In some ways, pain is a universal language. What causes pain can vary, but pain is that which we all understand. Devon had a way of identifying people’s pain. Possibly because he himself was in a constant (yet hidden) state of despair. He knew the signals. Could recognize the small facial changes and energy shifts. And he would often take it upon himself to bring smiles wherever possible. It never seemed enough to satiate the growing void in his own heart and he had come to accept that his void would always be there. But the idea of eradicating such a feeling for others became a source of livelihood for him. He had a light-hearted nature that he maintained even after two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. In fact, this boyish disposition helped keep the nightmares at bay. He would play theme songs from the movies and shows of his childhood to aid him in getting through each night. In many ways, he had remained unchanged as the chipper and starry-eyed 17 year-old who fantasized about saving the world as a patriot. In many other ways, he was ruined. Stuck with the memories. The taste of a baby’s blood after being blown up in a stroller bomb; The dying words of his comrades, some he believed to be men much more deserving of life than he. Devon was someone who became complicated by way of experience. His core self (if one would like to argue that such a thing exists) was not intricate or heavy. It showed no signs of neurosis or anxiety----just depression. Brought on by the juxtaposition of his inner exuberance and the outer realities of his childhood and each numbing experience after. Perhaps this innocent simplicity lent to his reckoning. He had always dared to hope. Tasked himself with ending the suffering of others, even though he would never know such a feeling in his own heart.

This urge combined with a charming flirtatiousness is what led him to stop Lima on the street. She was, by any standard, a fat woman. Devon thought it looked good on her though, and he found that bigger women often let their guard down pretty fast if they felt desired. He caught a glimpse of exhaustion and sadness in her face--which he took as an opportunity to offer some dashing comfort. He found out her demeanor was due to a long day’s work, so he offered a consoling hug-- an excuse for touching-- which he thoroughly enjoyed. Lima had both a coltish and serious disposition: warm, intense, and grounded. Like hot Lava cooling on water as it turned to earth. She didn’t seem particularly giddy or impressed, but rather offered a genuine and curious interest in Devon. He had an affinity for genuine women. It helped him make up for his own deficit. What began as a transitory chance to put a smile on a pretty girl’s face, led to Devon considering an entire courting process. He had, in spite of himself, felt something. Hope reared its beautifully ugly head again. And in a fit of hopeful doubt, he took the bait.

Days later, Devon had arranged a date with Lima. He picked her up from her job and they set off for pizza and conversation by the lake. It was an evening in early November, so it was rather cold to be by the lake, but Devon had to bring her here---this particular beach offered many nostalgic memories for him and he needed to relive them. The pizza they had was also from a place he had frequented in his childhood--only befitting. Lima recognized this pattern of relived memories when Devon then drove them to a mall nearby that he used to visit as well (though she wouldn't analyze how pathetic and sinister this contrived list of destinations was until much later). If Lima had known any better at the time, she would have--for personal enjoyment--counted the number of times Devon said the word "SEAL." He would find ways to slip it in to parts of their conversations "when I was a SEAL..." or "As a SEAL..." or "SEALS are trained to..."

In spite of his incessant need to relive the past and his sadly obvious peacocking, Lima found Devon to be quite charming. In actuality, she subconsciously saw a project...a challenge to help the bruised veteran become whole again. For Devon, she would do. Lima was comforting and inviting--she could scratch his itch.They both unknowingly provided sufficient artillery for the other's complex.

They entered a whirlwind romance. Devon had professed strong feelings very early on. Lima, swayed by the persistence and consistency and his seemingly open and vulnerable communication, followed suit. They spent time together mostly at night after Devon got off of work. The first time they had made love, Devon proclaimed to be able to feel Lima's heartbeat and said their night was perfect. Lima had felt quite unsure and was numbed from nervousness and uncertainty. She didn't quite understand how the night was perfect for him. But he seemed so sure and his affections felt so nice that she assumed it to be so. Devon had a tendency to be quite confrontational with other men. On three different occasions, she had to diffuse situations where Devon almost got into fights....a passing car didn't slow down enough, a passerby didn't get out of the way fast enough...Devon had to be sure these other men respected him. Lima was pained at these useless displays of macho behavior and often wondered if this would be their future.

She never quite understood how the male ego worked…all she knew was that there was one, and that it was quite flimsy. He talked a lot. Mostly about himself--old memories and ever present feelings of despair. She listened. She gathered that most men do not have friends that they can vent to in this way. And wanting to feel needed, she readily accepted the opportunity to "be there." One day, as they were driving back from a day-long road trip out of town, Lima pushed herself to discuss her own turmoil. She had started to talk about her weight and struggles with wanting to feel admired. "You're beautiful" and some blanketed advice were all Devon could offer in that moment. A consoling compliment that would lighten the mood was often how he approached Lima's attempts at vulnerability. He figured women were easily appeased in this way. Validation was key. The conversation lasted 5 minutes. While she appreciated the affirming statement, she didn't feel quite comfortable enough pushing the subject or any of the deeper implications. She hushed. And Devon used the opening to reminisce about the day he completed his training "as a SEAL" and of a lover he used to know and how she broke his heart. For the next hour, he told story after story and when he stopped, Lima looked over to see that he had started crying. She felt many things--annoyance, curiosity about his past, a weight from the somber nature of his words, and a genuine appreciation for his story telling. She could not focus too long on any of these feelings for she felt a bigger need to help eradicate whatever sadness was sweeping over him and leading him to tears. As Devon let the tears fall down his face, he stated: "I'm finally ready to die." Panicked, Lima tried all of the flowery words she could, but Devon had seemed content with the hopelessness and preferred to turn on the proper song that he usually listened to in those moments. A song he discovered when he first fell in love with this girl and when he first joined the military. Lima stifled her own disturbed feelings as Devon parked in front of her apartment. They ascended the stairs and as they laid down in her room, he began removing her pants and expressed gratitude for her presence and support. All was well. She felt loved through feeling needed.

Devon came home pretty late that night. As he left Lima’s apartment, he drank an elixir of whiskey and NyQuil on his drive home. He rustled through the refrigerator to find something to eat…something to help cool the heart burn, the stomach ache, and the voices. He noticed a plate of leftovers wrapped in foil. He ripped off the foil and devoured the food. He washed it down with some old wine. He popped three Tylenol then went to his room. "Hi Steven" he heard from his bed, as he undressed, not bothering to wipe the juices of sex and sweat off of his body. He nestled under the covers, then leaned over and made love to his wife.

I met him at the bus stop, on my way to college. He was travelling from another country, here to visit an old friend. Our conversation started with him asking directions to go to a museum. We talked for atleast an hour, both missing our bus. He asked me out that day and I agreed. We met for coffee the next day and then again later that week. It felt like a fairy tale. Growing up with a dusky skin and few extra pounds in Shri Lanka was almost like a curse. Only the girls with fair skin and a slim body were considered beautiful. I was neither. Jake from the US made me feel important. He always looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl he had seen. And to top it all, he was really good looking and a doctor. I could not have asked for more!

He left Shri Lanka two weeks after we met as his visa had expired. We exchanged emails and phone numbers. He called me everynight, which was daytime in the US. I would skip sleep and stay up late to talk to him for hours. I looked like a zombie from all the lack of sleep. But I didn’t care. I had a boyfriend who loved me for me! He encouraged me to apply to colleges in Boston, close to him. He told me how he could not wait to introduce me to his family and how much he loved me. I began applying to different programs at Universities in Boston. My parents were unhappy that I wanted to study abroad for my under graduate degree but I didn’t care! I was in love! Later that year, I got accepted into Northeastern University. He told me it was just a mile away from his home. I was thrilled!

I was finally in the plane that would take me half wy around the wold to meet my love. I dreamt blissful dreams..Dreams of happy life with him, raising two kids and a dog. Owning a beautiful house in the surburbs like the ones they shouw in hollywood movies.

After a long and tiresome journey, I finally got to the Logan airport in Boston. He was waiting for me with a bouquet of roses. We hugged and kissed. I sat in his car to get to his house. He locks the windows, tells me that its just for safety. We drive to a secluded location, which looked like a deserted dock. This does not seem right, I thought. He began grabbing my thighs and sliding his hands between them. Coming from a conservative culture, the most affection I had experienced was a kiss on my lips from Jake. I told him to stop. He looked at me with crazy eyes. I had never been so scared.He grabbed me harder, tore my clothes and told me to comply. I started screaming. He slapped me hard across my face. Suddenly, scenes of the movie ‘Taken’ started flashing in front of my eyes. Was he a trafficker? Was he a rapist? Did anything he say was real? I began to wonder as I struggled to get him off.

Luckily, a police car was passing by and I began to kick Jake to get to the car horn and pressed it repeadedly. The police car stopped and a cop came close to us. Jake calmed down and sat calmly on is seat, avoiding eye contact with the policeman. I slammed my hands against the car window crying profusely to get me out of there and then I did.

Turns out he had arrest warrants in multiple states in the US and abroad for rapes, sexual abuse of minors and trafficking young women.

(Edit #2)

Brought to climax

Underneath the setting suns!...

...Fingers rub with vigor,

’til you netting comes undone...

...The sum of your waters

Running down along my palm...

...We could be on Mars,

Or Venus!...

In your very secret mirror

I can abscond

From all the worries

Of this 2-D atmosphere...

...And it’s right now

That I can't contain

My ecstasies, and

Screams.

Please meet me

Past the veil

Of doors, and over

Every

Tricky score...

...I want to take you

At your

Best,

Embracing every

Brazen fest...

...I love you,

And we'll fuck so good!...

...And far away from this

Display...

...You make me want

To ditch my sign,

And name,

And creed,

And pale tan

Lines...

...The whirlwind of

The void

Stares up,

And points an

Arrow

Where I'll drop.

©

2018

Bunny Villaire

He has gone through torture so unmentionable that he shouldn't be alive.

He had attacked strangers for fear that they will attack him first, like his abuser.

He's told his parents numerous times what his abuser does, clueless that it's wrong.

They don't believe him. His abuser is perfect, after all.

He entered elementary school and beat the students and teachers all the same.

One boy, after being beat unconscious by him, offers friendship.

It's a rocky path, but he learns.

He learns to be compassionate, to not hit people;

He learns love.

But there is a point where he stops growing; he stops learning.

A young little angel comes along to continue the victim's teaching.

The victim learns of God, and of purity.

He's no longer a delinquent.

The abuser is finally, after a rough trial, put away, with the help of the angel.

The victim is finally free to live his life.

And yet he still loves his abuser, for she is his sister.

What did he say

On that warm summer day

It's where was she led

That's what she said

His money and wealth

Took no account for her health

The pain and the shame

Though she fought as he came

The most nefarious deed

Forced upon her with his seed

A violation on her soul

She no longer felt whole

Though crushed now and broken

It seemed but a token

If they were even aware

But did they really care

Perhaps it's because

How they interpret those laws

Or why she nearly died

As she broke down and cried

All she got was a cold stare

From police who were aware

Of what she had gone through

What was she to do

But it was his word against hers

Such was her curse

On the police report it read

That's what she said...

(c) BAM

E.L. James

I wanted it to be like anything else I ever wrote - simple, mindless prose.

The kind of fanfic throwaway that anyone with two brain cells and an iPhone could dictate and pass off as a masterpiece.

I had not intended for it to become the monster scandal it finally evolved into.

Ian looked at me, his need etched heavily on his face.

Standing next to the full-length mirror, he admired himself.

His expensive, bespoke leather jacket matched his kid-skin gloves; dark fabrics hugged the curves of his luscious body.

He stood there, an Adonis to my Venus.

My forbidden lust rose in me, unbidden, as I remembered our most recent debauchery.

A slight grin crossed my lips as I recalled his commands, and my innate need to satisfy my Master.

My cheeks still were flushed and red from his riding crop.

I had been disobedient, insoucient, a brat - and even, dare I say it, irascible?

My insolence had been rewarded by severe remonstrations from him, accompanied by repeated strikes of black, hand-woven leather, oiled with the most sensual essences available to mankind.

To create these rare treasures, exotic beetles from the Amazonian rain forest had been crushed into delicious paste, their frail bodies squeezed, until they yielded their secret fragrances.

Then, the remnants of these had been bottled and put for sale in the cosmetics aisles of all the best stores in Manhattan.

Stores owned by Ian, and his fratbro cohorts.

Stores that made them billionaires, as scores of woefully inadequate women sought to hide their inner pain, and empower their lioness within.

The irony of all of this was lost on me, as I knelt there on the marbled tile, my ass still stinging from my lesson in humility.

“What do you think you are doing, El?” Ian asked.

“I found some innocent, amusing thing on the web, something to pass the time. May I read it to you?” I inquired.

Ian’s stern look made me quiver with unbridled desire, and I salivated at the thought of an upcoming test of my love for him.

“Go on,” he insisted. My heart skipped a beat...

“It’s a writing contest, on this website. They do these challenges. This one is to imitate the style of one’s favorite author. I submitted an entry, under a pseudonym. Am I naughty, do you think, Ian? Me pretending to be me? When I am really me?” I spat out, rapidly cadencing my words for best effect.

As I watched my Master, I noted the bulge in his leather chaps that meant I had done my duty.

My innermost secrets throbbed with ecstasy as I knew I had managed to achieve my hidden goal.

Even though Ian thought he was my Master, and I his Slave, the reality was far more subtle.

I finished typing my entry, my red-glossed nail polish slick and shining as my fingers tapped out their symbols on the tiny smartphone keyboard.

Satisified I had managed to at least confound the Universe once more, I rolled over, exposing my soul to my one, true Master.

As Ian approached, I turned my attention to the small screen, that showed the President of the United States standing next to the Russian Premier.

Ian’s first lashing with the cat-o-nine tails bit into my soft flesh, and I cried out as I listened to the most powerful men on the planet control my Destiny.

When she roasted that crack stem

And just gave me that zombie look...

I knew it was fate

For thirteen years we were on that date

Days of Wine...

And Roses too

Loving and bleeding

All black & blue

Sublime madness

Dawn's burn 'way dimes

How I embraced such sadness

On an old, soiled mattress

She began her decline...

Days of Wine...

And Roses too

Loving and bleeding

All black & blue

And from those ashes

A Phoenix did arise

Tho a miracle not beholden

Her soft, red-webbed eyes

Silver tears now suturate

The earth & root she now entwines

And many a night

Do I roll over her side

In routine desperation

Believing I can still tender her cry...

He reminded you of a mayfly, always living for the moment, as though it could all fade away in the blink of an eye. You were not quite so carefree, but whenever he looked at you with those glinting, mischievous eyes, you questioned whether anything in the world could ever be so right. Your story could have lasted ten seconds, minutes, months, or years, but you can only describe them as moments.

Ten. He's leading you somewhere. You feel the beauty of the nature surrounding you, the leaves crunching under your foot, the birds chirping, perched up in the tall trees. You hike uphill; he gets there before you do, but turns around and grins at you, outstreching his hand. You smile, take it, and pull yourself up. You open your mouth to say something, but immediately forget what it was. The world never ceases to amaze you, and especially not now; the hills are covered in flowers of red, orange, yellow, and pink, becoming almost iridescent under the sun's golden rays. You can feel his eyes trained on you, and your smile only broadens as you gaze back at him and lean in.

Nine. All you see is purple, purple, purple. It surrounds you, as though coming towards you in silky waves. You cheer along with everyone else, then stand and throw your cap in the air, not caring where it lands, but looking around to find him. He's clapping along, but he only has eyes for you, and you can feel your lips turn up into a proud grin. He mouths those three words, and you feel your eyes filling with tears as you mouth them back.

Eight. You never now how he finds these places, these secluded parts of the world that only he seems to be aware of. You lie next to him in a meadow of daisies, closing your eyes as the sun beams down on your face, and opening them to see him twirling a lock of your crimson hair around his finger lazily. He is made of smiles and laughs and bold declarations; he reminds you of fire and wind and the ocean. You rest your hand on his shoulder, and he looks down at you with that charming grin of his. You grin back, lay your head on his chest again, and close your eyes. All you can think is, perfect.

Seven. You work tirelessly and compliantly, loving every second of it. He supports you, he always has, and he works just as hard. Sometimes he comes home only minutes before you need to wake up, and sometimes you arrive just as he's about to sleep. Your schedules conflict, but he assures you that it's the little moments that matter. You spend every spare minute you can with one another, but it's not enough, at least not for you. He always says that one moment can last a lifetime, but all you can think is that you miss him.

Six. He returns after being gone for two whole days, and that is when you let it out. You can't stand it, you know he has to work, but you need him, and can't he understand that? He comforts you and murmurs apologies and promises that it won't be like this forever, and finally, you know it's the truth, because he lives for the moment, and this one is certainly not pleasant. You exhale deeply, sigh, and nod. Then, without another word, you crawl back under your covers. As you feel the bed dip under his weight, all you can think is that it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Five. You try harder, both of you, to prevail under the circumstances. You visit his office and are greeted by his welcoming lips. He brings you pastries from your favorite bakery, and you eat them together, enjoying each other's company, even if only for thirty minutes. He lives for the moment, and he makes the smallest ones last forever. You take a bite out of your pastry, and all you can think is, you're making it work. That's enough to put you at ease.

Four. You visit your mother for an afternoon tea every Sunday, and every Sunday, as you take a sip from your steaming cup of tea, she does the same routine. She insists that he is perfect, and you are perfect, and together, you practically ooze with perfection. You smile and agree; he is perfect, and together, you feel perfect. She asks if you are happy, if you feel right, and you can only beam and nod. You take another sip of your tea, disregarding the burning heat on your tongue, and all you can think is that this is what happiness must feel like.

Three. He brings you to dinner with his parents. You've met them before, but it always gives you a bit of a shock to see how closely he resembles them. You notice little fragments of him in them; his father's strong jaw, his mother's bright eyes, the tall height that both of them had passed down. They treat you like their own daughter, and his mother's knowing gaze does not go unnoticed by you. You look at him, and he blushes slightly, shooting a pointed look toward his mother. His father chuckles, and all you can think is, home.

Two. You stand on a rooftop, looking down at the city below you, the streetlights twinkling like stars. He hugs you from behind and you lean into him slightly before pulling away and turning around. He takes something from his coat pocket, and before you even realize what he's doing, he gets down on one knee and says those four words, the ones you knew only he was ever meant to say. You laugh and nod, and as he slides the ring on your finger, all you can think is that no moment has ever been more eternal than this one.

One. You return to that forest trail, the one you hiked with him eternities earlier. A small hand curls around yours, and you look at your daughter, smile at her, and help her up to the edge of the cliff. You see her eyes become alight with childlike wonder, and she lets go of your hand, stepping forward, completely entranced. You feel another hand in yours, intertwining your fingers, but you don't need to turn around to know who it is. You lean into him, feeling your lips curve up, and all you can think is, life is beautiful.

He reminded you of a mayfly, always living for the moment, as though it could fade away in ten seconds. You could not help but succumb to his carefree, spontaneous lifestyle, because whenever you looked into those millenia-old, gleaming eyes, you knew without a doubt, that nothing in the world could ever be as right as this mayfly. Life goes on. Moments last. You endure, together.

Put your face out in the rain

Bump your toe and feel the pain

Breathe the air and say again

I am human, not insane

Be the one who sees what's real

Don't deny just what you feel

Like an onion you can peel

To deepest feelings you reveal

Give yourself the human break

Of understanding risk you take

The great decisions that you make

To be real and not be fake