This piece received an Honorable Mention in THE FALL 1997 EROTICA CONTEST sponsored by Different Loving.

Here is what the judge had to say about it: "My Darkside Fantasy" I consider more a powerful first draft than a finished story, and had its elements been fully integrated (and the characters fully fleshed) it would have been among the place winners without question.

This piece was inspired by the man who showed me my different side. He told me a story one day and this is my interpretation of it from the woman's point of view.

It is powerful, coarse, and a bit shocking. But is has a message. For those of you who see that message -- thank you.

If you have any comments on this please let me know by email or by leaving a comment in my Dreambook.

Here is My Darkside Fantasy.

For the third time in less than two hours I have to change my underwear.

He had called and said in his low, mysterious, frightening voice that never ceased to send chills up my spin, "Be ready at 8. Wear the purple outfit. You know which one. Bring only a toothbrush and your white gown."

Click.

He'd not waited for a reply. He never did when he was like this.

My stomach is in a knot. My palms sweat and I feel the juices trickle out of me again as my honey flows once more between my swollen lips. I glance at the clock. No time to change again.

My heart leaps to my throat as there is a faint tapping.

I open the door and begin to greet him, but he places a single finger on my lips. I know to be quiet.

He takes my hand and leads me to the car.

A hundred questions fly through my mind, some so rapidly I'm not even able to form a reply.

"Stop thinking." His voice is deep, resonant, and I stop thinking.

I open to the sensations. To the smell of his aftershave. I breathe deep and my nostrils flare with the smell of him. In eager anticipation I lick my lips and remember the taste of him from so many times before. I hear his breathing and mine matches his. My clothing clings to my skin, almost suffocating me as I want to be free of their constraints. My vision blurs as the buildings fly by and I stop trying to figure out where we are headed.

He pulls the car into a parking spot in the court of a rather seedy looking motor court. An old and dilapidated looking place where his luxury car stood out among the beat-up pick-up trucks and rusted-out junkers like a diamond in a bed of dime store paste jewelry.

I look up at the window before us as he opens his door and comes around the back to open mine. The motel window is slightly fogged but through it I can see the movement of people. My heart begins to pump heavy in my chest as the adrenaline pours into my bloodstream. I feel and sense everything. No detail escapes me. I look up at him as he opens the door and for a brief moment I want to flee. His eyes are dead. There is no spark in them that I've grown to crave.

Obediently I lift my hand and place it in his outstretched hand. He helps me, wordlessly, out of the car. I jump as he slams the door shut.

He walks me to the door and opens it, then steps back. His hand is firm on my back. He doesn't push. He knows he doesn't need to.

I enter the room. A room filled with men. Short, tall, fat and skinny. My stomach nearly turns at the smell of them. They are sweaty in the late-summer heat. The odor of beer leaves a bitter after-taste in my mouth. I swallow hard.

"Go change into your gown." His voice is deep but so distant, as if he is only a specter.

I do his bidding and walk to the small bathroom, not looking at any of the men directly but all too aware of their eyes on me. I try not to move seductively, but my body is too revealed in the skin-tight purple dress.

I close the door and look at myself in the mirror. My make up and hair are perfect, but the haunted look in my eyes ruins the otherwise beautiful woman. Trying not to think, trying desperately to put all thoughts of what might be next out of my mind, I remove my clothing and slip my gown over my head. I take one last look at the scared woman in the mirror, turn from her, and open the door.

A gasp escapes my lips before I can catch it. They are naked. Twelve men of all sizes stand around the bed. I look about -- frantic. My gaze falls to him. He sits at the foot of the bed on a straight-back chair. His hands rest almost casually on the arms, his legs are crossed. He is aloof. Not there. His eyes are focused on the bed. He, like his car, stands out among these other men. He is the luxury, they are the junkers.

His voice comes to me in the swirling images and feelings. "Get on the bed. On your hands and knees." Without thought, without even a second glance at him I go willingly to the bed and climb to the middle and wait.

One of the men, a short balding man with a beer belly that sticks out from his otherwise skinny frame and makes him look to be eight months pregnant asks, "In the mouth only, right?"

I hear his affirmative answer and my heart breaks.

I want to flee, to run, to hide, to disappear into a void where no one can find me.

But then they are on me. Like a pack of wolves feeding they begin to devour me. I feel their hands -- hungry and groping. I hear their voices. God, how can they be so filthy. They speak of me like I'm some piece of meat.

My face is grabbed by one of them and he pushes his smelly cock to my lips. He forces my mouth open and pushed himself into me. His cock is short and thick and tastes bitter. He humps my mouth, no pretense, he is using me for himself.

A deluge of emotions erupts in me. I want to vomit them out onto the bed. I want these men to see the pain, the fury, the hate and degradation of being used like an animal. Always vowing, always promising never to go back to them but drawn to the pain.

Their hands are on me, pawing me, ripping the gown from me. I feel their pricks beating on me, their mouths lapping at me, leaving trails of filthy slime along my body. Then the man at my face pumps a load of cum into my mouth. I gag, but he pumps harder, driving his stinking seed into my mouth, my throat, and finally down into my stomach. I want to wretch but can't. I take it. He removes his now softening cock from my mouth but it is immediately replaced by another. This one long and thin and he forces himself to the back of my throat.

Then I feel a hot stickiness on my back, my arms, my ass, my breasts. They are cumming on me. Unloading their filthy spunk onto my body.

My mind goes numb. I shrink. I disappear. There is nothing left of me. I have disappeared. That beautiful woman who barely an hour ago stood before the mirror in her pink and lace bedroom is now gone.

They have taken her.

She has given them.

She shrinks.

She cannot cry.

They continue for God only knows how long. Her body is covered, coated in spunk. Her mouth aches. Pain. The bitter taste of a dozen men's spunk permiates her mouth. Her face is caked with the drying cum of those who could not deposit another load into her mouth.

Then they stopped.

Somewhere in the distance she hears the sound of men dressing, belching, then the sound of racing engines fills the air.

Then silence.

As a wounded animal looks for refuge, she turns. He sits there. His eyes still dead. His expression unchanged. She scrambles off the bed and crawls to him. She looks up -- desperate for a sign. He gives none. A pathetic whimper emerges from her scarred throat. In the silence of the room it is much larger, more hollow, more forlorn.

She is lost. She needs to find a way back. He ignores her.

"Please, Master, let me have you. Let me pleasure you." The voice coming from her throat is small, lost, alone, abandoned.

A hope springs in her as he rises, but he doesn't look at her. She follows his movements. He goes to the bed, gets a pillow and places it on the floor. "Sleep." His voice is distant, detached, as if he is not there.

Instinctively she lays down at the foot of the bed, resting her head on the pillow. She wants the tears to come, but they don't. All she can do is lay there. Lay there as the spunk dries on her. Coating her body. She tries for sleep but it doesn't come. She can hear his soft breathing as he falls into a deep slumber on the bed above her.

Insolation. Abandonment. Fear. They are now her companions.

Then sweet Morpheus comes and rescues her -- that is until the dream begins. She dreams the nightmare over and over. Each time in greater detail. Each time she sees him, sitting there, so passive, so unmoved, so foreign and distant from her.

*******

I sense. I feel. It is warm, comforting, wet. I force my eyes open. The world comes rushing back to me as I remember. My pain is so deep. My pain is so real. My pain is.

He is kneeling next to me. In his hand is a sponge that he dips in a bowl of warm water and bathes me. His touch is soft. His voice speaks softly to me. I look up and see the eyes that I have loved. The eyes that mean so much to me and see so deeply into my soul. He has returned -- no, he is more here than he has ever been.

He moves the sponge over me. The warm water washes away the caking sperm. As he moves over each part of my body I feel a bit of me coming back. A part of who I am falling back into place. A part of my soul opened and revealed.

The light of dawn streams through the window. The fog is gone. Just the warmth of the sun. Of renewal.

He bathes my back then rolls me onto it, a towel now under me. He washes my face, my neck, my breasts, my arms, my stomach, my legs.

Then he is over me, moving between my legs. I look up at the eyes I love. I look up into the face of the man I love. He smiles and my world is right. Then he moves his head down to mine and his lips take possession of mine. My heart leaps at the unspoken tale his lips tell as they kiss me. I open to him and his tongue moves lightly into my mouth and he bathes me there.

Then, as he is kissing me deeply, he gently parts my legs and moves slowly into me. I take him, open to him, surrender to him.

I am there. I am at the place he promised would be like candy to me. That I would crave and desire it as much as I need air to breathe.

As he moves in me, rocking his body over me slowly, whispering words my heart has longed to hear -- he knows me. He knows how to heal me, to love me, to make me his.

And as we gain a mutual orgasm, with the warm sunlight of dawn blanketing our bodies, I know, I know.

I know the true desire of my heart.

I am healed.

I am whole.

I am loved.

I am his.