it had been strange and bitter, so this is what we are like, she
thought, as her mouth tasted the salty sweet taste of the other
womans cunt, no, too painful, too strange, too close to something
buried too long ago.
she had refused a second time, squirming, looking embarrassed
and humiliated, he had liked that.
then one night he had spread her out naked on his bed. he spread
her legs as far apart as they could go. he tied her wrists to the bedposts. another man entered and sat on a chair at the foot of the bed.
whatever this was had been planned, choreographed, between them,
she did not know.
the second man was big, his arms laden with muscles, a square
face, athletic, all loincloth and sweat.
her lover fingered her cunt slowly, dispassionately, he was grinning. surprise, Ive taken you by surprise, the second man watched, she was red with shame, they both liked that.
then her lover mounted her and the second man mounted him
from behind, then her lover fucked her and the second man fucked
him. this double man on top of her, heaving, the weight of that cock
inside her driven by this double weight, this two headed, two assed
man on top of her, like a mountain, volcanic, erupting, on and on,
fucking and fucking, the sweat and the weight, drowning her in lava
and ash.
then, she began to swell, then, he did not want her anymore, only the
inside of that swelling, only if it were a son.
she had made her peace with this humiliation, not then, years
before, so long ago that she could not remember, so long ago that it
did not matter anymore.
still, sometimes it was hard to breathe, and saliva choked in her
throat, sometimes a kind of redhot shame swelled with the swelling,
then she would remember, this is life, remember, this is life, dont go
down, dont go under.
she would go with this man who had impregnated her to see the
man they both loved, she was in his life now. for that she would have
done anything, even this.
around her 6th month, this man whose son she was carrying began
to find her repulsive, he could not look at her or touch her hand or
see her naked without repulsion, at the theatre, at parties, at dinner,
he would look through her, call her parasite or whore, his pride was
in her size, he had done that, those were his fruits she would bear, he
encouraged his male lovers to touch the swelling.
sometime during the 8th month, early on, she was slit in the middle, a knife to the abdomen.
his head rose up from the bloody mess, indistinguishable from her
own inner slime, this was
her 40th birthday came and went.
he was named after the writers father but they called him Che. she
was a queen, the mother of this boy, rich, safe, her place secure.
drugged insensible, shaved, cleaned, she had been slit down the
middle to remove this prize from her innards where he was tangled,
