Gary A. Braunbeck - Cages and Those Who Hold the Keys

—she glimpsed the shadow-shape reflections in the mirror, dozens of them that were standing in the inverted doorway of her bedroom, moving as one toward her bed, surrounding it, their eyes glistening as they watched in silence, their breathing getting heavier and more ragged along with her own, their sighs soft and excited, rising into moans, then squeals, then near-deafening screams of ecstasy—

—their faces were plain and forgettable but Sparkle Eyes knew what they wanted, and what she wanted—to be desired as they’d never been desired before, to be wanted in that private, heated way, to be lusted after , just once, that’s what they wanted—and she was giving it to them, just this once, just for tonight, just so they’d know what it was like instead of having to imagine it, and she could feel some part of them inside of her as well, some small part from each of them, and now the man below her was really going at it because he wasn’t in control now and never had been, it was all her, and it was good, so good as she reached over his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his back, drawing them straight up, turning them into claws as she bucked and thrashed and wiggled, driving herself down one last time squealing and howling and screaming.

"God, yes, do it...do it... shoot it in me, in me, in me NOW! YES! GOD, YES! "—

—one of the shadow-shapes moved forward and touched the largest matryoshka doll—

— In the room the women come and go—

—Sparkle Eyes felt the pressure building up inside of her, roiling around, looking for release, and thought the veins in her neck might burst from the strain, then she felt him explode inside of her, his orgasm blinding, overpowering as he groaned, then grunted, then moaned loudly, ramming his hips upward, burying his cock even deeper, shooting his seed all the way up to the back of her teeth, and she wanted to come with him, wanted their climaxes to be one and the same, but that wasn't going to happen, his orgasm was the point, coming like he’d never came before because he’d never, ever, ever been with a woman as stunning as her, and God did he come, hard and strong and endlessly, with such intensity she actually thought he was going to pass out before it was over, but he didn’t, he stayed with her, groaning and crying out until he was spent, then, smiling, suppressing a giggle, she leaned down and kissed the side of his face, lifting herself slowly off of him, his still-throbbing erection sliding out of her, the head giving one last spurt before the whole thing flopped to the side, something that made them both laugh, then he rolled her onto her back and took his hand and began massaging her vagina—

“—you don’t have to do that,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if—”

“—it matters to me, ” he said, but not angrily, not with the ridiculous macho-man determination that dictated a man wasn’t a man unless he could make a woman come; no, this was said with concern, and surprising tenderness, as one who wished to return pleasure in equal measure, so Sparkle Eyes stretched back and parted her legs a bit wider and whispered, "Okay, then, just...touch me here—gently, gently...there you go..." and he worked his fingers until she came, grabbing the sheets in her hands and arching her back, his fingertips moist and warm with her juices, then they were lying beside each other, faces almost touching, and he couldn't seem to keep his hands off of her. "I'm sorry you couldn't come with me inside of you," he said. "Shhh, don't apologize, it was just as good this way." "The halo's around you now, around your whole body."

She looked toward the mirror and saw that the moonlight had moved to her side of the bed, its light glinting off her sweat, making her glow, and she felt as if she were glowing from somewhere deep within, from a place only another woman might understand.

"I wish moments like this would never end," she said, not only to the man next to her but to the shadow-shape sisters filling the room. "Right now I don't want any of this to go away, not the sweat, not the stains, not your fingers touching me, not this...this pounding in my chest."

"I know how you feel," he said, his fingertips tracing subtle patterns on her bare, slick belly.

"Do you? Do you really? I wonder. I—no, please, don’t... mmm, don't stop doing that, okay, it's just...it's just that right now I wish there was something more powerful, more ethereal to help me express this feeling. There should be a new language, you know? One that can only be spoken between two people who've just made love, only then, and only until the sun comes up or they have to get out of bed and go their separate ways. I know that must seem kind of silly to you—" "—no, not at all." She smiled at him, then placed a finger against his lips. For a while, neither of them spoke; she wouldn't allow it.

Laying her head against his solid, washboard-sculpted stomach, she closed her eyes and for a few minutes became lost in a pleasant limbo, neither awake nor dreaming, just lost in contented stillness of her body, heart, and mind, turning her face toward his flesh and kissing his chest, feeling his body tense ever so slightly, and soon they were making love again, less frenzied this time, more patiently, taking the time to enjoy each other’s bodies in ways they hadn't bothered with before, and this time she came with him inside of her (though he did have to reach down and use his hand again as well, but that was all right), then they both fell asleep for a few minutes; when they awoke she could sense his trying to think of a tactful way to broach the subject of leaving. She decided to save him the trouble and, lifting her head, swallowed once and said, in a hoarse, throaty, deeply satisfied voice, “Uh, listen, I've got a long day tomorrow and I've never been much of a morning person, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

She watched as he dressed himself in silence, then leaned over, kissed her bare back, and left.

She waited until she heard the front door close behind him, then kneaded her vagina, soaking her palms and fingers in his juices as well as her own, then pulled her hands up and pressed them against her face, inhaling the rich, wet scent of their sex.

With her hands still pressed firmly against her face, she began to cry.

There are lonely ones who by nature cannot hold on to their joy, no matter how hard they try. Like the acne-scarred man in the pub, something in Amanda had been trained since childhood never to trust happiness.

She’d learned her lesson well, and felt damned because of it.

And empty, so empty, empty, empty...

"Do you remember?" asked one of the shadow-shape sisters. "Do you remember that time in the sixth grade when Tommy Smeltzer ran over and kissed you right on the mouth? You were surprised because you'd had a crush on him for so long but didn't think he even knew you were alive."

"I remember," said Amanda.

"Do you remember," asked another sister, "how you tried to put your arms around him but he grabbed your wrists all of a sudden? He twisted your arms behind your back while a couple of his friends threw mud in your hair, then left you in the middle of the playground?"

"...yes..."

Another shadow-sister moved closer. "Remember the way all of the girls stopped jumping rope and made a big circle around you and pointed and laughed? You never forgot that sound, did you? You closed your eyes and asked God to let you die right there and then because you didn't think anyone would want to be friends with you after that."

"...they never did."

"And you spent the rest of your grade-school recesses leaning against the chain-link fence that surrounded the playground, wishing that someone would come over and ask you to play with them."