Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves to the extreme in the seedy club infested with second hand smoke and the stench of beer stained carpet. Newly discovered couples participated in bizarre sexual rituals on the dance floor to the pounding of erotic beats, while beady eyes looked on with their own form of personal gratification. Confident pool players manoeuvred around the tables like wild cats hunting fresh prey, waiting for their next victim to part with an underrated pay check. A few swaying figures steadied themselves against the support of the bar, hoping to be permitted just one more drink to help with the inevitability of falling down.

At the end of that same bar sat a woman.

She stood out in the visionary carnage. A flickering light above continued to glare off her styled short red hair as she turned to face the crowd that had been behind her for most of the night. Her twenty-something figure was dressed in a white top, buttoned up just enough to hide her naked breasts, a tight black skirt and dark high heels at the end of two silky smooth legs. If facial expressions could step forward and speak, hers would have shrieked one solitary word.

Boring.

Since obtaining the space at the bar, over a dozen rum and cokes had been devoured, and even more men had attempted to take her home. At this rate the male race looked doomed to be forever known as drunken sloths that wouldn’t know the difference between a romantic dinner and a slab of lager. She beckoned the barman, who didn’t waste any time walking back towards her. His forty-eight year old eyes settled on the button undone at the top of her shirt, trying to earn a nightly thrill.

“Can you call me a cab?” the woman asked.

After a long pause, and no change from his line of sight, he eventually replied.

“How ‘bout you wait another ten minutes, gorgeous, and I’ll give you a lift myself? We could go to my place or yours.”

She snatched her black bag off the damp bar mat and walked straight out the front doors into the pouring rain. The taxi stand was five minutes walk.

“Frigid bitch,” the elderly barman murmured.

He watched her arse walk out the door, completely unaware of what colour eyes she possessed.

The storm was constant. Her clothes were saturated after walking only two blocks. The surroundings created a strange clarity for her angry mind to calm down. The street was lonely and absent of people, except for a shadowed figure up ahead leaning against a men’s clothing store window. Approaching with caution, the shadows cleared to reveal a man with wet shoulder-length brown hair scattered across his chiselled facial features. His grey t-shirt and blue jeans were soaked through, yet he seemed content. Their eyes met as she passed. What was a brief second lasted in her mind for an eternity. The weight of each step increased and then both of her legs suddenly stopped. Her lungs decided to work once more as wet air tunnelled down the organic path to create a heartbeat.

“What am I doing?” she whispered under her breath.

What was it about this man that had caused her to stop and stand in the middle of a downpour?

The answer was simple.

It was his eyes.

They were imprinted on her soul and everything else inside her nervous body knew she had to turn and face him again. It felt like the most defining moment in her young life, even though she had no idea why such an insane thought could appear so important.

But it was.

She turned.

He was gone.

Fate deflated in her heart until a movement to the left caught her attention. On the opposite side of the street, a man she had never spoken to was beckoning her into an alley. It looked like a black hole, lit up by a solitary streetlight at the entrance. Common sense gave way to impulse as she willingly followed the figure into the unknown. The shadows swallowed both of them as rain continued to flow down in search of a new resting place. They were only a few yards from the street, but it was as if their bodies had been transported to a brand new world. In her eyes there were no rusty stairs leading to the cheap apartment up above. No rubbish scattered all over the filthy concrete ground below. There was just a man and a woman staring at each other in the rain, both wondering what would happen next. The stranger wasted no time. He started to unbutton her top, letting loose the breasts that had been trapped beneath the sticking material. It peeled off her like a second skin. A deep breath of air left her near-naked body, leaving a trail of mist whispering into the night. Her trembling hands made their way to the buttons holding up his jeans and in a clumsy fashion she released them. To her surprise, they fell with ease. She met his eyes again. He took his shirt off and stood in front of her, naked and erect, water dripping from his toned figure. Her breathing increased as the warmth of his hands moved down her legs. In one swift and creative move, they lifted up the short skirt and ripped the panties off, leaving behind the target of his sexual aggression. Before she could think about anything else, he lifted her up against the brick wall and the damp crevice that had forced her into this situation was filled.

Completely.

Both legs began to shake. Her voice moaned into the night. His eyes remained intense and dominating as they fucked like animals in their own domain. Her scream echoed as the orgasm hit. The stranger grinned, then stepped back from the body he had just given so much pleasure to. Her heart was exploding within her uncontrollable frame, but he just stood in front of her, silent, still erect. Lost in his eyes, she dropped to her knees and took everything into her mouth, working on him like she had never done before to a man. He showed no emotion, but she could feel his body tense as everything let loose. Lost in the eroticism of the moment, she just knelt in the water with her skirt pulled up to her waist, the combined taste of rain and semen on her quivering lips. Trying to understand what had happened in the last few minutes, she realized that her unknown lover was already dressed and leaving the alley.

The fantasy was ending as quickly as it began.

“Wait. Don’t go,” she screamed out.

He continued to walk away.

“Katherine,” she said.

The word left her lips without thinking and to her surprise he stopped at the entrance.

“That’s my name,” she finished off.

Lightening flashed overhead as she waited for what might happen next, revealing her naked body to the world surrounding her.

Would he come back to her or keep walking?

Possibilities ran through her mind in confused patterns.

“Thank you Kat,” his husky voice replied. “You were incredible. Much better than the others.”

He left the alley and was out of sight.

“What do you mean?” Katherine questioned. “What others?”

She had no idea what he meant until the lightening attacked the sky once again.

She saw them in the corner of her eye. Five, maybe six, naked women were stacked on top of each other at the far end of the alley. It was obvious that they were dead by the deep lacerations covering their slumped bodies. They were only metres away from where her most erotic fantasy had been born.

She stood up, legs still trembling. She found her top, pulled down her skirt, and left the darkness of the alley behind. As a small child, Katherine felt left out because all the other kids told her she was ugly. Later as a teenager, there were no friends because of her terrible acne. More recently it was family that crucified the life she lived because of her failure to secure a decent job. Yet on this one night everything had changed. After all that time she was finally allowed to win. It made her feel more special than any other moment in her dismal life. She looked like someone who had been raped as she left behind the alley of sexual exploration and deadly carnage, but it didn’t matter. Walking through the puddles of water with rain belting on her body, she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

For the first time since she could remember, a curved smile formed on her dripping face, and she laughed.

I sleep all night in my small bedroom.
It smells like the stale remnants of an unclean foreskin.
I don’t like people.
I hang their skins on a coat rack in the dank corner.
Their flaccid exteriors flop around in the shadow of my energy efficient sixty watt bulb.
I stare at them shimmering in the light.
Watching their lazy shells flow in the air arouses me.
It hardens me.
I want more skins … but my clothes rack is cheap and from stupid K-Mart and won’t hold any more weight.
I hate being poor.
It halts me needs.
It stops my desires.
I need to kill and destroy them.
FUCK BEING POOR!