The mosquito landed. He paced across the warm wooden door, carelessly caressing its smooth, solid surface. The door stood its ground, did not flinch, while the mosquito rhythmically moved up and down. When the mosquito reached the door's middle, to the left of the brass doorknob, he stopped.
Listlessly, he positioned his lower body in close proximity to a crack in the otherwise impregnable door, and penetrated it. The door seemed to offer little if any resistance as the stinger continued to its core. Then, when the mosquito had drained the door of its life, he withdrew his stinger; disgusted with himself and the door.
The mosquito landed. This time on a plush pink sofa (situated no more than a few feet from that drooping door). The sofa, the mosquito noted with faint fatigue, radiated color and life. So, wasting no time in his self-imposed task, the mosquito moved to the parting in the pink sofa. He started sucking, and sucking, and sucking. Each time he would consider stopping, he would detect some remaining color out the corner of his eyes. Either that, or he would actually feel the sofa pulsating with whatever little vitality his stinger had not yet deprived her of. Finally, unable to extract anymore, the mosquito wearily withdrew and flew past the panting pink sofa and out the worn door.
The mosquito landed, and landed, each time exhausting the life of some different object in the sparsely furnished room. Not once did he allow himself the luxury of lingering (to savor life); neither while he rendered the forceful four walls feeble, nor when he impatiently suckled the ceiling until it almost caved in. Only when the room looked as withered and lifeless as its occupant did the mosquito land onto the crumpled carpet, spent.
It was with great difficulty and much later that the mosquito managed to take to the air once more, weighted down by the overbearing burden of life. He flew, full of hope, in the direction of the seemingly lifeless female curled up in the corner. Still, he flew cautiously close to the carpet for fear that his weakened wings might not continue to support his engorged body.
The mosquito landed, tenderly, on her left breast (the one cushioning her heart). Suddenly he felt apprehensive. Everything he had done up until this point had been comparatively common to what it was that he was about to do now. His assignment was one of resuscitation, and he was about to restore to the occupant the life that the room had taken from her. More importantly, the mosquito was about to do something entirely out of his nature; he was about to give. Lovingly, he sunk his stinger into her breast and began to return the life the room had rudely robbed her of. He did so begrudgingly at first, with the intention of disengaging at any moment and saving some of the life he had retrieved for himself.
But, the sensation was startling, truly sensational. As he felt the life of the room slipping away from him and into her, he shivered with ecstasy and his wings beat wildly. Intoxicated by the rapture of giving, the mosquito surrendered all his gains, until he restored the woman to her usual lively self.
Nonetheless, the mosquito would not withdraw -he could not- for he still carried a little life within him - his own. The mosquito buried his stinger deeper into her bountiful breast and selflessly secreted his humble life. He felt satisfied as he sensed his life-blood ebbing away. The woman got up, her face flushed with intense vigor, and began fussing with her hair. Instinctively, she swatted the mosquito off her dress, grimacing at the blood stain that he left behind.
© Yahia Lababidi
[Mosquito pictures, Pixabay]
I like this a lot Yahia, it went a different direction than I anticipated. There is a lot buzzing around in this little story ;)
Thanks, for noticing, Carl. The unconscious works in mysterious ways; this surprised me, too! A parable of... erotic sacrifice? Sensual & spiritual, at the same time.
Yes, I was actually thinking to myself that "sensual" was a better descriptor than "sexy" or "kinky", which may be splitting hairs, but to me it has more of that languid rhythm and sweet sensual sultriness. Sensual & spiritual, I can get behind completely :)
You know your sultriness, brother ;) Will modify title to reflect this welcome hair-splitting. Thanks, for sharing 🙋
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Nice
Nice
Will listen to this later, thanks.