There is a non-fiction reading I am submitting to for March. Here is a sample from the story:
Studies show that the human body begins the healing process immediately after a wound is opened. Over a series of processes, and sometimes only a matter of days, the tissues and skin regenerate to their original condition. And sometimes, the body recovers so well after an injury that there is no evidence of the wound at all.
* * *
The night was dark from the missing moon, and I was just drunk enough to have lost most of the senses from my brain. It was the kind of night that was dark no matter where we were. My roommate, Steven, and I met two guys at a bar that night, we’ll call them Ron and Jeremy. They were smooth talkers. The bar was one we’d frequent often; one of those just-sleezy-enough-to-be-fun, but not-too-sleezy-you-keep-your-wallet-in-your-front-pocket kind of places. It was a really dark place with lots of black corners and handsy customers. Steven seemed to be hitting it off with Jeremy, so I took the cue and got myself nice and cozy with Ron. He was a giant of a man, ten years my senior, and twice my size with shoulders that could’ve been mistaken for Mount Rushmore. I think I may have asked him if he had presidents on his back. His wide jaw and heavy brow-line made him look slightly aggressive, but his warm voice and dark, closely-trimmed beard softened his face. When he spoke he looked straight into my eyes, intimidating me at times when he’d make sexual innuendoes. If I looked away too long he’d touch my chin and guide me back into his nearly-black eyes. A part of me was a scared of him, but most of me desired his attention. My skin responded to his small touches. When I turned from him to order a drink, I’d watch the hairs on my arm stand up from the base while his fingertips grazed my lower back.
Ron and Jeremy wanted to have an after-party at their place; we were always up for an after-party. My roommate drove, following them into some average neighborhood on the other side of town. I had no idea where we were.
Jeremy offered us drinks, which we gladly took, and guided us into the living room. It was a small space with two oversized sofas crammed into the corner. A yellow lamp was the only thing that lit the room. We immediately dove right into make-out sessions. Steven and Jeremy on one couch, Ron and I on the other. Sometimes we’d alternate, experimenting with our tongues and hands, exploring each other like pilgrims. I couldn’t tell you how long this went on for. At one point I realized I was slightly chilly; my shirt was on the floor and my pants were unbuttoned. Ron whispered in my ear, “Let’s go to my room.”
I’ve never had anyone carry me before. At least, not like that. Without a pause he scooped me up from the couch and carried me to his room. He gently lay me out on the bedspread, yanking my pants off as I lay there. The bed was soft, inviting; the room completely dark. I heard him fumbling with his clothing as he undressed. He turned down the bedspread, the sheets underneath felt crisp and smelled like fresh laundry. For some reason it comforted me, so I settled into the darkness as he engulfed me with his bare body. When I felt his massive erection I thought, “Oh crap.”