Lady Tiger Tale

With the strange tiger countenance that many modern ladies growl and shed, I felt little surprise when I awoke an August night with the eery, wet, cold metal sex pressed against my cheek. The night's dreary doldrums of distant autos hammering songs against drizzle, bathed under pale, shallow blades of streetlamp light, lead me to realize my room was bare of any other hidden warmths. And the cold metal sex pressed still.

Ivory hands, bloody red tiger nails curled around the grip of the metal sex, her extension of pent up manhood and machined testosterone, reflected lamp light only to highlight the furrows of my sweaty brow. White gold ringed her third finger with a plain band, casually interacting with the silver tresses of a loose bracelet looped around her wrist.

By now, it need not be said aloud that I was taken with a effervescing surprise - to see my skin crawl and my spine curve would indicate the life of this very surprise! In these wee hours of morning silence, her weapon of manhood reflected erratic and somewhat hostile emotions, or severe lack of control thereafter. Although saved the disgrace, I still had found it difficult to not soil myself with this complete and utter startlement, for it was still quite early and I had yet to fathom this reality from an otherwise impeccable dream. By an angel's grace, my loins were still dry. Though my hands were slow to draw across the sheen of perspiration that slicked my naked skin, I managed to bring them above the covers open handed.

My breath was labored on the inhale. This strange lady, this tiger-like intruder - oh, that her stealth and perfectly hostile countenance gave me little hope of waking still mortal - flexed ivory nails around the silvery metal sex, the edge lifting to my temple. Had the sex even felt my life force race pulse after pulse, this tiger-like invader may have simply fetched my jugular and slaughtered your host with the pure and perfect annihilation most animals carry.

Though laboring to be a proper host, I fear that you will find yourself unable to exchange the insatiably devious calamities of this night, stretching further and further on with each ticking of silence behind a digital clock, for the modern-day brutality of a Stallone talkie.

For in understandable fear, I gazed in stupification upon my silent tiger guest. This particular guest, though, carried no carrion for this beast to devour - oh, there been a tiger-lady that would give a man her carrion without first reducing him to the same? Hourglass embers burned for her eyes, glowing against her pale skin. Lo, there were shadows for her stripes and the rain gave her breathing a hiss for a growl. Fur pooled about her shoulders, clusters of auburn and dull blood reds. Or were these strands the remains of others she had preyed on this very night? I could not tell, though had it mattered, my inclination and fair judgement would have estimated that I was pushing myself into this well crafted paranoia and anxiety over hair that but mimicked those very things. The hiss became words, though there was a moment of reason I allowed to lapse - had she even spoken comprehensibly? - for the words she did utter were unintelligible.

"Depraved man!" She spat!

Of those disgusting ventures and revelations we are subjected to throughout our lives, this tiger-like lady saw fit to leave her spittle upon your host as if he were the refuse one might leave for the gutter!

"Have I wronged you, stranger, that you awaken me into stark lunacy only to greet me with oral refuse?" Though I bit my tongue, I did my best upon best to temper my words with a consoling tone, otherwise pleading for the tender mercies I knew I would eventually plead for.

"Scream out the names of all those you have ever wronged, seventy upon seventy times, and I will then place you before God Herself, that you may then seek your forgiveness." She leaned closer, the scent of her carrion, sweet and fresh meat doused with the plumage and succulent oil of a meadow, drifted into my mouth and nose.

"I shan't scream 'tal, miss. I'd only waken those of my home and they'd surely be upon you in an instant!" Again, I humbled myself before her cold, metal sex and bit back a retort of such ferocity - for the very thought of such a retort flushed my cheeks and dampened my brow.

She cocked the sex. Had I only taken a moment to assess where I stood - or more properly, where I lay - I'd have surely accounted that the sex was still safetied. Yet my stupor blinded my rationally thinking mind.

"Then bite your tongue upon my sister's name, for she is the last of your conquests, and the first to stand up for all of those your bitter deceits and foul intentions have wronged." Hourglasses for eyes blazed and the metal sex bruised my temples.

For fright and the sheer lethargy of life, I trembled against this horrifying vision. Words coalesced - cold, tangy words oozed against my lips, slime from a worried and fearful mind - and bled out in a random order, but somehow were sensible. "I cannot accept the blame for a wrong I had no function associated with from its conception, to its making."

"Liar!" She bit down hard on her lip - had I known she planned to tease me at death's door, I surely felt this the time I would have crossed over into the other plane - and her words came slow, hot and passionately. "You lured her into your home and broke her soul. You could not even face her though and would show her no affections 'tal. You cracked open the blossom only to let its nectar seep - wasted to the ground - and the petals were broken - smoldering without nourishment - and her dreams lay at your feet. Only then did you turn her away."

Of fear and some strange energy I only associated with arrogance, I gazed over the wide snout of this tiger lady's metal sex and directly into her ferocious eyes. "Had I been born a woman, my refusal would have been only proper - I would be preserving my maidenhood. That I was born a man, I am now ridiculed and will possibly be utterly decimated for doing just the same?"

"You swiving swine!" Again, the sex twisted across my face and a trickle of something warm and red - oh that now I wished I could have told whether this had been blood or only a tear - and she settled in close so that I might not misunderstand her words of agonizing bitter-sweetness. "I have the sex now, swiver!" And she repeated those same words only thrice after the first, so that four times they echoed through the night. "You did not rob her of her motherhood, nor even her maidenhood. Laws exist for such crimes. This is sound minded, deceitful game you've played wronged all woman alike!"

I swore I heard the echoes again, chanting over and over still, "I have the sex! I have the sex! I have the sex! This sex will take your miserable life." But nothing passed her lips of such accord. Instead, she went on of how a man's duty is to first preserve a woman's blossoming flower of maidenhood, then pluck it when the woman finds it ripened to a superior sweetness over the sour, green seedling a woman grows from. Though second, a man must take the ripened fruit into his embrace and hold it for as long as the woman needs her fruit to be reaped. Yet, are we reduced to argument over what a man may eat? Death by an orange for no want of an apple? Those, my dear reader, are very sour apples.

All in all, I found no response.

"What then gave you the right to let my sister spoil away - yes!, waste away - until she was a tired hag at twenty one?" The finger closed against the steely intrusion situated on the under carriage of the metal sex.

My persistent guests, had this insane opera been designed for a more wanton audience, one awaiting and expecting cold, precise justice from a faster hand than this tiger-like lady's, then this tale would have been a simple resolution on the invader's part. In the stealthy and inky blackness of morning night she would have simply taken my humble life. Though there are no true justices as these in the world.

"Answer me!"

For fear and the revelation of the same biblical book I silently referred to in prayerful thought by the same name, I sank back, relaxing, into my bed. I still lay naked and wet with fear's perspiration. Only empty vanes and lines crossed through my body - a feeling of total submission or expenditure, I was in no shape to identify which - and my voice was a whisper.

"When you are hungry for an orange, you are not as apt to readily consume a plucked apple. Whether your hand picked it from the tree or not. And your sister's apple had been plucked long before I ever entertained the fancy of consuming it. No, my lady-tiger, I never hungered for the apple at all - perhaps I did only in peaceful reverie of hungering for something - but the orange's citrus was already upon my tongue, and the choice was always my own to make. Your sister spoiled while waiting for this agent of the orange to consume an apple no one wanted. She wasted away because she plucked herself from the tree and no one was hungry for her."

Perhaps my thoughts preceded me, though my words spoke truly as my thoughts brought me to feel. My precious guests, I would not be as bold to assume I know everything there is to know about an apple or an orange, either as a particular, or by the bushel, but when confronted with a cold metal sex in the early darkness of morning, you may find yourself forced to answer a question you would rather not answer.

As for the tiger-like lady's sister, she had placed questions to me of such a caliber, asking for answers with questions I had no place entertaining. Though woman are a wily and capricious lot, a man's logical emotion does not operate correctly under such a countenance as this.

Under the cold metal sex, I waited for the lady tiger's claw to descend upon the stimuli that would invade my thoughts with an orgasmic, erect explosion of a woman's hateful revenge.

For is a man ever to blame for these things?

In the silence of a morning's darkness, the almighty crash of the cold metal sex climaxing echoed into the wet air. Whether or not this man had died at the hand of the scorned woman's sister matters little. Revenge is a precarious position that teeters between the righteous male's mind and the glowing embers of a woman's unleashed love.