Aunty Fingring

I cast an appraising glance at the crucifix hanging on the wall by the door, assessing its power. I know instantly that the cheap oak has never felt the touch of holy water, that the cracked and varnished plastic form of Jesus in His suffering has never had those secret, powerful words muttered over it, that it is a mere decoration and not a talisman with any power against me. I laugh and my laughter tumbles and turns, transforming into my hands, sending the crucifix flying off the wall to skitter like a mere spider across the bare hardwood floor into the corner furthest away from me. Now I begin to approach your bed, assessing you, slowly taking on the form of the woman you want so much in your dreams. Tall, slender, wide childbearing hips and heavy, pale breasts, darkest brown, long hair framing what I know to be hazelish-green eyes. I look down at this new version of myself, noting that not only am I completely naked, but my cunt is bare, completely smooth, and again I laugh. Such. Liar, she said to herself. You do know this man—and he knows you, better than you know yourself. Looking at his strong fingers wrapped confidently around the makeshift leash, she realized suddenly that she no longer felt any fear. She was his and he would take care of her. They were approaching the row of buildings. He stopped and knocked on a non-descript metal door which might have been painted red a long time ago but now seemed vaguely brown in the dim light from the parking lot. Looking over his shoulder, Marie saw that someone had scrawled the word “Eroth?e” on the door in large, uneven block letters with a black marker. After a moment the door opened and Marie heard him say, “Hi Theo, thanks for waiting. You go ahead, I’ll lock up.” Marie cringed behind him for a moment, thinking she was about to be displayed to a total stranger. But there was no one there when he led her inside. They were in a dimly-lit hallway. Marie noticed a vaguely familiar, rubbery smell. He.
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