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He tells about his exhibitionist experiences.
Cordelia turned the light on, and instantly, all shadows fled. Her room was hers again... except that it smelled like sex - sweet sex - but sex all the same. Sex she wasn't getting.
She'd have to change the sheets... and take a shower. All things considered, the fact that she was still breathing. That was room enough to celebrate.
A penance shower sounded good.
Voluntary self-punishment inflicted as an outward expression of repentance for having done wrong.)
Lights on. Hot water. Pull the pin. Hot rain. Steam. No cold water.
Cordelia winced. The water was hot enough to hurt, but not hot enough to raise blisters. Just to pink the skin - to remind her that she had failed her people. This was a daily routine. Sometimes thrice daily. Whenever the guilt weighed on her heavily.
The water only burned a little while though. As it cooled to warm, and then lukewarm, Cordelia drew the shower head from the wall. Sitting on the corner ledge of the tub, she held the jet stream of water between her legs. Just right. Her mind swam with the muffled gurgle of whitewater, and her thoughts raced to a place of soft golden grass, a singing brook, and Amnesia's slender hands, and long fingers caressing her thighs, engaged in a kiss that would bring her back from the brink of darkness.
O O O
"You always leave." Amnesia said. Night had fallen some time ago. Silver light flooded open windows - windows that Amnesia only opened in the presence of her lover. Amnesia looked spectacular against the full moon. The only hair Amnesia had was her mane of platinum hair, which leant to her a spectral quality in the night's pale glow.
Cordelia stared into Amnesia's eyes, ice water blue, and she was uncertain of what to say.
Even a woman of her position - even if the position was self perceived - knew that it was as important to respect her courtesan, as it was to put distance between them.
There was no doubt about love between them, but for lack of a better word, they were from different castes, unspoken - unheard of - in their modern America.
Amnesia's hairline scars were beautiful swirls of vine, and flower, birds of paradise, and fluid lines that accented, and underscored her femininity from her perfect neck, to her perfect feet. There were no tell-tale lines defining age, or wear on her body - no stretchmarks, or even blemishes.
It was, after all, part of her preternatural charms.
Amnesia was her goddess, in alabaster, and her face a melancholy reflection of her deepest thoughts, and feelings. Feelings Cordelia could not outright decipher.
"I always come back."
Amnesia shook her head slowly, turning her back to Cordelia, leaning slightly to the open window. Her shoulder raised, and lowered in a deep sigh. "What if there was no one to come back to?"
"You would leave me?"
"No." Amnesia said, decisively. Her slender hands, and dexterous long fingers played along the window seal. "There's really nothing to leave."
Cordelia felt an icy sensation spreading from the pit of her stomach, into her chest, and she slowly crept out of the bed, still in her bra, and panties. Amnesia, as most often, was naked. Cordelia said nothing, until she had her arms wrapped around her lover's waist.
Cordelia buried her face in Amnesia's hair. It smelled like jasmine, and honey. Amnesia's perfect skin was covered in gooseflesh, the cold night air a contrast against the heat of her body.
"I'm sorry, baby." Cordelia said, and knew immediately it was an apology she had to make too often. "I did warn you."
Amnesia nodded, sliding her hands over Cordelia's. "I have no illusions about you. I am insane for you, but I know what you are."
Cordelia brushed Amnesia's hair aside with her face, planting small kisses along her neck. She whispered in between, "I am exactly what I promised I would be."
Amnesia arched her neck, pushing it into the soft kissing.