Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

Elisa, in striking opposition, had a kissing surface that seemed to be divinely ordained to be the absolute perfect place for a lovely embrace, the curve of her upper lip systematically met her palate, offering to a lucky fellow a Valhalla like curve for tongue twisting or, praise be to the lord, fellatio. Elisa had been endowed with two such heavenly flower buds, with a faint hint of bloody animation, that they seemed to plead for contact, one of the primary causes of her popularity, along with the stench of her pheromones that emanated out of her pores in a seemingly unique fashion, like a wild cat in heat. This aroma had been surrounding Vincent since he started the relationship with her, it was on his clothing when he got home, it was on everything she touched, it filled the room when she was present and it caused other men to make foolish gestures, to ignore propriety and make open advances towards her, even in the captain’s presence.

Now, she was on top of him, he could feel the pressure of her thighs on his legs, he could feel the soft underbelly of her arm against the back of his neck, and his entire face was filled with her smell, like an allergy.

Elisa, realizing the captain’s hesitation, lifted herself off of his lap, causing for a few moments Vincent to believe he had missed his opportunity, and walked back over to the table with the wine. She bent her head back and drew forth a large swallow directly from the bottle, sending streams of the creamy liquid rolling down the sides of her jaws, dripping onto her exposed collarbone and causing dark blots to appear on her blouse. She said something about her shirt and crossed her arms by her waist, lifting it off in one swift motion, exposing for him her bare front down to her belly. She tugged a knot on her left hip and the arcipluvian skirt she had been wearing floated down to her ankles, leaving only a thin, dark line of cloth between Vincent and her. He watched her like he had several times on the screen, focusing, commenting to himself the word exquisite, feeling the rippling heat well up within him. He kept his hand on the bed covers, unmoving, and she moved carefully over to him, stood just before the end of the bed, a few inches from his knees and slid her underpants down her thighs, then over her knees, and finally down her shins. He stared forward, her loins hovering within reach, her breasts so close to him the smell clung to streams of air, magnified by her nudity. With one forward step she was against him, tugging open his shirt, he felt her smooth hands slide his pants and shorts down his thighs, his eyes were closed and he could feel her naked flesh against him as he laid back on the bed, with her skin gliding against him. She inserted him inside and began to move, the quivering ache slowly growing within his belly, it began softly, like the opening of the great concerto, slowly building, sounds adding to the general peal of noise, within him, conscious of the wild whelps she uttered as she surged forward atop him, the strange rhythmic motion of her hips, his own guttural moans that he involuntarily expelled from his diaphragm, the building movement, the jerking slap of her hind against his thighs as the motion increased in intensity, every tissue, each pore of his skin, the electric shock of her touch, convulsing across his skin as he slid within her internal folds, until, as if the energy was erupting from within him, to implode within his gut and spew forth his entire essence, his eyes wet with unconscious tears, he spasmed, his fingers clenching the bed sheet, the sting of the sublime spitting out, and a sudden silence and inertia, only their breath slowly receding.

He lay motionless, exhausted, spent. He closed his eyes, they were simply too heavy to keep open, and sank into a fulfilling slumber.

Elisa carefully allowed him to slip out of her and retreated into the bathroom. She took a short shower to feel clean and re-entered hotel room proper, where the captain lay motionless, only his chest rising and falling, breathing shallowly and turned over on his side. She wouldn’t be crawling back into that bed, he’d leaked onto the sheets while he slept. She didn’t dress — if he awoke she’d need to recapture his attention and so she squatted down, nude, freshly clean, considering the episode, not fully satisfied, but that was really not the purpose than either. She’d have to educate him a little more if she was going to be expected to do this much longer.

She snapped the two locks on the briefcase, made sure he was still sleeping, and opened it up, thumbing through all sorts of papers and folders. She read some things, things that appeared to be of interest, like documentation on her assistant’s sexual habits, or the detailed reports on her movements, as well as a short note about a meeting she’d had with Arthur Dodger. Her file was considerably thick, photos (some arguably non-official), reports, surveillance logs, a contact list, a character profile (this she found amusing), but nothing about the resistance. There were some questionable notations, obscure references to something outside of her existence, Arthur’s name underlined, photocopied pages from what must have been his file, field notes on a mysterious character called ‘the wolf’, but Elisa didn’t have the time to read it all, she was too nervous, with him sleeping five feet away from her, all he had to do was roll over, all she had to do was rustle a piece of paper or snap a paperclip, and he’d catch her.

Her hands shook as she flipped through the papers, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder every few seconds, and she was thinking about what would happen if the captain ever turned her file in — that would mean she would be retrieved, that one day a group of men would come to see her and they would order her to go with them and she would be taken away. She didn’t know what they did to them, but she’d met a few ‘rebranded’ women before, they were lobotomized, strange wraiths of life, constantly repeating the same preprogrammed words. You could see it in their eyes, there was an absence, a lack of will left, a sort of zombie look, like the dead eyes of a shark. She gulped in air as she poured over the files, as quietly as she could. At least she’d found some information, at least she could tell Arthur something. She placed the papers back in the briefcase and snapped it shut. He was still sleeping.

She picked up his coat and rummaged through the pockets, nothing but a watch and a pen. Then she felt something in the collar; it ran down from the lapel and inside the sleeves, ending in one of the buttons. She followed the thick plastic wire from the sleeve and into the back of the jacket, just about at waist level. It was a transmission device. He turned it on by pushing one of the buttons on his sleeve — how many times she’d seem him fidgeting with them as they conversed — and there was a tiny microphone in the collar. Was it on? She imagined two husky men sitting in a van outside, listening… they’d heard all of it… they knew the captain had intercourse with her that evening, they’d heard her moans and his haughty breaths. Could they tell what she was doing? She put his coat back where she’d found it and took his wallet from his pants: his ID card (C-list), no section identification (perhaps out of fear of her finding it), pictures of her (all very innocent thankfully), figures (digital account balance looked high), a membership card to a gentlemen’s club (would have never thought), and that was all.

Elisa replaced his wallet and returned to the briefcase for a second time. She unlatched it, checked him, thumbed through the reports, took several documents, folded them up and placed them in her purse, then decided that was too obvious and placed them in a portfolio of the hotel’s amenities, changed her mind, just in case he decided to order something or needed to dial out, and finally slid them underneath the mattress of the second bed (unused at this point). She checked him again, this time actually tiptoeing up and making sure he was asleep and closed his briefcase and placed it exactly where it had been before. Then she joined the sleeping agent in the bed, avoiding the soiled spot, but curling herself up so that he could encircle her body.