Me a Machination

The first words I heard were the emanations of a woman. The flicker of my thoughts adjusted as did my eyes.

This world started upside down. My toes felt the damp cold air and the mud that stuck to them. The rush must have been the blood in my head and the thud in my heart acutely keeping time.

She had placed a hand on my knee checking for warmth, perhaps to steal, and her voice leaked down my leg into my ear like wax, a residue. It may have been the tar from her throat as I later discovered her fascination for cigarettes was strong enough to stain her teeth, sour her breath, and whither her face.

She had looked down into my whole, being the hole through me, under the floorboards at my nakedness. Her elated grin flashed stretched gray gums and let billow a cloud from the bellows of her lungs.

I was in need of repair to myself and all I could see to draw from was a dusty bag of bones not shy about my person. Maybe I was personable in that I had nothing in the way of my own person resonating in my skull. Her groping claws clutched my hip as she reached with her other hand to pull me up.

Aching joints plagued my body as I flopped out strung by her arm. Sitting up I felt those strings and ligaments that passed down my shoulders to twist my belly as nausea flooded me and my nose broke a sickly green goo, a mixture of semen snot and miscellaneous dread.

The second attacks were my bowls pushing out warm liquid past my burning anus. My body felt a grievous wound and I knew only the post effects of some trauma. She stared curling wide red nostrils and uttered some insult on my moral perpetuity of which I had no claim to.

When motioning to give a rhetorical admonition my voice was cracked and caked with the same gross fluid.

The next room had noises of quieted people, hushed tones and movement, radiating heated like the coals of a forgotten hearth. It was assessing myself and my situation that was imperative and required investigation.

Crawling was all that could be mustered and I mused and mussed at bangs looking past them for the rite in all that was wrong. Taking in the scene first through scent exposure and took the form of sweat and bodies. My sight was weak and adjusting. My ears heard a quilt of rain on the roof.

Wrenching at some form of resolve, cracked like my voice, I found the vice that kept me sane. Curiosity tripped me up weaving under me. I stayed imagining myself as corroded as the woman behind me. "Could anyone else use a leather bag or purse. I store gross and ick." The sales pitch ground out some of the revulsion I was feeling. I suppose I was the person referred to in it. It mocked me in its tone because of its sincerity, a sincerity that was only present in sarcasm.

Awkward passion undulated in front of me all the way to the exit.

A woman near to me looked at me with lazy eyes. She was drained and flicking a spent hypodermic needle with her own tightly held pony tail. Her entire person came toward me revealing bosoms and for that instant my heart heaved and receded as did she back into the shadowy sex carpet.

The moon did not show in this place only a single kerosene lamp, the oil more refined than anything I could recall. It intermingled adding to the heat of bodies, flame pulsing the humidity, burning it off.

She came back again moving to someone else, light playing over her breasts in liquid thrusts, swimming in a sewer of ecstasy. Her unoccupied hand was drawing over her belly coated in semen.

There was a man at the end of her. The thrusts were his and he was plainly visible. His penis pushed into her and I began to feel him. I found my hand at my sex, building my sex. I was here. That is to say I am a woman, like her. I started to know myself.

My clitoris was swollen and tickled at the light weight.

My clicking knuckles snapped ticking me off. There was pain as I pressed harder. My vagina trembled and I felt it in my wobbling not realizing that I had was on my knees watching instead of all fours. Tracing my fingertips across the ribbons of my labia like a kiss, my clitoris felt and drank at it choking from the sensation. I was too sensitive to sustain the masturbation. I climaxed.

First my orifices wept with the love of some distant men. I was wet. My belly scrunched. My nipples twitched. I imagined myself suffused with lamp oil capillaries screaming as I burned.

Hands gripped me. A fetid gulping pulled the oxygen away around my ears. Not even breaths of air were your own in this place. Molten grips arrested, attesting to the steal nature of him. Sinking like a spring taking his flopping penis into the crack of my ass I widened my stance muscles sucking for strength.

I pushed to stay standing as he pulled down and back. His penis was pinched and released and his hips humped me.

Hump one and his penis ballooned. Hump two and his cock was rugged. Hump three and he was putting pressure on me. I broke before the fourth and he entered me. His erection was in my rectum and my vagina quivered.

My walls were crumbling before I had built them up sufficiently. I quivered again. He pushed into me. He slid into me harder butting his hips to my back. He was so deep. I was breaking. He butt into me. I felt his scrotum. They bounced off the under side of my buttocks. I cracked and my pussy gushed. I felt like a dropped bucket. He was still at my handle and thrust more into me.

The ritual swarmed in my head and I knew I wanted the sex but was in the wrong place. I needed to find out who I was.

He thrust till he fell out of me. I don't think he could cum. He fell back to leave the embrace. The room was more translucent when viewed from the floor up.

I crawled out looking for clothes. Pants, a shirt and a long jacket suited me, and hung limp on my body like cobwebs sticky under construction by a million tiny mites.

The streets were fissured, branded, and sparkling. Glass bottle bits bounced radiation. Great glowing gas signs lettered the district so I knew where I was. The name seared into my retina yet I only loosely recognized it. I trickled through it all filtered in my meandering, wondering.

Starting to take perspective realization flooded and kneaded my brain. That idea of resurrection and reconstruction foremost in my mind.

Each step caused pain in some part of my being. This occurred to such an extent that it change from pure pain to tickled tense slow movements and back again at erratic intervals. It was lovely owing to the masochistic nature of my body.

I wore no shoes on glass strewn streets. The sidewalks were structured for proper walking and I had no shoes so couldn't make use of them. Strange men's billions of seeds seeped out of me. It traveled down my legs as I traversed. I thought of a million penises each one ejaculating as I walked making puddles beneath my feet.

It was raining. There were hookers every block. I was propositioned twice by people driving. They were more strange men. Evil glares were perpetrated by those working what ever street I was stopped on. I just wanted to find some place safe.

Some of the ladies and trussed up ladylike men talked at me. I didn't respond to them. Fear stuck to me and, to some extent, trepidation wanting to keep my nastiness to myself. Some flashed middle digits. Others showed me the heart of their feelings of intrusion by flashing other parts. That made me want to touch myself again. I kept walking.

It wasn't until I saw one young woman that I fell back to earth and my stupor abated. Some place safe switched to someone safe. Apprehension and self doubt poured away with the water when she looked at me, took me in, examined me. She felt intelligent. She told a car she was finished working for the night. She smiled and asked me if I needed assistance. Kind intelligent eyes were looking at me. They were light brown eyes. The curve of her lips trolled my depths dragging concern out of the air and offered it to me.

I didn't have to take it. An able bodied adult should not need the assistance that I so desperately wanted. She had seen my tear wells through the rain and knew I was in need of attention. My eyes were more aware of her willing aid than I. I must have been at my maximum. Physically I was exhausted. I involuntarily checked my body for offensive odor before coughing out words. Those were accented and flared with an odd up turn and fancy compared to the trash heap they came from.

A full sentence took a collected effort and dried my tears.

She held my hand and took me with her. Red hair bobbed around her ears above her shoulders. I knew she was a prostitute. She became my nesting point. I told her my story when she elicited it from me. The beginning and the end so close together it wasn't even block worthy.

I found that if I took each portion and broke it down by numbers, strokes, steps, bits, rays, waves I could remember the entire night from the time I woke, but nothing else about me.

She took us into a building with multiple stories, so I imagined it could easily hold me and the rest of mine.

Concerned with hygiene we ended up in the shower of an old dormitory, familiar somehow. The room was reconstructed and still resembled the line of urinals that had been in the same place years ago.

I was worried for an instant reminded of men and seeing a phantom line of them waiting for the lavatory. Worry at wanting and worry at what might be happening to me physically. It brought pangs with the thought of penetration and a stomach cramp to add to my, all ready, full body of pain.

The faucet's steam was refreshing in that it offered cleanliness.

The woman's syllables ticked at intervals pleasant to my ears. After diving in her bag through a sea of multicolored condoms she produced some implements. There were three kinds of soap, a razor, scented cream, lotion, hot water bag, a length of tubing, and attachments. There was only one toothbrush. She allowed me to use it and encouraged me to floss with waxy floss, and gargle with mouthwash. Both were located in another compartment of her big bag.

She was professional and seemed to know that being meticulous would calm me and make me a friend.

She was my nurse maid. We were in a public bath and could have been walked in upon. It was OK. I wanted to be caught with her.

I talked about the oddity of my situation and she was enthused.

My shirt was off and chest bared.

My inner monologue drifted to a scolding for having been drenched in the acid sex of which I had no control. Though some must have been exercised to put me in the situation.

She listened, to things I said and may not have said, while tending me. The pants I had stolen lay in a heap on the floor atop a coat and shirt.

Soon my hair was clean.

I was comfortable in her hands. Her touch didn't light my alarm fires. The situation was what I needed, though odd, when I consider wanting a woman is against the natural order of things. The erotic nature of it was pleasing. I let her have me.

She had removed her own clothes whilst I talked more about my sense of things, feelings and testing the five basic. I saved touch for last hoping to reintroduce the idea and her continued bathing of me.

She felt me. First with her fingertips and then again with her lips I was traced and inspected.

The body pain had subsided with the water warmth. She was still testing me.

Her inspection was sincere. I was endeared to her as she was endeared to me. It was just one encounter, nothing with which to generalize, but thus far it was women who were kind to me. This woman was very good to me. The bag had at least helped though added to my sorrow.

This woman murmured as she measured my body hair. Up sang the razor. She was expert in her strokes. Each hair was wax to a candle flame. She checked her work with the sensitive skin of her nose.

Her moving away to shave herself dissatisfied me.

I watched and tentatively touched my denuded body feeling and trying to realize myself. All my long black hair was caught with her shorter red hairs in a thatch stopping some of the water starting a shallow bath. I took it in hand. I wanted to saver the nature of us intertwined.

She took the mingled hair from me. It was gone from my eyes.

My sex burned keenly again. I was discovering myself. My clitoris was erect. It was trying to talk to me. Soft and red flesh felt swollen and this time without the static tearing sensations. It was taught flesh all over responding to her fingers not my own.

She bent me over on all fours and prepared the water bottle. My wanting was great and washed over me too and I felt flushed before she irrigated me. My hands were to be folded over my head and she pushed my back and thus my breasts to the tile. My nipples became acute finding grooves and brushing grout.

She worked the wand as though it was an extension of her and it was also a kindness. Though it was penetrating it was welcome. There was pain striking like a snake with only a brief sting. The head oozed warm water and slightly scented soap.

She was cleaning me still. The pain subside and she commented. The act was less hygienic than it was cathartic. The blood and semen spiraled away. I counted the seconds, each second a movement by her had a contingent counter second that worked as an off beat in measure allowing me to relax even more.

One full second was a strike and recoil killing the spiral. The woman expressed a hope she didn't inadvertently cause infection.

She sterilized the bag and tools before doing the same for my rectum, cleaning me thoroughly.

She changed the wand, for the colonic, into a plug. The plug pushed snug in my anus a blockade. The warmth and pressure of water in my nether wells loosened me and felt smooth seeping around the edges of the plug. She twisted a knob, closed a valve, pumped a fist size lobe, and bridged the gap. I was filling and feeling heavy.

The sand textured grout on my nipples chafed sparking at my aureola. The cool temperature of concrete on my face was eroding the evils of the night. My extremities vied for attention calling out with dull ache and whispers of appreciation. She was soothing them. She pumped the lobe.

I was filling. My anus was expanded and relaxed though plugged. My internal organs were unsympathetic. They pushed at the water.

I had more pressure. I was becoming a reservoir holding two bottle worth of water.

She placed her hands at the top of my gluteus maximus pressing down to the floor through my patella. My nipples felt tight now too, engorged like my clitoris.

She told me to relax and let the enema rest inside me. I was relaxed and tight and revolving. I needed the muscle tension to stay in my tripod. My chest was on the ground , my anus at my pentacle. It was too much water. My insides pushed rhythmically up and out moving at the plug. Her hands, as light as they were, put still more pressure on my body. Still she bad I stay relaxed.

My body pushed out in stronger tides.

She nuzzled my perineum smelling me. The thought she was looking for freshness tore me as I was anything but. She breathe so deeply, though, like she found something she wanted.

My body was still swelled.

She put her lips to my lips.

Waves lapped as she lapped.

Her tongue flicked tasting me.

The pressures were culminating.

A wave receded.

My legs began to shake. I remained obedient. They asked for her tongue too, but she lapped still at my clitoris.

The orgasm was present starting in my face and draped like a mask until I was festooned with it. It was a steady jubilation.

She moved her left hand to my belly pushing at my abdomen. It was like a wall with all the pressures. I was vice clamped grabbing at my body tides. I was being constructed. She was an architect creating a dyke for herself.

I was a dam about to overflow. My sales were ever unfurled spinning like a wind mill. She was the breeze encouraging me. My vanes were captivated and as the water washed over me I was culled by it.

She sucked at my soft red labia tasting my orgasm. I was moved though my body didn't. She made me. She made me cum and the first layers of me remained.

She removed the plug and sat me up. The flow washing out of me caused muscle spasms and my vagina mucked at the tile floor pulsing.

She dried me off and allowed me to drift asleep while she bathed herself and cleaned.

This was a part of my awakening. I was to be put together by a combination of efforts and take with me knowledge and understanding that encompassed the sleeping world and only alluded to the waken. Today was the first day.

I had parts and was comprised. I thought that made me more of a machine than a human being. Maybe I still do. I longed to solve the mystery and vowed to keep this woman close to me.