Chris stepped out of the shower and savored the sensation of plump water droplets careening down the length of his slender physique before toweling off.  The full-length mirror behind the bathroom door was covered with steam, so he used a damp towel to wipe it clean for a clear view of his ample erection.  Chris got rid of his last girlfriend, Amanda, when she deemed him an inadequate lover after being his loyal mistress for close to a year.  Inadequate.  Just thinking about her poor choice of words made his blood boil!  If he was so inadequate, then why was he always turned-on whenever she was around?

He recalled their final night together all too well:  they were making love, he was pumping away on top of her, coming down from the best orgasm he ever had when all of a sudden, disgusted, Amanda wriggled out from underneath him and said, "You came too soon!  You always do, and I just can't take it anymore!  It's over Chris, I've met a real man who can go all night and come back for more!"

Too shocked to argue about her confession to being unfaithful or how much stamina he had, which honestly wasn't a lot, Chris sat up, unrolled the spent condom and tossed it in the trash while he watched her dress, collecting her things for the last time.  When his dick got limp, he remembered wondering what was too soon.  He didn't think it was sixty minutes.  Sixty seconds, sure, but not an hour; that was more than adequate as far as he was concerned.  And who the hell was this stud she found that can 'go all night?'  Chris couldn't help but wonder, even though he would probably never find out, unless she decided to stop by with Mr. Wonderful to show him off. . .  And he didn't think he could handle that.

With Amanda gone, he experimented with new ways to achieve orgasm in an earnest attempt to rid him of her completely.  His most recent endeavor involved an ordinary hair dryer, which he switched on the warm setting, opting to skip the highest temperature, for fear that it would cause serious damage, and placed its nozzle strategically in front of his throbbing member with one hand while he stroked his shaft with the other.  But the constant rush of warm air coupled with whirring sound it made wasn't gratifying enough to bring him to orgasm, and his dick started to itch, on a count of the heat.

Besides, using the hair dryer only reminded him of how Amanda used to blow-dry her hair in the bathroom when she got out of the shower right before they made love.  He recalled standing in the doorway, while he watched her run her fingers through long, brown curls with eager eyes.  Chris always thought her hair looked sexier when wet, but she always insisted on drying it, just to spite him.  One of her many talents; she knew how to get under his skin and stay there.

Still naked and undaunted, he padded into the combination living room/bedroom/kitchenette to scour the confines of his cramped, studio for ordinary household appliances everyone owned but weren't creative enough to use in new and exciting ways for the sole purpose of stimulation.

Chris felt particularly bold tonight, willing to try anything that would purge him.  The first item that caught his eye was the blender on the cluttered kitchenette counter; not too many possibilities there, unless he made a shake and smeared it on his dick.  But that wouldn't do
much good since Amanda wasn't there to lick it clean.  Anyway, he just took a shower, so he didn't want to use anything that involved getting wet and sticky down there before he climaxed, which made things messy enough. . .

Sometimes, he would cook dinner when she spent the night.  Afterwards, for dessert, she would whip up a chocolate shake in the blender, and they would take turns smearing it on one another and licking it off ever so slowly, savoring the sweetness.

This was getting him nowhere; it seemed everywhere he turned memories of Amanda taunted him.  Perhaps fantasizing about her once more, for old time's sake, would rid him of the emotional burden that still plagued him.  Well, anyway that was the plan. . .

Desperate for release, he pulled a steak knife, still slick with Amanda's blood—actually, he found a bottle of her clear nail polish in back of the medicine cabinet and decided it should be preserved to honor her memory—out of the top drawer under the sink and studied his
reflection on the small portion of blade that remained untarnished; all the while he kept remembering how thrilling it was to look into Amanda's soft, brown eyes and see pure desire burn brightly.  When Chris blinked, he was startled by the sight of his own cold, blue eyes, tinged with red staring back at him, practically devoid of the carnal yearnings he once knew.

He was in a rut, there was no denying it.

Chris shook his head, walked over to the bed, knife in hand, pulled back the covers, and climbed in.  The cool sheets made him shiver and he couldn't help but wish she  was there to warm him up.   Without hesitating, he brought the sharp point down on the tip of his middle finger and pressed down hard enough to draw blood.  Then he licked the blade clean slowly—until only Amanda's blood remained—being careful not to cut his tongue, and set it down on the empty pillow beside him where Amanda used to rest her head.  The knife rested there now, glistening shocking red on the pristine white pillowcase, reminding him of her, dangerous and sharp.

Chris closed his eyes and traced the outline of his lips with a bloody finger while he worked his free hand slowly down to the bulge between his legs.  He opened his mouth wide enough to slip his finger inside, licking it slowly the way Amanda used to work his dick, and sucking all
the blood from the cut, bringing him to orgasm gradually, the way she liked it.  Chris savored the coppery taste of blood, warm and pungent, almost salty, the way Amanda claimed his semen tasted, before swallowing.

She was on his mind when he came.

Chris cleaned himself up with some Kleenex, feeling a profound sense of accomplishment since none of the tissue fragments stuck to his head.  Relieved, he flopped down on the bed and closed his eyes.  Amanda's likeness appeared as an unsettling jumble of vivid images that haunted him still:  Amanda's pert breasts looking exceptionally sensuous with the smooth, wooden handle of a steak knife jutting out between them; her cries for release, which he mistook for unbridled passion; her blood spewed forth, a magnificent splash of crimson.

About the Authoress:

Amy Grech is a 27 year old writer who has had work appear in: 69
Flavors of Paranoia, Alexandria Digital Literature (twice), Altered
Perceptions Magazine, Blue Murder Magazine, Classic Pulp Fiction
Stories, The Darklands Project Issue #1, Dark Muse, Dueling Minds,
Funeral Party 2, Gathering Darkness, Gallery, Hoodz, House of Pain,
Massacre, Nasty Snips, Penny Dreadful, Pulp Fiction Magazine, Short, Scary Tales, and Weird Stories.  Stories are forthcoming in: Cold Storage, Death Grip, Fears Mag.Com, Songs of Innocence, and Tourniquet Heart.  Her story, A Splash of Crimson, which appeared in Nasty Snips, received a Stoker nomination.  Visit her web site: Crimson Screams, for a good fright.
 

About the Artist:

Sean Simmans is the Cover Illustrator of DEAD END STREET PUBLICATIONS LLC and the Creator of THE BELIEVABLE TRUTH @ Scowlzine and VIBE Nation (UK). In addition he illustrates for UMM Magazine (Canada) and is staff illustrator for Blood Moon zine.