corrina page is a fictional character made up entirely in my imagination. any resemblance to real people, places, and/or things is completely coincidental and should be taken as such.
WARNING: The following may contain adult oriented material.
jan 00 | nov 99 | oct 99 | sep 99 | aug 99 | jul 99 | oct 98 | aug 96 | jul 96 | may-jun 96
with open arms and a smiling countenance i embrace you, awaiting the moment when
i can plunge my canines into the soft flesh of your throat and initiate you into my world...
corrina page
i grow roses in my garden. mostly so i can dry them out and crumple the petals. a crown of thorns worn by a thin man titilates me. i am a heretic and a pagan. i am not human so i can be without fault.
i have a man following me. at the park, in the grocery store, behind my car, reflected in my rearview mirror. i see him. a portly man with slits for eyes and a penchant for large brimmed hats. as though he could hide from me. his deodorant does nothing for his body odor because it is this that gives him away when he's still far from being within earshot.
he wears tassled shoes to show his good taste. i hear the leather gently slapping as he walks when he's blocks behind me. around corners, his clothes (cut too large even for a man his size) rustle carelessly against the stones of buildings, streetlights, parked cars. he is careless and unorganized. he carries his pen in one hand, a pad in the other tucked safely (or so he thinks) into his pocket. he is my next feast. he is an easy kill.
he wore a yellow tie today. it reminded me of the tulips from my childhood where i lived alone in a small backwoods town with a mother and a father who worshipped me and thought me innocent and sweet. we had farmhouse and a pet sheep. i spent most of my time in the barn where it was dark and mildewy from lack of use and care. the spiders in the rafters fascinated me. their thin, cottony webs like spun sugar - sticky like sugar, too. i used to run my hands through them, ignorant of the fact that i was destroying their hard work and their homes. with a swipe of a small, childish hand with fingers splayed, i tore down their feeding traps.
i understood my cruelty when i got older and left their webs intact. i sat underneath them for hours watching the spiders with their hard, dark bodies and their long, limber legs. sometimes the sun made its way through a crack in the wood and their bodies almost glistened - they looked so polished. small flies, gnats, moths, sometimes ants, sometimes other insects i couldn't name all got caught in the web and then it shook like a thin, white, downy feather. and the spider came out, rustled out of idleness by the swaying motion of the web, she quickly wrapped up her prey in a tiny silk cocoon to savor later in her hunger.
beneath his yellow tie, he wore a white shirt. i imagine that underneath his jacket are large, wet sweat stains. he is nervous and tired of following me around. he doesn' t realize it yet, but i've spun a web for him. i've become quite fond of him actually. his heavy breathing, his uncoordinated steps. he labors doing what i do with such ease and i feel compassion.
perplexed, he sits on the park bench catching his breath, craning his neck this way and that. he has a rather droll quality about him and i'm tempted to laugh. i'm watching him from atop a nearby tree branch i leapt onto when he had his head turned for a moment. hence his confusion.
three days in a row i've lost him in a similar manner - or rather he's lost me. he doesn't realize that i spend most of the rest of the day watching him. i've been inside his house and watched him bathe. late at night, when he can't get to sleep, he gets up and runs a hot bath. he sits in the tub in the dark and i watch him from a corner, thin and long and dark like a shadow, he doesn't see me. sometimes i lean in close and let his breathe touch me. sometimes i inhale it from him - sucking in the steam that holds his breathe. i used to believe part of a person's soul remained in his breathe even as he exhaled - if you caught it before it dissipated into the air, you could have a part of him. now i don't really believe this so much, but i feel that i have a bit of him.
seeing him naked makes me feel close to him. these passing days of following him and watching him have felt like an eternity. sometimes i want to slide into the bathtub with him and wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him into me. i feel that i almost love him. with his eyes closed and head back he reminds me of a child.
yesterday i fed. on a small boy. a dark boy - brown by nature and darkened by the sun. his face still slighty round with residual baby fat. he reminded me of my own child - a child i lost long long ago. i woke him when i entered his window. his eyes fixed on mine; he trusted me. i fed quickly, biting my teeth deep into his throat, my hand over his eyes, his mouth pressed against his pillow. he felt no pain, but he broke my heart.
i've tired of this game of cat and mouse. tonight i have let him follow me home. he's never been here before. he is excited because he thinks he's getting closer; i'm excited to have him so close to home. and knowing that he's watching i run a bath. this is familiar, except this time he's watching me.
and because i know he's watching and because i know he's lonely, i undress slowly. unbuttoning my shirt one at a time, pretending to watch myself in the mirror, fingers playing in the buttonholes. unbuttoning the two small buttons on my sleeve and slipping off the blouse, arching my shoulders to pull my arm out, first one, then the other. slow and seductive, like a dance. he's moved closer to the window. i smile inwardly. his heat is radiant and i feel warmed.
i unclasp my bra and slide it gently off my shoulders; my breasts are bared, nipples hard. i run my hands over them to massage them. then i slip off my heels, and carefully roll down my stockings, and my underwear. then i unzip my skirt, bending over to pull my legs out slowly and methodically, completely naked underneath. i hear him catch his breath.
the bath is ready and hot and i step lightly into the tub. for his pleasure, his last night of pleasure, i play with myself, rubbing a sponge between my legs, arching my back, squeezing my breasts. i moan and writhe and enjoy the heat, the voyeur, and thoughts of him in my mouth hard and full of blood and the wave of orgasm hits me and i slide back and forth in the water til it's over, not bothering to stifle my groans.
this over, i get up and out the bathroom door - from where he stands, he can't see the door. he found me here by luck - by peeking in through all the windows while i waited for him to find me. i find him in the bushes outside my bathroom, peering intently through the steamy window trying to see me better. naked and wet i wrap myself around him, reaching my hand into his pants where i find him willing and hungry. and while i'm pleasuring him, he's pleasuring me, filling me with life, rejuvenating me. death comes quickly, twofold. when i'm done, i'll bury him here.
i've eaten his heart and spit out a pit; i've carved up my heart and pulled out a knife. a glass shatters and shards lodge in my neck like the stinging sensation of fangs in your throat. you dance with me unknowingly. i watch you while you eat. the saucy creams and delicate spices. my stomach churns in violent tornados, my throat tightens up and closes fully, i can't breathe for that stench. you're killing me.
somewhere far away a rock caves his heart in and i feel the pain in mine. you stick a million shards of glass in the bottoms of my feet. walking makes me bleed. my eyes can't see. goosebumps up my arm, a stabbing at my side. you're hurting me.
electra's web © 1996-2003 all rights reserved
electra@electrasweb.com
this file was last updated 06/15/02, 01:55 pm