BAPTISM - jan windle


jan windle

Drowning… held in an insect grip against the hard carapace of his narrow chest. Torrent from above smothering, invading her ears, eyes, mouth, flowing through the channels of her head, like a culvert, diverting the flood from the showerhead, making a cascade that bounces back off her shoulders into her bubbling mouth, on to the tiled floor. She’s fighting for breath, breathing water, cannot disengage, he’s washing her, soaping her shoulders, her back, holding her against his hardness, his rising excitement, raising her up to meet his erection, but she’s drowning, fighting, cannot give herself, dare not, dare not. He is strong. Raises her to his hips, settles her there, and still the water pours, crashes in her ears, while he smoothes her rat-tailed hair, croons to her, kisses her and takes her easily, wedges her back against the porcelain shelf, as she gasps through bubbling lips that cannot say to him “Stop! Stop! I’m drowning!” and despite her fear she is possessed by desire for him through the violent baptism he has exacted.

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