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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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The
Pullover Chapter 25 |
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| Chapter
25
I was in darkness and hurt. I have no idea how long I was in darkness; I often slept. The only breaks to the silence were mechanical noises (the furnace, I know now), and distant sounds that could have been anything. Place an empty can over your ear and you'll hear them. Pops, throbs, the sound of eyelashes meeting. And outside the sounds of the body perhaps an intimation of the mechanism of the universe — slow wheels, a bellows pumping, the crackle of a star being created or dying. I woke and someone was with me. "Charlie?" "Dot?" "How are you doing?" I couldn't tell where she was, how far away or close. I knew she wasn't sitting on the cot with me. "Am I blind?" "It's dark here. That's the way it has to be, Charlie." Her voice became urgent, "None of us expected to have to bring you here just yet and certainly not this way. But we did and you're safe for now." "Where am I?" "I can't say. I only have a few minutes. I'm going. I'm supposed to thank you and I guess I do, even if nothing came out right." "Thank me for what?" I lay on my back on the cot and stared at nothing. It's amazing how many colors darkness has once you've lived in it long enough. How many colors and shapes. "Dot?" "I'm here." She moved and I could tell she wasn't that close. I sat up, stood and moved toward the sound of her voice. "You can't come here, Charlie." I banged into a metal grill, thick metal bars. "Where am I?" "Charlie, you're where you belong. Trust me. You're where you were always going to be one day." "Am I crazy? Where am I?" "Annie's left town. She's going south to New Orleans. I'm leaving in a few minutes but I'm not to tell you where I'm going. Elizabeth is in Chicago and Annie will be in New Orleans, for a while at least, if you want to find them. Mom and Dad are okay. The house is paid off and there's a little money in the bank. They have the car, too, now. You can't remain in town if you ever decide to not stay here." I sat on the floor because I was dizzy. My head pressed against the bars. "What's happening?" "You'll find out, Charlie. Just don't do anything stupid, okay?" I could hear her move way in the dark. "We all love you." I heard a door close. Nothing made sense. Nothing at all. Who was we? Where was I? Who was I? I eventually go up and returned to my cot. I was naked; it was too cool to be away from the light covers for long. Who was I? Is a person what they do or what is done to them? If so, I no longer existed. Is a person the thoughts in their head? If so, I was a string of memories and nothing else. I was surprised at how strong my memories of Annie were. Before, it was easiest to remember her most recent whipping, a degrading comment, or how I felt when she touched me. But now what I remembered was the best cunt east of the Mississippi and her pale-eyed stare. They were mixed up with Elizabeth who I was beginning to realize left me long before she went to Chicago. My memories of her warmth, her skin and her every dedication to my treatments were overlaid by more recent events. I wondered, and wonder still, what part Nel would have had. Was Annie eventually to have been supplanted by Nel and would Nel have been supplanted by another? I was beginning to understand a little better Sally's sadness. She was a bystander only and knew it, able to watch, but not be a signpost in my life. I've never been told about Nel's place in the scheme of things, but I suspect it was important. Food was slid through a small flap in the wall. Sometimes I'd wake to the sound of the flap closing. Sometimes I'd hear the food arrive. The meals were nourishing, not fancy, and not what I would have chosen on my own. There was a toilet in a corner of the small room, three walls and the cell door. It was impossible to clean myself — there was no water or towels. I grew accustomed to the sensation. There was precious little to do except remember. For some reason my cock never grew hard in spite of my memories. I'd been in an increasingly sexualized universe and was abruptly thrust out. Memories and boredom couldn't resurrect my lost existence. How many days? I didn't try to count. I had no ways to count the days. My solitude came to an end and my life began, totally; all that had gone before was just an attempt to live, a shadow or mimicking of true life. My life began with the sound of a door opening and footsteps. I could hear the rustle of cloth. A chair scraped and silence enfolded me again. They moved with surety in the darkness; I had to feel about and bump into things. There was no sound and after some time I asked, "Who is it?" There was no answer. After a bit the chair scraped and they left me. The door closed and I was utterly alone. I anticipated the next visit with excitement. Surely they'd come again. Perhaps we'd talk. Perhaps they'd turn on a light. Perhaps I could leave. When they did come again, a day later? I have no way of knowing, I stood at the cell door and watched in the direction I thought they were. They sat in silence and eventually left. I stood holding the bars; the cold metal pressed into my skin and against my erection. I dared not touch myself and break the spell. Memory still existed but it was overlaid with eager anticipation. Day after day the visitor sat; day after day I pressed myself against my bars. A week, two weeks, I'll never know, after the first visit, the person spoke and a thrill went down my spine and I almost said her name. "Perhaps you remember this passage from The Charterhouse of Parma, when Clélia speaks to Fabrizio at night because she could never look on his face. Listen: "It is I who have come here to tell you I love you, and to ask if you are willing to obey me." I tried to speak. "Silence." She got up and approached me. So close I could smell her. "The only word you may say is either yes or no. A word more and you'll be cast out." She was quiet. I held my bars and pressed against them not thinking of her possible reaction to my nakedness or my state. "Yes or no. If no, you will be taken from here, north or south as you decide. My sister awaits you in New Orleans. Elizabeth awaits you in Chicago. Or not. There are no promises, life is fickle and you have grown used to expecting too much. "If yes," she stopped. "There are no promises there either. Life is fickle and you have grown used to expecting too much. There will be darkness and silence and unlike Clélia and Fabrizio our love will not." She stopped. "Is this bearable for you? You may answer." "Yes." "Only this? Nothing more? Ever?" "I'm not sure." She stepped closer; I felt her fingers on my face. "Dear child." Her hand struck my cock. I jumped back from the cell door. "Our love will not take the avenues you are accustomed to. Come here." I approached the cell door slowly. "Closer." I pressed against the cell door, found tears running down my cheeks. We both were quiet; eventually she went back to her chair. "You may not speak again except to say yes or no. Don't answer now." Her scent lingered for minutes before slowly becoming a memory. "It would be all too easy for me to devour you, leave only a husk, pliant to my will, but I want more. It would be easy to fall sway to your very visible allure, give in utterly, pliant to your will, but I want more. If you say yes, we'll try a third way which may destroy either or both of us. If you say no we are saved. Me to continue to live a mediocre life. You to squander yourself." She stood. "Answer me tomorrow." "Yes," I said. She rushed to the cage, reached through the gate and pulled my face into the bars. "I require absolute obedience." She pulled harder and the bars ground into my forehead. "Obedience." She let go. "I could kill you. Are you willing to give up all hope and desire?" She walked away, shut the door. I sat on the cot, my head in my hands. I had no hope or desire to sacrifice. I was empty, nothing. The next day the door opened, she sat in the chair. I waited for her to speak. When she didn't, I waited for some sign. It felt like hours. I was pressed against the cell door, my cock like a lodestone pointing to the most important degree of its compass. She sighed, stood and walked away. "Yes," I said. She stopped, said, "I hope that in all the ways I act, my love for you is always evident." She closed the door behind her. I held the cell bars until I could stand no longer. I sat on my cot and waited. The
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