The Virgin Huntress

        When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,
        "By the same power that slays you, I too am slain;
     and I too shall be consumed.
        For the law that delivered you into my hand shall
     deliver me into a mightier hand.
        Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that
     feeds the tree of heaven."
        And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say
     to it in your heart,
        "Your seeds shall live in my body,
        And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
        And your fragrance shall be my breath,
        And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."

                                 -Kahlil Gibran, _The Prophet_


It's autumn in San Francisco.  Rain sweeps down the hills and
streets.  People pull their jackets over their heads and run.

He's waiting for me at the corner, shivering.  It's our
third date.  I plan to seduce him.

#

I drive us to Mount Tamalpaias.  The smell of earth, damp from
the rain, permeates the car.

To pass time, I tell him the story of the mountain.
The mountain is really a princess, sleeping.

#

The inn is a rustic cabin built on the edge of a cliff.
From our room, we can see the entire valley, trees and rocks.

He breathes deeply, spreads his arms wide as if to embrace
the entire landscape.

#

He is young, his insecurities still endearing.  He does not
yet know how attractive he is.

#

After dinner, I take gummi bears out of my purse and play with
them on the table.  He laughs like a child, asks no questions.

Two wounded souls, laughing together.

#

Later, I enjoy the feel of his weight upon me.

He surprises me: he knows how to tease.  His hardness parts
my lips without entering.

I beg him.

He ignores me, holds me down.

#

Later, underneath his welcomed violence, I moan.  I clasp him
to me.  He watches in awe as I spasm around him.

He pulls out, jerks off for long minutes.  He closes his eyes.
Finally, he shivers, and a stream of white spurts onto his
belly.

#

Outside, the sound of a lone cricket echoes in the darkness.

Next to me, asleep, his breath stirs the hairs on his chest.

I run my fingers down his chest, following his sweet breath
down his body.

I weep silently.  I have to end it.

#

In the morning he is exuberant, unsuspecting.  He jumps out
of bed, sommersaults on the hard wood floor, springs up on
his feet.

He kisses me deeply before I can protest.

"Breakfast," he says.  "Yum!"

I open my mouth, say nothing.

#

Hiking through the forests on the mountainside.  He is
embarassed: I am surefooted as a goat while he slips several
times.

"Better get hiking boots," I say.  "Sneakers don't give you
any traction."

He smiles, embarassed no longer.

#

We stop to rest by a stream.  Wisps of sunlight danced on the
surface of the water.

I tell him it ends when we get back to the city.

Grief tears his countenance.  His wounds are beautiful.

#

As the day passes, his grief turns into resentment.  He feels
I've used him.

I astonish myself by telling him the truth: I wanted to
sleep with him right away when we first met, but I feared I'd
get hurt.

I tell him I believe he will seduce many women in his life
and wound them as I've wounded him.  I tell him he has this
within him, though he does not know it yet.

"What about marriage?  Children?" he asks.  He wants to lead
a normal life.

I tell him it is not in his nature.

Once again, I see I've wounded him.

"I've always known," he says.  "Nobody told me before, but
I've always known."

#

He became as cruel as a child who'd been wronged.  He wanted
to use me as I used him.

That night, he asks to come in my mouth.

I let him.

The taste is strong, stronger than I remember.  It has been
many years since I'd last let a man do that.

I turn my head to spit, but he holds his finger against my lips.

I swallow.

I hold his hand solemnly, look up into his eyes.

#

Years later, the seed of cruelty I'd planted had blossomed.
We met, and once again we visted the cabin in the woods.

On the surface he is confident, smooth and polished and
completely in control as he drives.  He talks about work,
jokes amicably, but every so often he asks a question that
falls just short of being intrusive.  I sense he is searching
for my weaknesses.

I panic, ask him if he's gay.

Once again, I see I've wounded him.

#

That night, he begins to take me as if I were a boy.  Minutes
pass, and only the head has slipped past the ring of muscle.
It is extremely painful.

"You want to know what it feels like to be a faggot?" he asks.

He sinks all the way in at once.

I scream.

"Do you like that?" he asks.  "Do you like how that feels?"

"Please," I say.  "I'm sorry."

#

Afterwards, he holds me in his arms.  "I'm sorry," I say again
and again.

"It's okay," he says.

He strokes my hair, gently, and for a moment I believe I'm
in love.

margiedonnadieu@gmail.com

/~margie_donnadieu/