You know, it's funny how stuff goes through your head sometimes. I don't mean
normal stuff like 'Time to get up' or 'I'm hungry' or 'Gee, looks like it's up
to just little old me to save the world *again*!'. I mean like weird stuff;
stuff that seems really simple and you never bother to think about until you see
one little thing and suddenly realise that maybe it isn't that simple after all
because no one *really* seems to know the answer, and before you know it your
mind is whirring away on the problem like it was the Rosetta fucking Stone. Like
why blondes never have to worry about going grey as they get older, oh no; they
just go 'ash' whilst brunettes like yours truly have to fret about whether to go
natural or outrageous and check every mirror to see if their roots are showing.
Or what is it that decides whether a person has curly hair or not - I mean I
*know* it's programmed into your genes but how come sometimes people with waves
suddenly get mysterious little curly ones appearing in the mix? Is that a
genetic fluke or simply part of the program?
Of course the moment you catch yourself doing this you begin to wonder why
the hell you're thinking about stuff like that, which just sets your mind off
*again* as you run through all the possibilities. And soon you're stuck in this
big, nasty, repeating loop; unable to go forward, unable to go back; trapped in
that one narrow little groove simply by thinking about thinking about thinking
about thinking.
Oh God, I think I'm losing it.
I mean, there can't be any other explanation, can there? Here I am,
vampire slayer, action girl and all-round bad ass, tying myself in mental knots
over some stupid piece of Zen instead of getting on with the daily 5 to 9 grind
of killing demons and making the world a safer place for Mom, Pop, and Jon-Boy
too. I *have* to be going crazy, or maybe I'm possessed, or perhaps I've got
some sort of bug that's keeping me from thinking straight for five minutes at a
time.
Or perhaps I'm just trying to distract myself from the fact that I'm
currently lying naked in bed with my face buried between the thighs of my
probably-after-last-night's-events-ex-girlfriend's mother.
I think I'm leaning towards the 'losing it' option.
I tried to get away this morning, I really did! After all, it's not like
I've not done anything like that before, and she told me last night I had to
leave early. So there I was, already dressed and about to head out of the door
when she had to say that one little word.
"Faith."
Just like that, very quietly.
"Faith."
And stupid me just *had* to turn round in time to see her looking at me in
that shy-but-inviting way that she shares with her daughter.
And suddenly leaving was not an option.
So here I am, lying between Joyce's thighs, using my tongue in ways that
nice girls aren't supposed to even know about, let alone put into practice. And
from the gentle symphonies of sighs and moans she's making I guess I'm
having an effect. Which is quite frankly a relief since, leaving aside the
wicked intense Freudian issues for a moment, my neck's starting to crick, and
besides I've never been too good at oral sex etiquette when thing's go
wrong. I mean, what do you do if nothing's happening; do you ask your partner
for advice, do you just say nothing and keep going, are you allowed to just
stand up and say 'I quit!' or maybe just nip out to get something to help the
situation.
I'm doing it again!
Since there's nothing else for it I grit my teeth (metaphorically
speaking) and persevere, and minutes later I'm the winner of the orgasm cup.
Which kind of gives me a happy, until I realise that the moment the endorphin
rush
wears off she'll want to snuggle, or maybe even talk, and then the trouble will
really begin.
(Perhaps if I just keep going and hope she passes out with pleasure.
Nah, that one never works.)
Gently I slide my way up her body, then try not to stiffen as she wraps
her arm around my torso and starts to stroke her fingers across my breast. It's
not like it feels bad or anything; in fact it feels pretty damn good, and
that's part of the problem. Especially since it reminds me of how Buffy used to
do something similar, and the moment *that* thought enters my head my mind is
off on yet another whirlwind round of 'Let's Avoid Dealing With What 's
Happening Here.' and I start to wonder if things could get any worse.
And then she opens her mouth.
"Where *did* you learn to *do* things like that?"
In a flash a thousand and one unsuitable replies rush through my mind, but
I manage to restrain myself from letting any of them out, choosing instead to
settle on the fairly neutral
"Here and there."
And
"I've been around a bit."
She responds to this with a disturbingly sexy chuckle.
"In that case, I just hope you're around a bit more so I can learn
some of those things too."
"Uh-huh," I reply as I desperately try to distract myself from
the down low tingles her touch is starting to give me.
Calm blue oceans, calm blue oceans, warm gentle fingertips - no! - calm blue
oceans.
"You know."
I feel her weight moving slightly more on top of me - damn, this woman's
persistent!
".I can't begin to tell you how good you made me feel last night,
Faith."
"Well, uh, you did most of the work Mrs S."
Yeah, I know, trite as fuck, but those fingers are *really* getting to me
now.
"Maybe," Another sexy chuckle and, uh-oh, I can feel myself
melting! "But it wouldn't have been the same without you."
"I bet you say that to all the girls,"
(Oh shit, was that a purr? Ohshitohshitohshit, I've started flirting!)
She just smiles.
"That's as maybe," she replies, and did I mention she can do
demure *and* sexy? Or more importantly, how much I like it? "But I'm sure
we all have our lines, Faith." And her fingers, *damn* her fucking fingers,
how can she know how to *touch* me like that? "So, what's yours?"
I smile dangerously
"Think you can handle me, B?"
The moment the words are out of my mouth I feel her stiffen.
"What did you say?"
Now she's above me, staring down with a fire in her eyes that has
*nothing* to do with lust any more.
"Are you implying that you slept with my little girl?"
OK, there are several ways I can handle this. I can lie; pretend that it
was just part of the line; and with a little bit of charm and gentle persuasion
make her forget that I ever said it. I can be honest, which means dragging
myself through all kinds of shit for the sake of clearing the air, but will win
me kudos and the warm happiness of knowing that I'm doing the Right Thing.
Or I can just do what I always do and fuck things up totally for all
concerned.
"Oh, sure, me and B fucked a few times Mrs S."
Her face darkens and I know my words have drawn blood, but that doesn't
stop me from carrying on.
"Well I say 'fucked', it wasn't really much more than tongue play;
she's so *vanilla* that daughter of yours. Hardly warrants the hot and easy
reputation she's got amongst the football team; at least, not the hot part
at any rate."
Now there are tears forming and I would swear that her eyes are pleading
with me to stop, if it wasn't for the way that her lips are pursing in anger,
and that just makes me worse.
"Now you, Mrs S., you're another matter all together. Going down to
waterfront bars to pick up young women, get them drunk, and take them home to be
fisted within an inch of their lives. that takes guts! Too bad it's such a grody
thing to do, but then I suppose when you can't hook up with anyone *normal* you
take what you can get. Like mother like daughter I guess."
The slap comes so quickly that I don't have time to block it, but it
doesn't really hurt. Instead I smile, a soft, sensuous, real slow-burner of a
smile because with that one blow she's told me that I've won. I've got her to a
place where she doesn't know whether to kiss me or kill me and she hates herself
for even *thinking* about either. And it's *me* that's done this, not God or
demons but little old never-been-loved wham-bam-fuck you Ma'am Faith! I'm top of
world ma, queen of the heap, and I'm loving every minute of what I'm doing
because as a good friend once told me if you can't fuck with their bodies, fuck
with their minds!
"Why Mrs S.," I purr, my eyes smouldering with unfeigned
delight. "I'm as into rough play as you are, but don't you think we should
agree on a safety word first?"
That's done it. The colour drains from her cheeks and its clear from the
way her eyes narrow into slits that once again I've gone too far. For a moment I
wonder if she'll decide that maybe killing me might not be such a bad idea after
all, but instead she just draws the bedclothes around her and turns her back to
me, murmuring in a dead tone of voice:
"I think you should leave now."
I shrug suggestively.
"Your choice."
Gently I slide out of bed to dress; taking my time to put on my clothes so
that she can get a really good look at what she wants but won't let herself
have.
"But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
I fluff my hair out real nice.
"After all, I don't think you'll find too many who'll let you do
*that* to them on a first date."
Then I smirk.
"Not without paying at any rate."
"I said GET OUT!"
The ornament bounces off the doorframe with a thud but it's too late for
that, I'm long gone; down the hall and out the door, revelling in the fact that
the winner and still undisputed champion of Destroying People Emotionally is
Faith, the vampire slayer!
Sometimes I make myself sick.
Once I'm outside I don't waste any time in getting back to my motel as
fast as my soul-destroying legs will carry me. The realisation of what I've just
done is starting to catch up with me, but I know from past experience that
if I get a good enough head start it won't stay with me for long. Just a few
more empty nights crying myself to sleep and then I can get back to what I do
best.
OK, second best.
When I get there I start packing quickly, pushing myself past the sickness
in my bones that only the heroin addict and the truly monstrous can fully
understand. There's nothing else to keep me in this one Hellmouth town, I've
seen to that now, and in some ways I'm glad. They're better off without me, and
at least by focussing their hatred on me they can save themselves some pain,
which must win me something, mustn't it? Even if it doesn't I'm past
all that now; moving onwards and upwards away from my shit and as long as there
isn't a knock on the door...
There's a knock on my door.
Before I can stop myself I fling the fucker wide open, and suddenly
everything I've done in the last 24 hours comes thundering home to me in the
form of the tanned, blonde young woman standing nervously on my doorstep.
"Hi." says Buffy "Um, about last night. We really need to
talk."
This is *so* fucked up!
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