Torture Me.
Prologue.
I liked it best when he was dressed as a woman, the pale powder that covered his face contrasted beautifully with the deep blue of his lips. I liked the way the make up smudged, black and blue merging together, his sweat mixing the colour and the hue into the colour of a fresh bruise, hiding the collection of bruises that decorated his features. Then, when we were together, red mixed with the blue, primary colours merging in the darkness of a cheap hotel room, creating something beautiful for a few minutes before separating once the money had been handed over.
Dressed like that, he was unrecognisable. He was no longer the man I spent nearly every day with, yearning for his touch every second of every minute of every hour. He could be who I wanted him to be. Dressed like that, he smelt of powder and some kind of floral perfume, not the stench of some random guy he’d picked up somewhere obscure, not the scent of sweat and cigarettes – or worse, some kind of strange drug he’d been forced into taking. With me, he smelt clean and fresh, a fragrance so pure you could almost forget about the dirty sinful life he led and the shit you were getting yourself into.
I liked to think he made a special effort when I was his client.
I liked it best when he was dressed as a woman, not because his face needed hiding with a mask of thick face paint, making him look like a modern day geisha, but because it made me feel like I was less disgusting. It was bad enough falling for him without the added indecency of paying for his love. But, it was him I wanted, only him, and he came at a price.
Dressed like that, he was unrecognisable. He was no longer the man I spent nearly every day with, yearning for his touch every second of every minute of every hour. He could be who I wanted him to be. Dressed like that, he smelt of powder and some kind of floral perfume, not the stench of some random guy he’d picked up somewhere obscure, not the scent of sweat and cigarettes – or worse, some kind of strange drug he’d been forced into taking. With me, he smelt clean and fresh, a fragrance so pure you could almost forget about the dirty sinful life he led and the shit you were getting yourself into.
I liked to think he made a special effort when I was his client.
I liked it best when he was dressed as a woman, not because his face needed hiding with a mask of thick face paint, making him look like a modern day geisha, but because it made me feel like I was less disgusting. It was bad enough falling for him without the added indecency of paying for his love. But, it was him I wanted, only him, and he came at a price.