The machine was built for pleasure. Independent of external forces, it rocked and rolled, ebbed and flowed on cushioning foam and silent springs. Touching parts were exquisitely oiled so they moved freely, yet still maintained sufficient contact. A delicious necessary friction.
The machine was tireless, drew on an infinite primeval power source. Its cycles were random, yet pre-determined, continually oscillating from frenzy to stillness, from cacophony to silence. As overload threatened, it again returned to a near-stationary state. After a moment's calm, it cautiously accelerated, soon reaching a plateau of steady, insistent rhythm. And there it stayed, effortlessly feeding off it its own momentum.
The machine was soft, warm, angular and smooth. It was powerful. Irresistible. It sang, it breathed, it quivered, and cried. It was self-adjusting, self-feeding, self-serving. It cooled itself with glistening drops of saline that oozed from every living surface.
The machine was flexible, adaptable, could achieve its purpose in many ways with many modes of construction. It had been tested to destruction, had been stripped and rebuilt many times. It was intelligent, could function in many environments, adapting to available space with imaginative arrangements of its parts. It was timeless, yet very much of the moment.
I was half of that machine and she completed it. And when complete, it required nothing but instinct to fulfil its purpose. No metals, plastics, sand or glass. No coal, electricity, plutonium or gas. The fuel and raw materials were already contained within its living parts. It was a kind of miracle. When separated, each half of it was helpless, hopeless. Useless. Together we were beautiful, incredible. Amazing.
She was ready: prone, naked and vulnerable. I too was ready: naked, hard and primed. I mounted her, engaged with her. We clicked. My firm shaft entered her exquisite slippery tightness and at that moment we became one. In stillness we tested every point of contact and support. Then a kiss, a silent, knowing exchange, and we began to move. She clung to me, sucked on me then contracted as though fighting to expel me. We battled momentarily, then simultaneously surrendered to an ancient natural rhythm. It resonated through us, tamed us and conjoined us. Like liquid, we flowed. The bed forgave us. The fluid air shifted and encapsulated us. The machine came alive. It fucked itself.
Despite the looseness and violence of our motion, we would remain as one: at the end of each frenzied cycle, her taut lips gripped my bulbous tip, while her long legs coiled around me, further preventing my withdrawal. As I pistoned into her, she rose to meet me. A slapping of flesh marked the end of each cycle; tits swayed, juddered and shuddered as the feminine component responded to the impact of the male and changed direction. As her nipples came within reach of my tongue, I licked them in turn, their crimson erectness echoing the rigid tool that parted her flesh and jabbed at her cervix.
Now she grunted with every thrust, the grunts gradually forming into a hissing yes. My ears were filled with it and my body, knowing she was near, responded to it.
I seemed to pump air into her then suck it from her in a continuous enclosed cycle. In the same way, two hearts pumped shared blood through our joined bodies. Her eyes were in turn frightened and reassured; at one moment she was paralysed by her vulnerability, at the next she imperiously ordered me deeper inside her.
Suddenly everything was possible, nothing was profane.
The machine was tireless, drew on an infinite primeval power source. Its cycles were random, yet pre-determined, continually oscillating from frenzy to stillness, from cacophony to silence. As overload threatened, it again returned to a near-stationary state. After a moment's calm, it cautiously accelerated, soon reaching a plateau of steady, insistent rhythm. And there it stayed, effortlessly feeding off it its own momentum.
The machine was soft, warm, angular and smooth. It was powerful. Irresistible. It sang, it breathed, it quivered, and cried. It was self-adjusting, self-feeding, self-serving. It cooled itself with glistening drops of saline that oozed from every living surface.
The machine was flexible, adaptable, could achieve its purpose in many ways with many modes of construction. It had been tested to destruction, had been stripped and rebuilt many times. It was intelligent, could function in many environments, adapting to available space with imaginative arrangements of its parts. It was timeless, yet very much of the moment.
I was half of that machine and she completed it. And when complete, it required nothing but instinct to fulfil its purpose. No metals, plastics, sand or glass. No coal, electricity, plutonium or gas. The fuel and raw materials were already contained within its living parts. It was a kind of miracle. When separated, each half of it was helpless, hopeless. Useless. Together we were beautiful, incredible. Amazing.
She was ready: prone, naked and vulnerable. I too was ready: naked, hard and primed. I mounted her, engaged with her. We clicked. My firm shaft entered her exquisite slippery tightness and at that moment we became one. In stillness we tested every point of contact and support. Then a kiss, a silent, knowing exchange, and we began to move. She clung to me, sucked on me then contracted as though fighting to expel me. We battled momentarily, then simultaneously surrendered to an ancient natural rhythm. It resonated through us, tamed us and conjoined us. Like liquid, we flowed. The bed forgave us. The fluid air shifted and encapsulated us. The machine came alive. It fucked itself.
Despite the looseness and violence of our motion, we would remain as one: at the end of each frenzied cycle, her taut lips gripped my bulbous tip, while her long legs coiled around me, further preventing my withdrawal. As I pistoned into her, she rose to meet me. A slapping of flesh marked the end of each cycle; tits swayed, juddered and shuddered as the feminine component responded to the impact of the male and changed direction. As her nipples came within reach of my tongue, I licked them in turn, their crimson erectness echoing the rigid tool that parted her flesh and jabbed at her cervix.
Now she grunted with every thrust, the grunts gradually forming into a hissing yes. My ears were filled with it and my body, knowing she was near, responded to it.
I seemed to pump air into her then suck it from her in a continuous enclosed cycle. In the same way, two hearts pumped shared blood through our joined bodies. Her eyes were in turn frightened and reassured; at one moment she was paralysed by her vulnerability, at the next she imperiously ordered me deeper inside her.
Suddenly everything was possible, nothing was profane.
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She hacked at me. Butchered me. Lovingly laid bare every part of me. Bones, muscles, sinews and blood. Sharpened nails prised open the dark folds of my mind, tore off secret tasty chunks. Then she consumed me. Licked her bloodied lips. Sucked her bloodied digits. Tossed the cracked, empty bones over her shoulder.
I ate her too. All of her. Pristine flesh. Corruption and filth. Drank her blood, swallowed her piss. I hungered for every atom that was her, every atom that had ever been her. Dead hair, dead skin, the moisture from her breath; her sweat, her shit. We fed each other. Nourished and poisoned each other. Loved each other entirely, with neither reservation nor exception.
We came as one. With joyous disgust, I spunked inside her, each numbing involuntary contraction squirting potential life into her core.
At that moment, we were truly one. Our names were lost. Pasts and futures were insignificant. Reproduction had stolen our individuality, hidden it away, had usurped our bodies for her own ends. She laid us bare, brought us together in painful naked honesty. We were her machine. We no longer had free will. Shamelessly and cynically, she used us. Time and time again she exploited our weakness. She distracted us. Filled our hearts and minds with love and lust till we opened ourselves, gave ourselves in fervent pursuit of unobtainable pleasure and impossible perfection. Meanwhile, in our absence, our vacant bodies became her machine. With it she manufactured new life.
Seeking a last nugget of pleasure, I thrust again, but found only a dull shard of nagging discomfort. Motion ceased. In the moments of empty soul-searching that always followed my climax, I gazed into a void. The trick was laid bare. I'd fallen for it yet again. Mere debased sweating flesh lay beneath me. Saliva dried on her lips. Dishevelled hair stuck to her forehead. Smudged and smeared make-up turned perfect painted beauty into clumped and crusty ugliness. Bitter breath soured my senses. I sensed her own momentary disgust: the need to eject the alien flesh, to rid herself of the weight upon her, and expel the sticky fluids injected into her.
Then she opened her eyes and in that instant reclaimed her name, her future and her past. I recognised her, saw the desire still burning. It was incredibly comforting and all consuming. My own desire was rekindled, my own name reclaimed, and I kissed her. She wrapped herself around me and clung to me in blissful satisfaction.
The joke was ours. The moment was ours. A machine, yes, but it was our machine. A machine of two parts, constructed for a unique natural purpose. But that purpose too was ours. We'd decided it, agreed on it, shook our interlocked loins on it.
'I love you,' her soft breath bathing any doubt away.
'What shall we call him?'
'Her!'
'Ok, her,' I chuckled.
'Let's wait and see... whatever our baby turns out to be.'
I kissed her, raised myself on my elbows and eased myself from her.
She rolled onto her side and offered herself as half of a new machine. A sleeping machine. I pulled the quilt over us, snuggled in behind her in spooning formation and closed my eyes. Blonde hair tickled my nose. I buried my face deeper, breathing in her perfumed warmth. My hand slid over the gentle curve of her belly, found the rounded softness of her breasts and pulled her closer to me. As wakefulness and sleep blurred together in the silent darkness, I whispered in her ear.
'I love you too.'
I ate her too. All of her. Pristine flesh. Corruption and filth. Drank her blood, swallowed her piss. I hungered for every atom that was her, every atom that had ever been her. Dead hair, dead skin, the moisture from her breath; her sweat, her shit. We fed each other. Nourished and poisoned each other. Loved each other entirely, with neither reservation nor exception.
We came as one. With joyous disgust, I spunked inside her, each numbing involuntary contraction squirting potential life into her core.
At that moment, we were truly one. Our names were lost. Pasts and futures were insignificant. Reproduction had stolen our individuality, hidden it away, had usurped our bodies for her own ends. She laid us bare, brought us together in painful naked honesty. We were her machine. We no longer had free will. Shamelessly and cynically, she used us. Time and time again she exploited our weakness. She distracted us. Filled our hearts and minds with love and lust till we opened ourselves, gave ourselves in fervent pursuit of unobtainable pleasure and impossible perfection. Meanwhile, in our absence, our vacant bodies became her machine. With it she manufactured new life.
Seeking a last nugget of pleasure, I thrust again, but found only a dull shard of nagging discomfort. Motion ceased. In the moments of empty soul-searching that always followed my climax, I gazed into a void. The trick was laid bare. I'd fallen for it yet again. Mere debased sweating flesh lay beneath me. Saliva dried on her lips. Dishevelled hair stuck to her forehead. Smudged and smeared make-up turned perfect painted beauty into clumped and crusty ugliness. Bitter breath soured my senses. I sensed her own momentary disgust: the need to eject the alien flesh, to rid herself of the weight upon her, and expel the sticky fluids injected into her.
Then she opened her eyes and in that instant reclaimed her name, her future and her past. I recognised her, saw the desire still burning. It was incredibly comforting and all consuming. My own desire was rekindled, my own name reclaimed, and I kissed her. She wrapped herself around me and clung to me in blissful satisfaction.
The joke was ours. The moment was ours. A machine, yes, but it was our machine. A machine of two parts, constructed for a unique natural purpose. But that purpose too was ours. We'd decided it, agreed on it, shook our interlocked loins on it.
'I love you,' her soft breath bathing any doubt away.
'What shall we call him?'
'Her!'
'Ok, her,' I chuckled.
'Let's wait and see... whatever our baby turns out to be.'
I kissed her, raised myself on my elbows and eased myself from her.
She rolled onto her side and offered herself as half of a new machine. A sleeping machine. I pulled the quilt over us, snuggled in behind her in spooning formation and closed my eyes. Blonde hair tickled my nose. I buried my face deeper, breathing in her perfumed warmth. My hand slid over the gentle curve of her belly, found the rounded softness of her breasts and pulled her closer to me. As wakefulness and sleep blurred together in the silent darkness, I whispered in her ear.
'I love you too.'
