The Locksmith

The Locksmith settled back on his knees, sweat pooling along his collarbone and tracing lines along the swollen muscles in his back. His breathing began to slow, a soft pleasured smile tracing over his handsome face. The muscles and sinews in his hips and abdominals tightened as he leaned against them, rolling his neck from side to side. After the moment of calming ecstasy passed, of simply breathing the crisp evening air, he gazed back down over the figure modeled among the pink moonlit sheets.

In the nude the princess's form was most heavily accentuated. She had a fixed smiled of provocation. Her eyes glowed a lapis lazuli blue and her hair shone golden in the meek light. He leaned forward, placing weight on one hand and brushing a bead of sweat from her chin. She arched her neck, allowing his finger to trace along her neck and down to her navel. She moaned, eyes closing in calm sedation.

"Darling?" The Locksmith asked. She only continued to smile, knees pulling up slowly. He splayed her legs and lay on top of her, displacing his girth on his elbows away from her fragile form. Her gaze locked out the window on the full moon before returning to him with a flash. He kissed her, softly at first but with increasing passion. His hand swept down her body, sating his lust in the brush of her breasts and hips.

The passion bulged and he took her again, breathing quickly into her ear with every rhythmic thrust. The close touch of cheek on cheek yanked his adrenaline into overdrive. Amidst the vigor he held her with profound delicacy, the touch of true love. The pace went from slow to fast, climaxing quickly. His eyes glazed as his addiction found its release in her for the second time that night. His body trembled and cracked with the exertion and pleasure of the moment.

He rolled from her, head sinking into the pillows by the headrest. Her legs lowered, crossing and rubbing. That easy grin, still plastered to her face, twinkled at him. Reaching over he grasped her hip and rolled her onto her side and into a tight embrace. Her eyes, oasis of love, burned back into him. His fingers brushed aside a stray strand of hair from between them. "Darling? How are you?" The Locksmith whispered again. Her grin somehow broadened, but her voice trembled as she spoke. "Don't." He struggled back to his knees. "Don't what?" he asked, waggling his tongue, fingers tracing a line along her inner thigh. Still with that impeccable grin glued fiercely on, her head rolled nervelessly to the right, falling out of the bubbling moon light. As he gazed out the window her features changed.

Her figure, before curvaceous and sensual, lay fixed to the sheets without the cold, straight lines of youth. Her hair was a short, glossy brown. Her eyes were a dull blue - an overcast sky on the eve of a storm. Her arms and ankles were small and soured with bruises. Her smile, before so stable and endearing, was gone. Her lips were tight and cracked - they spoke the words she could not say, displayed the emotions she could not express.

She was not a woman cloaked in the assurance of her femininity. She was nothing more than an young girl, stripped of her clothing and pride. She was, for she displayed, his disease. She no longer welcomed the moonlight but hated it; she abhorred how it watched her and did nothing. To be seen and not noticed sickened her. They were not beads of sweat that wet her face but steady tears. Tears of pain, of misery, of humiliation soaked the pillows. Even now they flowed freely from her eyes. Between her legs, as she rubbed her thighs, she felt the blood pooling and soaking into the sheets. The pain crowded her mind, but she was miles away.

The Locksmith smiled at her, as with the palm of his hand he held her cheek and rolled her back into the moonlight. He saw her and to the surface of his being rose the intoxicating lust of men, for she was his perfection.

The real monster of men is the human, with human desires in human society, whose bohemian nature is never evident and only perverse a single of worst ways. The princess reappears for us all, reminding us that sadness is sadness, that happiness is happiness, and that ecstasy, reward by nature to the Self, is ecstasy, no matter if derived from the princess or the disease.

The princess, the beautiful blonde, reappeared. Her wooden smile lay fixed in place, her pining eyes were sowed to her face once more. The Locksmith returned the smile with a kiss upon her forehead. On each eye, on her button nose, on her full lips. She was his perfection. His lust was entirely human - powerful, intoxicating - and as the heat grew for her, the princess trembled in anticipation of him again. Her slight movement sparked his arousal and with a gasp of relish, he moved into her once more.