Seed in the Crimson Tide

A small discharge of her blood and his cum lay on the carpet.
“Leave it,” she said, “Let it soak in and stain the carpet and every time you look at that you’ll think of this time. For me, this time, has been the best time so far.”
She retired to the bathroom. He opened the window to let some fresh air in, to look down onto the street, to see if anyone knew. Looked down at the carpet, at the bed, at the wet patches of what had been liquids, fluids released from one body to another. Him to her. Her to carpet.
ˇShe returned wearing a pair of AP knickers.
“Have you never fucked anyone having their period before?”
Until she asked the question he had never thought about it. He must have. But now he felt an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. It felt unclean.
“No one’s really explained it to me before.”
She laughed.
“Oh baby you’re so naive for your years.”
Were most of the things he had done that afternoon just guess work. An explorer without a map but with some inbuilt compass to give him rough bearing. What did men really know about a woman’s body and what did they care beyond self satisfaction? Did a knowledge of the internal workings of a female anatomy add to sexual technique and ability?
“Do you want to see inside me?”
“Fuck. Are you fucking kidding?”
“Are you afraid honey? Are you scared or disgusted? Didn’t my pussy bring you pleasure?”
“It’s not what love’s all about,” he blurted out.
“So this is love. I’m not just a fuck buddy.”
She grabbed hold of his hand and held it tightly. Refusing to release it. His face reddened. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t know her. Not really. He had avoided physical things, situations. Maybe that was why he didn’t have a lot of male friends. Seemed to shy away from men. He was afraid. She could sense beneath his embarrassment was a person who was quite timid. It had not come over that way in the hotel bar. Obviously the alcohol had overcome his inhibitions. She lifted his hand and sucked on each finger. Closed the hand and placed it onto his lap above the pubic region. He did look at the hand. His eyes were closed.
She took his cock in her hand, “Are you so afraid baby? Are you scared of me, of sex, of the violence of the physical part of life.”
He opened his eyes and located the stain. No, he didn’t really what the blood meant. An approximation of the facts but nothing certain. He could have made a lot of guesses. Menstruation. According to hearsay something to be avoided when having sex.
He crouched down and touched the small dark patch with his fingertips. He wanted to smell it. He wanted to taste it. It didn’t look like blood. It wasn’t the right colour. It was damp. It was cold. It must have been warm when it trickled out of her. Her what, her what. His sexual vocabulary limited. Her vagina. Vagina. He felt a shiver. Maybe if they advanced this relationship they might evolve a warm language of intimacy.
“If we are to survive as friends and lovers weù have to discover more about each other. We must ask. We must tell. We must talk to each other,” her words extracted from his mind. He felt strange.
The day slowed, the afternoon felt quite elongated.
He glimpsed a rosary in her bag. A packet of cigarettes yet he had never seen her smoke.
People’s names came to mind. Some she might know.

“When your next lover comes along you’ll know different,” she said.
He was resting his head on her belly. He was thinking about something else and was only half aware of what she had said.
“I don’t have another lover.”
She laughed.
“Already we are precious to each other.”
He laughed. Wanted to laugh. Real laugh but smiled. He kissed her belly and spoke something into her naval.
“You wanted to laugh, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You see, you don’t do things you feel.”
“I wanted to laugh and I wanted to eat a black olive from your belly button.”
“And I want to spend the night with you.”

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