Cold Blood And Warm Kisses

by on May 4, 2016, in Heart • No Comments

We kissed for what felt like an eternity, time without end to infinity as the strands of his thickened beard brushed tenderly across my bare naked skin, each inch of hair etched on his scraggy black beard tickled my neck as the warmth of his lips traced the outline of my trembling spine, I knew his love for me was palpable, but the love for his god was unconditional. 

 

He was a militant terrorist fighting in the pursuit of political and religious justice dubbed as an ‘’extremist’’ by the mass media. I was a homosexual westerner and everything his organization stood against, yet here I was laying naked in his arms as the strands of his grizzled chest hair run through my fingers like strains of straw. He tried everything he could to fight the attraction he had for me, the bruises on my face had become a deep shade of purple, his reddened hand prints had left a sore tingeing on my aching behind each time he would relentlessly and ruthlessly take out his frustrations on me. He loathed and despised his feelings for me and tried his best to ignore them, the torment on his face was painfully obvious to see as he cursed and insulted me with the most intimidating, scornful and vulgar profanity each time he climaxed inside of me, yet like a moth to a flame he could not pull himself away.

 

He screamed at me lingering with venomous rage spewing and salivating at the mouth as the hatred blitzing in his widened eyes left me paralysed with fear, yet it was a feeling that had become a common emotion after each time he made love to me beneath the cracked and peeling celling of his one-bedroom apartment the size of a cupboard. “You are an infidel; why do you do this to me?” he muttered with a sense of sorrow in his tone “Why do you tempt me so much? Why can I not resist you?” He hated himself for feeling attracted to me, but after each slap to the face and bruised black eye I always found myself back in the shivering confines of his four arched walls as the distant sound of police sirens loiter idly in the distance. He was so masculine, so dominant, so asserting, and I found myself unable to pull away from his hold.

 

Yet despite the violence and abuse, I did not see the face of a man who had killed and raped as he boasted with delight that he had killed dozens of ‘infidels’ all while laying naked and breathing heavily beside me. He would go into great detail as he described the screams and agony of the beatings, be-headings and death of tortured prisoners and innocent civilians as he wrapped me in his arms.

 

I knew on that cold early morning that would be the last time I ever saw him again as he adjusted the explosives tightly strapped on to his chest. There was a brief moment as he laced up his boots that he looked at me with those dark brown eyes, those very same eyes that just a few hours ago were looking down upon me and telling me how much he loved me.

 

Those same hands that held me from behind would soon have the cold blood of mothers, fathers, children, friends and loved ones as they lay emotionless and still on cold paved floors, as I lay here emotionless on cold bedded sheets wishing those same hands were still holding me from behind soothing me with his warm kisses.




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