Complex Sugar

Fiction| Two Lovers Dance In The Forest

We dance to the chanting of the Macha Man and his drums; his voice is a complex sugar binding our waistlines together. Anyone who is not inside the circle singing is bouncing their bodies together. It is a lusty ancient thing, this dance. It is a necessary thing this dance.

You wrap your hands around my midsection and squeeze. We continue bouncing sideways never missing a beat. Step step collide. A messy, sweaty, ravenous thing comes alive. Do you hear it slithering between the legs of the dancing couples. It hisses. We howl. I feel you growing tense behind me, quaking, so close to exploding from the tension that has been building up since the moon opened its jaws above the forest trees. I am quaking too.

The Macha Man howls. He howls again. It smells of sweat, of amber, of moist tongues smacking, of incense. We howl back. First, into the circle, then, up at the sky, necks arched sensually praising the point of light in the darkness.

We howl for love and sacrifice. Then we howl at each other.

We have been dancing for hours. I have yet to see your face. Yet, I have grown to know you. Blindfolded I would know you by the smell of your sweat. I would know you by the feel of the calluses that adorn the inside of your palm. They know me so intimately. They have mapped my curves as the moon maps the sky. I would know you by the sound of soil displaced by your feet. It has been tattooed into my mind now. Even the drums could not distract me.

I want to know if you would know me these ways too. I think you might. I see it in the way your eyes lick across my skin in the dim moonlight. I feel it in the way your heart races faster now that I am facing you than when my back was pressed against your broad chest.

Listen. Do you hear the hissing of the ravenous thing? It says, “This is your lover, mount him.” I cackle because we knew how this would end. Are you terrified or excited to feel my skin wrapped around you, constricting? I wonder if you will pant, a heady pant, harder than you did around the circle to the rhythm of the drums.

In the dirt on your back does my face become the moon or an eclipse? I want to tell you there is no need to tremble. I open my mouth, but the only thing that escapes is the sound of drums--the scent of domination. You buck. I buck back. You open your mouth and the only thing that escapes is the sound of your heart racing faster. It smells like pleasure.

The sweat on your chest feels nice beneath my palms. The sweat of your back smells sweet mixed with damp soil. The scent of you underneath me makes me feel like a spring forced down down down under the pressure of expectation of all the other bodies coupled, working, hissing.

Tradition can feel nice sometimes when you are the one on top. I want to ask you if it feels that way too on the bottom.

Your eyes roll back into your head. Your jaw cranks open. I hear your heart racing so fast even the drums cannot keep up. Macha man and his complex sugar sound is only shrieking one loud note that is building, building, building. The ravenous thing has grown large--has wrapped its velvety body around us all. My god, I feel it on my back, around my throat, wrapped around my thighs. It scares me, the power of this thing, but it makes me feel powerful too. So I buck again. You arch, vibrate so intensely that the soil around you starts to shake. I look away from your face for the first time since I looked upon it and I see all around us a shivering of soil and arching of backs. Then I smell it, the scent of blood. I look down at you in fear, in horror, in disbelief, but also a sick kind of pleasure.

Oh, you are coming apart for me.

It was always about you coming apart for me. I remind myself it was by choice. Even as the skin between your chest starts to separate with a nasty tearing sound, you are smiling a demented smile up at the moon, or me, or the feeling of me above you. I push my hands against the sweaty skin and moan. You gargle a delirious pleased gargle as you continue to separate. Then, I finally see it, the thing this was all about, thumping. THUMP THUMPING. You groan. I howl. You explode, but the thing still thumps.

I am squatting over your corpse covered in pieces of you. It is disgustingly luxurious to have had the pleasure of knowing you.

To have the pleasure of being covered by the insides of you. I can only lean over in genuflection and press my lips on your heart.

We knew how this would end. It is a sweet sticky thing love and sacrifice.

---

*I’ve set up a “buy me a coffee” page, so if you’re not quite ready to become a paid subscriber but want to spare a little coin, you can do so here!*

I really enjoyed writing this, in case you couldn’t tell. Not much else to say besides I hope you enjoyed it and the voiceover! Hehe.

TELL ME:
Is there a line that made me sweat? What line/lines were your favorite? How did you leave this story feeling? Thinking? What would you have liked to see more of? What questions did you still have, if any, at the stories conclusion?

For all of you who have already subscribed, thanks so much!! For those of you who haven’t subscribed yet, it’s never too late to join my smart and funny subscribers, The Freaks & Geeks!

Read some of my other pieces here: