A Confession of A Suicidal Whore

[miyako73]

I


"In God's grace, my child, tell me what brought you here."


The alarm I set for mid-afternoon did not sound off. I overslept. The Summer sun had already shied away to settle in the Northwest when I woke up with a wide smile on my slightly swollen face. It felt like a long-awaited drizzle of monsoon just wet a dry earth. The drought, my deprivation, was over.

Joy had filled me immensely after weeks of longing for an exploding love to explore my parched body. He was Rahul, who made love like the dexterous lover I imagine every time I read Kama Sutra. His looks must be from a lineage of Hindu gods and Maharajas. His hard, muscular body bulged like a perfect sculpture of David in bronze. He belonged to the classic tall, dark, and handsome category I use to group men. His sex appeal hypnotized not just my gaze. His body, his skin exuded a musky scent, the sensual aroma I seldom smell on a man. With few words, he spoke with confidence like a sure minimalist poet. His mind perfectly complemented mine. Rahul was my perfect man, my erotic dream, my kind of fun.

I went to a trendy club here in the windy city around two in the morning. They close at five on weekends. I always go to this club for after-hours partying because most of the people running the entrance are my friends. I don't queue in line, nor do I pay for anything except my cigarettes. It is the same club where I got and tried ecstasy before. The music is always new, loud, and good. Hot, fashionable people go there for drugs, booze, and yes, wild sex.

With a newly lit cigarette in my hand, I was enjoying my Pinot Grigio and swaying my hips to some techno when Rahul approached me. He asked for a light. I later found out he had a Cartier lighter in his pocket. What a pick up! He smoked Benson and Hedges and dranked a vodka cocktail from a tall glass without a napkin wrapping it and without a straw. He did not sip his drink. What a display of masculinity!

He still looked like a male model in his subdued club getup that made him more boyish. He was a perfect example of a metrosexual, a rare male human specie whose idea of cosmopolitan is to belong to one's self. I did never know a hot man like Rahul could ever come from India. He indeed gave me a lesson on race, culture, male hotness, and sex appeal.

Around four, the dance floor seemed bare and empty. Rahul invited me to his hotel. He promised wine and an intelligent chat. I could not refuse such an offer from a nice, handsome guy I seldom meet in my adventurous life. Besides, his education intrigued me. When I’m in bed with someone articulate, the best part is always the conversation either before or after sex.

While we were in his rented car, I told him the truth about myself. “I’m a virgin,” I declared, “but I know a lot about men and sex.”

“I’m not,” he said, “but I’m not a sex addict either.”

His honesty surprised me. “A good-looking guy like you should be sleeping around.”

“Fortunately for me, I have no time for that.” He sounded aware of STD’s.

We kissed before we drove off and kissed passionately again and again at every traffic stop. His mouth did not taste like curry, nor did it smell like onion from his last meal. I got my stereotype about him wrong again.

His lips felt soft. They settled on mine lazily. Their weight matched the graceful force of my fingertip. Their pout was sensual. They reminded me of a puffy naan bread I had before. They were delicious. I could not have enough of Rahul's lips and kisses. His tongue was not brutally lustful. It entered my mouth and touched my tongue like they were meant to meet. There was no haste in his kissing. His lips expressed his unbridled sexual desire as if he was in meditation. His eyes closed like he savored the moment and would never forget it. His teeth played my lips in a controlled lust to bite. Every move of his mouth was erotic.

By the time we reached his classy hotel, my lips looked slightly swollen and red in the lit passenger's mirror. I took my lipstick out and retouched my lips. I added pink to lighten the obvious traces of Rahul's kisses and desire.

[Delta40]

Miyako, you're writing in the present tense here:

... the dexterous lover I imagine when I read Kama Sutra. His looks must be from a lineage of Hindu gods and Maharajas.

I always go to this club for after-hours partying because most of the people running the entrance are my friends. I don't queue in line, nor do I pay for anything except my cigarettes.

I only point this out because it is noticeable according to the rest of your writing which is in the past tense.

An interesting beginning to an interesting title...

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

I think you'd do well to cut back on the metaphors a bit . . . or a lot; they're pretty tortured. "I felt like I was a dry earth wet by a long-awaited monsoon drizzle" had me rolling my eyes, and it was only the fourth sentence.

[ShadowsCool]

I think you did a rather dab job of it. The details were concise and I could see the scenes in my head. I would cut back on some of the earlier metaphors a bit like Mutatis said, but I thought it was rather good.

[miyako73]

Thanks, guys, for reading. This is a work in progress. I don't know yet what's next.

Delta, I think a habitual or factual statement should be in present tense.

Mutatis and shadow, I have a dilemma in this writing project. Without metaphors, it will be a blatantly pornographic piece of writing. Maybe I need to revise the statement you pointed out.

[Delta40]

I disagree Miyako but it's your writing. Frankly, it puts me off reading any further when present and past tense are in constant use, unless it is for a specific purpose - such as a shift in timeframe.

[michaelsbearre]

I'm sorry Miyako, but I'm gonna have to use experience on this one and side with Delta. Present tense should never be in the same thought as past tense. They should be broken up by scenes because of the train of thought the writer creates. HOWEVER, it is difficult to catch it every single time.

As for my opinion in which you can take with a grain of salt, I feel the story is out of order for this reason. You tell us all about this man and then recap to when you two met. You could of easily moved the beginning to the end of the story which would eliminate your past tense error. Also, since you introduced this man in the opening paragraph, there was nothing left to the imagination of what was going to happen. Your metaphors are excellent, your descriptions are superb, and your flow is precise. All I can think of is story structure. As I said, it's my opinion and good luck!

[miyako73]

II


This man, Rahul, was something. He occupied a big suite alone. His room, clean and spacious, smelled like his bottled scent, Bulgari. His stuff looked neatly arranged. An Arundathi Roy novel was bookmarked on one of the side-tables. His clothes bulked half-zipped Louis Vuitton garment bags. He was almost packed and ready for his flight back to London.

Everything he had was expensive and all designers. I could tell; I am a label whore. He took off his silver wristwatch. The design looked like a Panerai. Rahul, without a doubt, was a rich young man. I did not ask anything related to his work and finances. I would have projected myself like a gold-digging b!tch. I did not want to sound cheap in my expensive Prada shoes and latest Gucci dress and in my cultured, graceful manner. I did not want to turn off a classy man like Rahul, who, to me, was a rare find.

He took off his jacket and mine. I helped him loosen his tie, the thin one fashionable men wear. He started kissing me again. I felt I was rewarded for loosening the noose around his neck. It was hypnotic to untie a man with my eyes on his and our lips together. My hands relied on my unknown sixth sense. He kissed me passionately like I was his long lost lover. I stopped him, so I could rest and breathe for a moment.

“Got any wine?" I asked. "A good one I mean.” I stared at him. I could not find any flaw. He seemed perfect. I was in heaven.

“Let me check.” A few steps away was the cooler. He opened it and got all the chilled mini-bottles of Chardonnay and Zinfandel. He called for wine glasses. What a classy man! He found teacups and hotel bathroom drinking glasses unappealing.

I put my jacket back on and opened the balcony door to smoke. The dawn was peaceful and still cold, but looked lovely. The expanse of silence connived with the universe and set the hour for our romance. He joined me later to smoke with half-filled wine glasses in his hand.

“I didn’t know it was possible to do that.” I observed how his right hand carried both glasses.

“My hand is huge,” he said with a naughty hint.

“I’m sure it’s huge like your hands.” We both giggled and laughed.

We began to know each other. I lied except my age and name. I told him I was a landscape photographer who supports myself with the trust fund my doting grandmother set up. It was not hard for him to believe. After all, I live near his hotel and blocks from Oprah.

With my penchant for expensive things, nobody can suspect I am a penniless poet who ghost-writes for a living. The way I talk and express myself is also misleading. My vocabulary betrays my passion as a writer. My words are plain and unaffected by metaphors and double meanings. My expressions and smile are deceiving as well. Even my questions and ignorance about something are not obvious. My earnest innocence masks them. People I meet think I am a consummate seeker of knowledge. The truth is I easily get bored. Even poetry bores me to death, so I paint and, sometimes, bake pots and vases in the kiln and play poker in between episodes of boredom.

I appear and sound well-read. I can engage in any conversation. I can be a political analyst with a politician, a person interested in medical science with a doctor, and even a critic of capitalism with an economist or a businessman. I can be an opposite to Julia Robert's "Pretty Woman" anytime. I am dark-skinned, exotic, long-haired, petite at five feet and four inches, and I don't charge.

[Jack of Hearts]

Miyako,

This reader would never want to discourage you but he simply does not buy your love scene. Granted, it is supposed to be awkward. But it's awkward for all the wrong reasons for the most part. The actual intercourse is a bit redemptive in the virgin's response to it because it seems most genuine. But the other parts read like retroactive fantasy, signposting like cheap erotica that the reader is supposed to feel passion here. hillwalker is turning *** up in his grave at that may he rest in piece. The jarring part is that the prose is much too sophisticated to make the dimestore passion read congruently. The voice of this piece is one that has maturity and sophistication in language that seems far beyond its emotional capacity or security to process its own sexuality in a well adjusted manner. This voice doesn't seem to have the authority to tell the reader what is sexually passionate and nor would it seem that it wants to for any genuine reason. And that's why it feels like you're being disingenuous.







J

[miyako73]

I'm not done with this story jack. It's a work in progress that needs to be revised ten times over. In the end you will know why the tone is like that and the sense of fantasy is obvious. I want this story to be about fantasy.

[Jack of Hearts]

It's ok miyako. This reader never doubted your ability to write this thing. Just throwing a little feedback along the way is all.






J

[miyako73]

Also, remember the title. It's a confession. The fact that her confession to a priest is long is already twisted. I want her retelling to have a motive, which is the conclusion. Thanks for the supportive statement.

[Steven Hunley]

Sorry I didn't get to this sooner, no, this is so good, for one reason or another, make that one thousand pardons. The tense thing is natural in everyday speech patterns, however, like many have pointed out, and what might be a problem for the reader, is if they're jarring, then they distract from the text by drawing attention to themselves.

Me, I can see it in certain circumstances, as they come naturally to me.

Your sentence variations and metaphors are superb. Your subject matter is compelling and tough. The writing shows a certain sophistication. Sorry this was late, but a late welcome is always an unexpected surprise. Welcome to Litnet.

[Varenne Rodin]

Never shift tense, especially in a short story. You would flunk English 101 for that, no matter how you justify it.

I think you're very brave for writing and posting this sort of material. It's not easy. I was confused by contradictions in the story. The word "ooze" completely repulsed me, but it may work for people who don't mind it. I would make artistic changes to this; lots of rewrites. It's your story, though. Regardless of what I think, you should be proud of the time and effort spent.

[miyako73]

"Everything he had was expensive and all designers. I could tell; I am a label whore."

That means the speaker is still a label whore. Using "was" will mean she is reformed.

Traditional grammarians have been telling us consistency, consistency, consistency.

I don't think language is a cookie that comes in a generic mold.

There are statements in normal conversations with two or three tenses.

Example:

Last year, I worked in Hongkong, now I work in Singapore, and I will work in Beijing next year.

I don't think that's wrong.

"He was Rahul, who made love like the dexterous lover I imagine every time I read Kama Sutra."

It means the speaker still reads Kama Sutra and still imagines the dexterous lover.

[Varenne Rodin]

I don't find fault with those.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I'd prefer to withhold my comments until you post the conclusion. There was certainly something salacious about it, not so much in the details presented but in what I took to be her need to flaunt them. I'm guessing that she might indeed be a virgin - but who for some reason needs to convince us that she is not.

[miyako73]

Sorry if my last offering will repulse someone. I watched several porn videos to write that one.

As this will still be revised and corrected, if you find non-factual and non-habitual statements in present tense, they should be in past tense. I'll change them in my rewriting. Thanks for reading.

[PrinceMyshkin]

This continues to be somewhat strange to me, but I expect that the ending may be violent.

[miyako73]

It's not ending yet. One more part. hehehe

[Scheherazade]

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