He turned the video lens to face the bed. I wasn’t watching him, I was drawn to the eye of the camera, struck by its ability to capture this moment. There was doubt and confusion in my head, fear too. I would think about it all later. I would remember always. But now, I laid back on the white bed and watched as he removed his shirt, his jeans, his black boxers.

There was no ceremony, no kissing, no foreplay. I was sopping. I opened my legs and he entered me immediately, pushing hard and jerking upwards at the same time. I heard a SNAP. There was a stinging flash like an electric shock that brought a tear to my eye, and I thought about the camera, how it would preserve that instant, that small tear, the pain as it changed to pleasure and spread over my features.

He moved steadily, rhythmically, up and down, and I moved with him, my back sliding against the bed-cover. My eyes were pressed shut. The soft slap and suck of our bodies pressing together was mesmerizing like waves drawing at a tropical beach. My skin tingled. Everything that had lain dormant came alive. Everything in hibernation was reborn. I was fully awake, fully conscious of the passions within my own unexplored body and mind.

I pushed down on my heels, arched my back like a drawn bow, and drew him up inside me, filling me. He moved like a piston,He was panting like a long distance runner with the winning tape coming into view. Then he gasped for breath. His body stiffened and, that same moment, a shudder of contractions ran through me. I threw my head back and it felt as we climaxed as if a city of lights had been turned on across my nervous system. I could see stars behind my closed eyes. I rose weightlessly from the bed and I was aware vaguely of the sun going down, the room where we lay beneath the white canopy turning slowly to shadow. — excerpt from The House of Strangers.

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