Chalk, blood

Two figures, naked. One is a man, but he is blurry and thin and gray, like a ghost or an accountant. The other lays at the center of the circle of chalked down words and clever diagrams. It is somewhat womanlike, but not human at all. She has thick keeled black scales, made of iron. Her hair is silver and copper, but the hair around the pubis is gold. Even the eyes are metal, huge drops of mercury gently rippling when she moves.

She looks at the man, and he steps over the thin white lines he drew just a minute ago when there was only him in the room. He approaches slowly, carefully and put a couple of his long fingers on the sharp angle of her jaw. She moves as if to return his gesture with the same awe and carefulness, as if he too was treasured. But suddenly she grabs, she pushes his head down in a fluid strike, she pushes his head down to the floor and she wraps her legs around his neck. Under the pressure of the grip he starts kissing.

It seems at first she is a statue. She does not move. She does not push forward into is hungry assault. Yet still she locks him there as if he would stop and the tongue get caught on the wiry hair and he spreads blood along with her cyprine up around the fold of her thigh and then back down on her vulva with a new franticness. Finally she starts to react in a deep wave coming down her spine from the nape, breaking around her loins and throwing herself at him. They push and pull again always by her rhythm and he follows, diving when she pushes, breathing when she stops and diving again and finally the vice relaxes and he climbs back up a kiss at a time on the scales that are no longer black but blue and ochre, and green and shifting from one to the other.

Each kiss up is a struggle, a desperate throw and a catch, his arm are useless, this one held up around her hips or that one tied by the hand grabbing and stroking and fingering his partner. Yet still he climbs to the stony lips to worship them as he worshipped the lips below. He reaches the breast and almost rests there, he pushes, trembles, pushes again, catches her chin, and is struck down.Thrown on his back, the glistening creature towering above him, he almost begs for the kiss he could not take but words are forgotten. She smiles a hungry smile and sits, and mounts him. The strokes of her hips come in short bursts just enough apart that he despairs. The flares of frustration and pleasure reflect off each other and finally he feels the pressure in his stomach building up and he is atop her for a split second.

For the instant of the switch he stands on top but the fleshy hands furiously grab his elegant metallic shoulders and throw him back. With what was his body a second ago the strange creature overpowers him once more and takes him with the single mindedness of orgasm. She pins him down and takes him and with her teeth she bites at his breast beneath his thin scaly nipples. He feels her coming in him but she does not stop hammering. He feels the pleasure mounting again in a new way, even more total, more overarching in this body than his usual one and again at the crucial moment when all control is lost he finds himself stoking his aching penis in the quivering body of his partner as she is taken over by a shaking orgasm. Yet her consciousness comes back and she pins him down again from the alien body, this time mounting him backwards, graciously letting him see the curves of her slander back and again the orgasm is taken away to be felt, on all four, as she takes him from behind now - not that he know when the shift happened or how.

Again and again they switch, faster and faster, and always the release escapes him just as it was in his grasp. Finally they sit face to face, the movements are slow now and he is her and she is him. He feels himself coming inside her and he feels himself coming from the cock inside him, all at once, and he knows she is the both of them too. There is no more of them only one thing that isn't either and there is no more time.

The first light of the day creeps through the drape and suddenly it is done. One figure stands in a dusty room, with its floor stained with streaks of white dust. It is a naked man, blurrier and grayer and thinner than he was and there is a bit of dried blood on his chin. On uncertain legs he stands and grabs a broom, to make a clean floor. To draw the circle again on another night until there is no more chalk to draw and no more blood to offer. Until there are no more nights.