think she meant to make me feel this way, but there was a sense of belittlement being shoved through my heart like a cold steel spear.

"Is she our new neighbour?" asked the young blonde.

"Yes," chirped Michelle. "This is Shadow." She then turned towards me, giving that soft rose smile. "Shadow, this is my younger sister, Sera" - she motioned her hand towards the blonde - "and her best friend since they were kids, Suki" - she motioned her hand towards the raven-haired girl - who quietly waved hello and gave a small smile.

I sketched a poorly rendered smile - feeling once again weak at my cheekbones - and I gestured a shaky hand in greet. "Nice to meet you both," said I, in a voice that could almost be mistaken for a whisper.

"Likewise," Sera granted me a high, closed-eyes smile in return. She then heaved her bag over her shoulder, and gave a small huff. "Well, we should be off! You two enjoy yourselves and welcome to the neighbourhood, Shadow!" The two made their way to the door, where they grabbed their shoes and went off to their workout.

However, as they were getting ready, I saw a smirk ghost across Suki's face as her eyes met with the green wine bottle. A twinkle glimmered across her jades, as if there was something mischievous afoot.

You are simply imagining things, I thought to myself. Ease your mind and attempt to relax.

As the girls left, Michelle said "She's a good kid, just a bit of a show-off. Have you got any brothers or sisters?"

"Oh, um, just an older brother," I sheepishly made my way over to the couch, glancing at Michelle on occasion, though afraid when she would look at me in completeness, she would see the imp fingers tickling between my legs, and the crimson and scarlet burning across my face.

"What's he like?" Michelle said, as she sat down on the couch, grabbing one of the glasses by its delicate, long-neck. She sat cross-legged, with her back erect and her shoulders relaxed.

I warily followed her onto the couch, sitting adjacent from her - fearful I would miss the couch and land on the ground, either cracking my skull or injuring my already tender back, making me look like a grand fool. "He, well, um, he is a brilliant man, to say the least. However, he is quite the..."

"Quite the?" Michelle asked; placing the lip of the glass to her own, taking a few sips of the rouge liquid, then placing the glass on the coffee table, next to my own.

I gave a dry chuckle. "The, um..." I looked up to the ceiling, trying to not laugh at my own remark. "Reckless smartass... to put it lightly."

"Really?" she gave a warm giggle at my comment.

"Yeah," I turned my gaze towards Michelle. "He is a lot like my father, in that sense: always making some blunt observation--" I was suddenly taken aback when my eyes caught sight of the angelic blonde once more. I saw her small, sharp face blaze with a redness, and her mouth was contorted, biting her lower lip, as if in discomfort. Her eyes were wide, seemingly fearstrucken, as if she were seeing a great horror oozing in front of her, and her body looked as if it had shrunken into itself, attempting to hide something.

Before I could even question her, I heard a moan part from her lips, she threw her head back, her hair falling over the back of the couch, and her body gave a sudden jolt, as if some energy had violently passed through her.

Then it happened: her once slender body was beginning to expand. The dome of her belly was growing beneath the black fabric of her turtleneck, quickly straining against the buckle of her belt and the button of her jeans. With each passing second of her odd expansion, the further the redness of her face would outspread and the more frequently she would moan cries I would label as sultry, spewing from those velvety rose lips that she would keep biting down on, to the point where they would momentarily lose their alluring colouring.

An inferno of craving crimson and distressing scarlet bloomed forth like an unwanted flower across the entirety of my form, where I felt the heat of desire roast me alive in my own sinful wants. The little impish fingers were tickling me tenfold as the Devil laughed in my ears, for it knew the cards given to it would ensure a victory on its behalf.

Michelle's body was shaking as her belly continued to balloon. The contorting discomfort shifted to a straining pain, as her jeans and its belt dug into her flesh like daggers, ready to pop the poor girl. Luckily, the belt gave a vicious snap as the rotundness of the belly was enough to dislodge her from that terrible prison. The zipper of her jeans followed ensuite, then its button shot off with a ping at the force of an unstoppable bullet, shattering Michelle's glass of wine, causing my heart to leap to my throat. Her gut spilled into her lap, where the smooth skin of her distended belly had shown itself; its navel a small, gapping second mouth that was in awe of its sudden entrance from its cavern of dark fabric. Michelle gave a howl as the claws of pain had released her, and her spontaneous growth had subsided shortly after. Her belly like a skin-coloured beach ball filled heavily with sand, giving it that saggy quality, as it flooded her lap.

Glistening beads of sweat had trickled down her vermilion forehead; her breasts rose and fell as she had difficulties attempting to collect her breath. However, I swear she muttered beneath her panting breath: "Damn that Suki. Damn that wine."

Nevertheless, I gave no council to Suki or the wine. My attention was fixed upon the globular orb of Micelle, that, too, was rising and falling in sequence with her breath. I bit my lower lip hard, to the point where I could taste the sweetness of my own blood - that metallic, coppery taste with a dash of salt.

My mind raced as it thought of the softness of the abundant flesh. That sickening desire to fondle it, to lick and kiss it, to bite it, to squeeze it, to make love to it. That sense of impulse was rushing through my veins so greatly I could feel the tender warmth of the belly in the palm of my hand, kneading down on it to feel the squishy flab warp around my hand, almost embracing it, and squeezing it to give it that harsh yet exotic form of devotion that most belly worshippers show to their idols. I could hear the faintness of my voice through the tunnel of time murmur good girl, to someone who had long since passed from my life.

Although, as I peered down to look at my hand I saw that it lay upon the large, divinity of the blonde angel, where my sensory was more in terms of reality than in fantasy. Instead of removing my hand, instead of backing away, I kept my hand on the flesh of plenty.

The Saint cried out in my mind What are you doing? Get your hand off of her! But its voice was insignificant and minute, as if it were falling down a dark well of which it would never climb from.

I looked up at the deep eyes of Michelle, expecting them to be cross, expecting them to demand the removal of my hand and my person, where I would slump back down to the caverns of my apartment and live out my time in a darkness of unforgiveness due to my actions of flesh-desire. Alternatively, I saw her eyes boiling in a deep sea of acceptance, as if she enjoyed my hand against her bloated flesh. As if she wanted my hands against her bloated flesh.

This was the first time I had truly looked into her eyes. Seeing those deep seas look up into my mismatched eyes, how they were fixated on all of their madness. They were unblinking, as if she was looking at me with a thousand crimson thoughts. How could that be possible from a girl like her to a gal like me?

My next set of actions felt beyond my control, as if the loss of reality clasped around me as I was pulled further and further into those endless oceans. The room was insignificant blur and my body was not my own. For you see, in the mere blink of an eye I had leaned down towards her, over her mountainous ball of flesh that had stolen her lap, and I pressed my lips against her's in an unholy kiss. How the silkiness of her lips was flawless against the subtle roughness of my own. It was a sensational wonderment, one of which I never thought I would feel again.

To majority of individuals, kissing the one that paints you in crimson is an infatuation akin to a thousand fireworks light off instantaneously in the small caverns of their mind. A succession, a victory of grand celebration.

To myself, the kiss brought along a rolling silence throughout the hallways of my mental depths. A sweet silence. A release from all of those burdensome thoughts, those agonizing voices, and those painful memories that would play over and over again, pushing me to mania. The only thing I seemed to register was the physicality of the press of those small lips against my own.

However, that silence rolled in sheer fractions of a moment, passing like waves on the shore, bringing reality back in its waking crash. Upon the realization of my act, I jerked myself away, staring down at her in eyes of discoloured disbelief.

What have I done? I thought. What sin have I fallen to?

"I am sorry," were the words that dripped from my mouth. I felt an icy spear lodge nito my chest and a shock ripple through the thinness of my form.

I tried to get up from the couch, march back to my apartment, and loath what I had just done, but as I rose I felt Michelle's hand grip my wrist. Within an instant, I was pulled back to her lips, for this time she was the one to kiss me.

I fell upon her fleshy mound, having to twist my body to continue our mouth-to-mouth interaction. How those impish fingers tickled wildly between my thighs, deep into the crevasse of my sex. It made me feel akin to some ravenous beast, playing with its prey, prior to satisfying its most basic of needs, while the prey simply accepted being toyed and eaten, as if it enjoyed such a practice.

I felt her moans vibrate down into my mouth, as every time we parted and pressed our lips. Our tongues waltzed, feeling the faint, detailed roughness of her taste buds, while the saliva coated it in an enchantment of softness. I bit her lower lip every so often, which caused a small giggle to subsequent by her vibrating moans of desire.

My hand snakishly snuck up her turtleneck to her cantaloupe-sized breast, proceeding to lightly squeeze the sensitive flesh, while the other was sandwiched between ourselves, where I rubbed her distended middle, feeling between the folds of flesh at her sides. I gripped her exponential love-handles, squeezing the skin, giving her that playful bit of pain. Still, she gave that sexually induced moans that started out as quiet, throated murmurs that shifted to gasps and seethes of ecstasy.

I slowly began to peel off one-handedly her dark turtleneck, though she gave me a peck on the cheek and whispered in my ear "Let's take this to the bedroom." Her voice sent tingling pulses of electricity down the back of my head to the base of my spine.

As we continued our primitive conquest, we arose from the couch. We artfully spoke, in an undialected poetry, which mere mortals words could never truly capture. To the eyes of others, it looked like two beasts clumsily waltzing down that blackened corridor, where light faded away from us, and our spearing tongues interwovenly locked, while our feral claws toyed and groped the squishing flesh of our sensitivities, of her ballooned midriff, and our backs. We dug her nails into my dark jeaned thighs, that made me murmur in hedonism, rubbing in between them as she was nearly touching the impish fingers, hopefully taking their role from them, while my hand continued to squeeze, alternating chest orbs to give them both equal love. Most of the time we were aiming blindly to feel what was closest to our satisfactions.

Down the hallway, I lifted Michelle's turtleneck overneath her ballooned waistline - giving her a cheeky fumble around the folds of her love-handles - where her belly jiggled in eagerness. In return, she quickly moved her hand up my thigh and she unzipped my jeans, dancing her hand close to my scorching sex in an almost teasing fashion, causing a moan to roll of my tongue. She unbuttoned it ensuite, then she started to pull it down from my wiry legs and helping me step out of them, where she cast it away. She then came up and unfasten my hoodie, briskly slipping it over my shoulders and arms. Once she had cast it like she did with my jeans, she grabbed my apple-sized breasts from underneath my shirt, fiercely rubbing the vulnerability of my nipples, making them sharp in excitement, sending electrical of indulgence to tingle warmly from my tits.

Subsequently, we removed each other's shirts, freeing our flesh orbs of proportional difference. I noticed how they bounced lightly as the shirt was taken overneath her head. How those doughy spheres rested so sensuously upon her belly.

Once we had got to the bedroom, I went down on my knees, kissing down her body. From the cleavage of her breast down to here navel, where I peeled off her jeans. As I did so, I pressed my lips against the cushioning plush of her grand belly, circumferencing the vastness of her navel. Once I had gotten them around her knees, I plunged my tongue into her second mouth, that gapped in astonishment at the pleasure I had given its master. I licked it like a sickly dog would lap up a stream: with desperation, without fineness or remorse. Did I care for my lack of formality? Of course, I did not. The sliminess of my drool was stroked stupidly across, smearing the navel-area of her belly, and, in turns, the sharpness of my chin. I could hear the moans of enjoyment rippled from her chest, but I could not see the simultaneous hardness and softness brush across the painting of her visage.

Once her pants were about the ankles, my hands venturned to her undergarments, tucked underneath the bloated folds. Taking them off proved to be a difficult challenge, though I managed to shimmy them past those wide hips and that sagging gut. I drew them down to the ankles, as if they were rope that would trip her to her climax.

I then went back to that angelic face, embracing my lips against her own, once more, as I ushered her down to the darkness of her bed. She was obedient as she was exquisite; she first sat upright on the edge of her bed, where I removed her pants and underpants, exposing her details of nudity, save for her sex, which was buried underneath her belly, that had swallowed her shapely thighs.

I began to unclad myself to match her exposed flesh, though my frame was rather skeleton-like - being thing an ungracefully lankly in a closer study. I was, however, grateful there was seldom lighting in the room, for she could not see the lines I had once carved red into myself when I was young and foolish, thinking I had an inkling of the world around me. It was not that I was fearful of judgement, I simply did not want to hear the whining of other's pity.

When I was in my nude I leaned towards Michelle. I pushed her down at the shoulders, to lie down and await on the bed. I then crept behind that immense zeppelin-belly, where I inspect her sex. Now, I could not see whether or not she was prepared, so I took a long, spider-like finger and I felt up between the lips of her vagina.

Her silking lubrication was a dictation that impish fingers of her own were laughing, cooking a terrible joke of her own primeval desire, She gave a little murmur of such devilry; jerking her body as if a current ran through it. Satisfied with the results of such a small outcome, I drew two fingers to her sex.

I had always attributed the vagina as a scar - a deep wound that bleeds painfully once every single month, remind us how such simple-minded rats would see us as nothing more than a lively doll of fornication.

I ran my fingers up and down her womanly scar, instigating a fountain of moans and cries, where waves of electricity crawled up from where I rubbed, up her spine, through the flesh of her nerves. I imagined it like finger painting, though the paint was the nectar of her womanhood while the canvas was the animation of her enjoyment.

The further the fountain of lustful noises, the quicker my tempo, and the quicker my tempo, the more lively were her uncontrollable cries and her squirming in the darkness of her room. Then her body shook violently, as if she was being possessed by an unholy demon. Her cries of eroticy echoed across in the shallow void of the darkness. The flames of orgasm ignited across her body, where her voluptuous body jiggle as she quaked from such gratification, like the aftermath of a tsunami lapping away at the Earth. However, one might ask Would that be enough? No, it would not be. I was nowhere near the completeness of my primitive satisfaction.

I grabbed the inner area of her meaty thighs, feeling the flesh sink into my spidery hands, while I plunged my head between them. I blindly ventured to her female gash that was sensitive, yet ripe, awaiting for more roaring fires of ecstasy. I drew my tongue, wet in the yearning of for such sweet tastes. I tuck it, beginning to lick at the sex, like a cat would to cleanse itself.

I felt the slippery, raw flesh against the bumps of my taste buds. I tasted the warmth of her nectar, that scorched from her sensitive curve. Deep currents of carnic flame and electricity ran throughout her body, with each motion of my mouth's meat-dagger. Her already globular belly had the illusion of further rising, like that of baking bread, for she arched her back from the faint line of pain and pleasure. Her legs resisting against the strength of my myself, as if subconsciously she was trying to end my pleasureful amusement from my rolling and licking of my tongue against the smooth, lubricated, fleshy texture of her cliterous. How I had so dearly missed the taste, the sound, the feeling of such intimacy.

However, I could not see the lavishing artwork of her contorting visage scolding in lust, for it was obscured from that beautiful, distended balloon that looked on the apex of popping. The singing of sensual crowning point was losing itself in blackness, for a web was entwining itself around my mind as I continued to lick Dionysian into Michelle. A web that seemed to pull my sense of reality up from myself. A web that seemed to pull my sense of reality down from myself, where I acted cockroach-like, being only affected by the stimuli set in front of me.

I was losing my senses - the taste of her sweetness of her nectar and the salt of her sweat that was rolling off of her underbelly to the forehead; the skin of her thighs gripped tightly in the clasp of my spider-like fingers; her cries, her texture, her. I was beginning to lose myself from her. I was falling into myself, being thrown into the flesh prison of my living corpse while it simply acted on its own accord. I was tumbling down a dark well of my own psyche, and yet I still licked her like a pitiful dog. Then I sudden felt everything at once.

The flesh of her thighs, so farm and voluminous between my cold hands; her underbelly soft and bountiful against my forehead that was coaxed in the sticky, hot sweat of her and myself; the scent and taste of rubbery sex that was an overflowing spring of feminine honey; the fairness of her skin that was oddly more pronounced in the shadows of the room; and the heat. The heat was wafting and swirling about the paleness of my skin, while its stagnation collected itself liquidly between the pits of my arms, the forehead, and the region between my thighs, dripping in beads down areas that were not too pleasant.

Although, all of forgotten by a blaze that was intensely flashed across my body, like harsh waves of an unbridaled storm. It was a sharp fire that first burned from my sex, but soon ran and licked its way up my body. Up to the web of my mind, where it fluttered as scolding knives, cutting through and laying siege to my mind.

It was a liquid fire of climax that I had grown so foreign to due to my cold, inhuman, guilt-driven abstinence. My miscoloured eyes rolled to the back of my skull, my head thrown back, my form curved as if I were about to fall. My tongue uncurled to my chin. The sweat dripping down my angular visage and my pointed cheekbones. It was a release from steel chains that I forged myself. It was the feeling I could be myself, in virtue and in sin, once more.

Nevertheless, that feeling of freedom was stolen away and torment replaced it. The fire shifted to needles that pierced deeply from within, digging desperately to escape from myself. My body violently shook, as if the demon I had thought to possess Michelle had burrowed itself into me, manifesting from the internal needling wounds.

I was not in control of myself, but I was not falling deep into my harrowing chasm. It felt as if I was pressed against a glass pane, mere inches from control, but close enough to feel the other controlling.

The needles of fire then shot out from my skin, where the gashes flowed crimson in excruciating pain in unkind frozen fires. The needles spread across the darkening room, where they set the black walls ablaze. Thick, heat orange and yellow fingers were waving tauntingly at me. Taunting me that I could not run. I could not dare to even conceive of fighting.

I fell on the ground where I squirmed in a horrifyingly violently fashion, where agony was spewing out of me. I saw the gashes opening up, taking the wound-like shape of the vagina. Eyes bubbled up in the gaping holes. Dark blue, oceanic eyes that were unfixed, as if they were tortured from my physical mania, coursing through my pale flesh and faint blue veins. The ocean eyes were screaming wordlessly, pleading to some sense of comfort, even if the only solution was death.

The angelic balloon was no help to me. I do not know how, but I managed to see the horror-stricken image of her body, with its dome-like belly - taking on a more inflated guised, similar to someone bloomed in pregnancy - pointed upwards to the blazing ceiling. I saw her head and limbs fell ragdoll-like as she was lightly bobbing up and down on the ceiling. Her golden hair had fallen like a drawn curtain, and her once beautiful, small detailed visage was blank, as if they were robbed by some thief who was in lust for riches. Where her eyes had rested there were only dark holes of the deceased.

Her eyes were those of the scars, that tore across me, and they were opening wider and wider, still in spasm from pain. As they bloomed like unwanted weeds in the summer, I was suffocating, shaking in the grey, ashen taste of the smouldering smoke and in the fires of my submission to my selfish animalistic desires, of which I had pulled the illusion over my eyes I had evolved beyond that. I was terribly mistaken.

Taking my final breaths, the sound of the Devil's sinister cackling rang through my ears from the intense heat of the flames. It engulfed me in tragic shadows as I transcended to an unfathomable realm of nothing, of which memory only be my name.

Though, I heard my name being called from that nothing, as if memory was a substance to be harvested from nothing. It was a gentle, kind voice, like a lighthouse to travellers aboard an unkind passage of seething foam and unbiased winds that would sweep away those uncautious and unskilled. Like a ship, I followed the voice across the waters of nothing, where I found myself back in the living room of Michelle. I was unscathed, as was she. To see the fair, small features, like her soft rose smile and her round, oceanic eyes, sparkling in kindness; her lengthy, golden hair that shimmered in the light; and her shapely - unbloated figure was beyond a pleasant sight to see. It was like seeing a friend skip away from hospital to see that they were doing just splendidly.

Her eyebrows were brushed in a slight furrow, as if in concerning question. She still held the thin-neck of her glass of wine, as if it had never broken.

"Shadow?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

Earnestly, my head was swimming and my heart was hammering in my throat. Though I responded in a sketched smile, weighted down at the corners, and a slight nod of the head.

She did not press the question. Instead, her expression relaxed and she took a sip of wine.

"So, your brother?" she asked. "What's he like?"

The rest of the night passed uneventfully in contrast to my episode of fantasia that had transpired in the fragile depths of my glass-like mind. We spoke about our family and schooling, laughing about the two a fair bit.

However, from our social interaction and the glasses of wine we imbibed over the course of the evening together, the illusion of her angelic beauty faded, and I started to see her as a kind and lovely woman. Quick witted, light-hearted and funny. She was also a university gal that was studying sociology, as I was beginning my devotion to psychology.

Regardless, she was just Michelle, and I was happy to have just Michelle as a friend.

When we said goodbye to each other, we embraced each other and I made my way back to my apartment. Nevertheless, I pondered on my sexual-induced episode of fantasia, and I did lay down myself to self-indulgence, on that night, where images of swollen midriffs were bobbing about in my mind.