My fair lady

Cynthia walks down the cold winding road, a cigarette on one hand and her paycheck in another. She could finally take Jamie to the place they had been whispering about. The warm undulating whispers. Their apartment had no heat and Jamie's warmth was the only thing that kept her frail body alive. That and the restaurant. Jamie would whisper the name into her ear, enunciating each letter like an orgasmic arrow. A flick of Jamie's tongue on Cynthia's raw earlobes was heaven making love to hell. Their fingers danced in the spirit of an autumn's warmth while the cold breeze blew in. They never had enough money to make that unforgiving trip to the restaurant. Cynthia promised because she knew she was getting a raise soon. And this was one trip she had to take with her blood, her soul, her Jamie. It was the spark of their conversations, the flame of their passion, and the fire of their love. This paycheck would do - a bottle of the finest wine and a course of sinful meat.

Cynthia laid rest her weekly groceries and took a quick peek into their bedroom. Sure enough, Jamie was sleeping. Poor thing – she worked so hard for so little and never did she ever complain. A fever here, a ragged boss there, a sinister coworker here, and a frustrated male there. Cynthia made her way into the bathroom and took a quick shower. She sensed movement – Jamie was up. She would soon hear the news. And she would be thrilled to bits. Cynthia was all smiles as she stepped out of the shower – this night would be special.

Jamie listened. And wept pure tears of joy. She took Cynthia into her long arms and caressed her fair skin. She slowly undressed her and silently kissed her forehead. Her eyes. Her neck. Her breasts. She caressed her nipples and made a slow sacred descent to bury herself into her lover. An embrace of powerful enigma. A kiss of undisciplined passion. An aroma of scented hips. Pleasure in deafening portions. Pain in the happiest of grasps. A climax of unrequited love.

Jamie washed her hands and face in the bathroom. She looked into the mirror and hated her eyes. She despised herself but the damage had been done. This is what she had been trained to do. And the church did promise her God’s forgiveness. She was after all a servant of God. The blood was hard to wash away. Cynthia lay bathed in warm red while Jamie donned her church’s white. She took one last glance at the woman she saved. The same loving smile. Even in the shadows of death she loved Jamie. Jamie wavered her knife around Cynthia's pale breasts and drew a cross. That would be Cynthia's access to heaven. She tried to caution Cynthia about the dangers of unnatural love. Cynthia brushed it away like a true atheist. Damn restaurant. If only Cynthia knew the owner was the head priest of the church. The man who ordered her killing. The man who had saved her from the depths of hell. Jamie closed the door and looked up to God. Another woman to meet tomorrow.