Kiss of the Spider Woman

‘Come back to bed,’ she called, ‘my feet are cold...’

I was in a kitchen, standing in front of an unfamiliar refrigerator with the door open, staring blindly at its contents, searching for some salvation to spread on my mid-night toast. I didn’t know how I had got there. I only knew that I was hungry for something, but there didn’t seem to be anything much to eat.

Her feet were always as cold as death, but her ass was like a furnace; there are compensations for every fault, I have learned, a quid pro quo, of sorts.

‘Come back to bed, and I’ll kiss you...’

I ignored her, but the thing between my legs didn’t. He’s a traitor, always with an eye for the main chance, like being shackled to a maniac for the best part of your life. She was always desirable, but I didn’t want to want her, I knew that much. I certainly knew I didn’t want her kiss. It was the kiss of the Spider Woman. She was weaving a sticky web, and it would be a bitter, poisonous kiss.

‘I don’t want you to kiss me - you don’t love me...’ I said hopelessly.

From the bedroom, her laughter tinkled like falling water. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that much at least is true...’

He woke up crying. It was good to cry. It let the bitter poison out.