UNDERGROUND VOICES: FICTION
DANNY MILLS

The Acrobat

       The sweating sky was bleeding scarlet and neon heat. It was July and dusk was slowly aching into the painted landscape, mending colors raw and wild.

Pablo Picasso, Acrobat and Young Harlequin
The air smelled like a honey cave.

       Simone and I were walking off the street and down the tunnel to the subway. We boarded the steel tube, and amid the cackles and shrieks of rusted metal and electric wings, we saw an advertisement. The ad was posted on the side-car above a pair of empty seats. It said:

       “Live Show; Watch in awe! The Amazing Acrobats of France! Performing for the last night at the Royal Coliseum! Show begins at 7:30 p.m. Buy Tickets at the door!”

       I slid my hand over Simone’s thigh and asked, “Getting off at the next stop?”

       “Want me to be your acrobat?” She replied.

       “I see you more as a jockey,” I said.

       “Don’t be confusing your gallop stick with that of the equine nature. I think the difference is a grander scale than you wish me to discuss in detail.” Simone was starting to stir.

       “Well we’re just going to have to rectify that now aren’t we?”

       “Are you suggesting a Kentucky Derby in the midst of this steel vessel? Among a crowd of tunnel travelers, half asleep as it is?” She questioned with a snare.

       “Let’s wake ‘em up, then. I believe the odds on this horse are in favor. Wouldn’t you agree? Place yer bets here!” I shouted. Simone chuckled her mouth and pouted her lips.

       “Yer getting’ this jockey all startled.” Simone then turned to me, put her fingers down her long skirt, pulled them out and sent me a kiss carried by the wings of a woman’s potion that turns men’s blood to knots. I was twisting in it.

       We agreed to see the show and hurried to make the opening.

       We arrived only a few minutes late and took our seats. The place was almost full. The performers were wearing elaborate costumes that looked alien and feral. The men and women moved about in perfect sequence, like they were composed of the same mind, instinctively and synchronically dancing without shame or fear. They galloped and paraded and leaped like deer on the moon; it was magical.

       Simone sat beside me. I would glance over at her whenever an acrobat made a great display and saw a childlike thrill reside over her. This excitement grew on me. She seemed so powerful when she was inspired, and the show was truly inspiring. The acrobats made dazzling feats, defying gravity with wild, exhilarating movements; it was almost sexual when a pair would hold onto one another while swaying through the air one-hundred feet up, serene, as one.

       The show was winning the crowd over tremendously and it looked as though they were winding up a final act of defiance.

       The last trick involved all the performers. They were lined up on opposite sides from one another. In pairs, they would swing across the empty chasm and, at certain intervals, switch from the landing platform to the bar. This was done without a safety net to add suspense.

       The first two pairs hurdled into the air and across the abyss to the opposite side. They made at least two passes before an acrobat was suddenly released and another, simultaneously, jumped out. This was repeated 5 times until one acrobat was left. Simone was clutching at my thigh. There was minimal distance between her hand and my hardening cock. We were electrified with excitement.

       Then suddenly, the girl flinched. She made a frightful face and began to slip. Aware, the crowd held a gasp that resounded through our hearts. But it was too late. The girl had let go and was falling. She fell forever. To her death.

       The crowd went crazy. Panic and terror soaked them into a frenzy. I was in disbelief.

       Then I noticed Simone. Her hand was stroking my, then, hard cock. I looked at her and she stared back with venom eyes. They looked ravenous. She stared with intensity and power.

       Her eyes grew. They grew like violet tidal waves. They grew like electric cannonballs. They grew like serpent breath. They grew like thunder and felt like lightning. They grew restless.

       Wordlessly, I grabbed Simone’s hand.

       We rose and fled our seats. Among the throngs of crowds, we pushed through like animals escaping a fierce hunter. I had Simone’s hand. I saw an exit that would lead out of the filthy arena into a courtyard.

       Here, the stench of animal and human urine suffocated into the air because of the intense heat.

       I seized Simone’s cunt, she grabbed my furious cock through my pants. We headed into a stinking shithouse, where sordid flies wheeled about in the presence of the night’s final fading sunbeams.

       Standing there, I exposed Simone’s vagina, and into her blood-red, drooling flesh, I stuck my fingers. I heaved them into her as she grabbed my cock from my pants and pulled for it furiously. Her salty scent filled through me and grew in my veins. Amidst Simone’s gathering moans I took my penis from her hands and slid it inside her blood-red cavern, while I jerked off her ass.

       Slowly, I watched as her face trembled, as it deformed and grew twisted with desire. At the same time, the revolts of our mouths cleaved together in a storm of saliva.

       We thrashed about with primal screams and crashed violently into one another. Our orgasms came and wrenched through our loins, tearing us to shreds, though without shaking my thick penis out of her stuffed vulva, which was gorged with come.

       We stood with each other, within each other. Her sweat beads looked like honey drops in the failing light. We heard nothing but our panting, slowing, slowing. That moment soaked to my bones and cracked my heart out. Time dissolved between us. With each passing breath, we came closer. Simone’s eyes flickered like dimes tossed into a pond. She shuddered. And we began to cry.

       “That poor girl.” She sighed.








© 2007 Underground Voices