Ornelia - The Biting Girl
Tuesday Ornelia returns from Pittsburgh where she has been visiting her parents. She calls when she arrives. "Caeser, can you come out and play," her pretend little girl voice rings through the receiver.
We agree to meet at 10:00. Come evening, she, her Indian roommate Mina, and I are drinking at our now usual haunt, the Cafe 210. The women are having a passionate conversation about the joys of dance. Ornelia loves ballet while Mina prefers modern.
It is a mild evening and the wine has slowed my mind. Earlier this evening I had a premonition that I would like to create excitement. Instead I am overcome by a mild lack of confidence.
The atmosphere is calm and cheerful. The women look beautiful in the soft light. I look at Ornelia as she speaks in a cool collected manner and wonder how only recently, I suspected her of being secretly insane.
At midnight Mina takes her leave and Ornelia and I move down the street to Zino's, a grungy basement bar. Tonight Ornelia has a different style to her dress. She wears a pleated black skirt with thigh high stockings and a maroon low cut sweater. The deep color of the sweater seems to bring her face to life. Her long red hair streams over her shoulders, and the curls frame her hazel eyes.
We reside at a corner table. Ornelia is bored and wants to be entertained. After spending a weekend with her parents she is in a salacious mood.
"I almost walked out of church Sunday. I couldn't believe he would give a sermon on abortion when I'm working on this play."
She is interning as a research assistant for a university theater production dealing with abortion. Rubbing out her second cigarette and lighting a third she continues.
"And then I had this big fight with my mother because I wanted to go over to the North side to see the Warhol museum. I saw two more of his films; 'Blowjob' and 'Haircut.' Only two of us sat through the whole thing. That's how it is though, a man doesn't come in fifteen minutes. A blow job takes forty-five."
A young man that looks like some kind of surfer dude walks past smiling at her.
"Hey you." She waves with dutiful enthusiasm. Turning back to me she goes on, "I am proud to say I had five orgasms masturbating in my parent's house. I've never understood frigid women. I always have multiple orgasms. The second and third come thirty seconds after the first."
A husky young Korean man sits down and chats her up with a swagger like a Bronx Italian from the disco era. Morrisey blares from the sound system keeping me outside their conversation. There are no signs of anger or argument, but the smiling Ornelia has began pinching and punching her friend. He slaps her hands away and grimaces in pain.
To my surprise she turns to me and pinches my neck. She squeezes the soft flesh between her fingers and looks at me questioningly. I sit nonchalant. The pain is a curiosity which I have no urge to escape.
"Doesn't that hurt?" she asks.
"Yeah," I answer.
She manages to squeeze a bit harder. "Why doesn't it look like it then?"
"I'm just going with the pain."
Disappointed she releases her grip and resumes the conversation with her Korean friend cheerfully. When we take our leave she is feeling the alcohol.
"I haven't drank in four days and already my tolerance is down." After a moment she adds, "I feel pretty obnoxious."
As we walk down College avenue she begins hitting and pinching me. She walks ahead and charges back, stopping a few inches from my face to see if I flinch.
I laugh at the spectacle. Curious to see what it revealed of her character. Without warning she grabs my neck and twists, inflicting a swell of agony. I grab her and try to tickler her. She immediately turns barbarous.
In seconds pushing and pulling give way to true brutality. I try to grab her arms as she scratches, bites, and kicks. She tears my shirt open with buttons flying in all directions. She claws my bare chest and blood meanders over my nipple.
As I try to subdue her we tumble off the sidewalk and land on the curb's edge. My weight presses her against the concrete as I lie on top of her in the missionary position. She bites my neck, clenching the skin between her teeth. Her lips are an inviting bouquet painted deep red, but they hide a vice-like grip able to deliver torture.
I laugh and moan in pain at the same time. Her breasts are soft below my bleeding chest. The affliction of her bite is a maddening punishment for any pleasure I might get from this intimacy.
"Leave go or I'll bite harder," her muffled lips warn.
Although, I am not the one in control of the situation I rasp, "I'm letting go."
She releases me and I stagger to my feet. I am dazed. She sings happily as I limp along to a nearby house where a mutual friend lives. She runs up the stairs and into the bedroom where Gavin lies reading in his bed. She jumps on the bed and begins pounding on his back and head.
"You fuckin' bitch, I'll sock you!" he yells.
"Oh Gavin, aren't you happy to see me?" she mocks.
"Yes, Ornelia." Sarcasm is Gavin's natural tone of voice. "Why don't you just go watch one of your Warhol movies? Which ones did you see? Bad? Trash? What high works of art."
We go down to the living room which is littered with film canisters, videotapes, and coffee cans for use as ashtrays. I sit in a chair on the opposite side of the room from them. Ornelia glows with licentious strength. She has transformed into every man's fantasy of the proper young lady given way to wanton abandon. She sits with her skirt up to her hips and her legs spread benevolently. I can't look in her direction without savoring her long legs, soft thighs, and the pink print on her white panties.
Soon she can not get the CD player to work so she can hear the Nine Inch Nails song she absolutely must hear immediately, so she storms out of the house and walks hurriedly down the street. I catch up to her and we walk side by side without speaking.
"Have you had enough excitement for one night?" I ask.
"Yes. I'm calm now," she replies.
"Well, I'm not," I whisper and grab her by the shoulders.
She immediately attacks with violent scratching and biting. I push her into the loading dock of an auto parts store and pin her against the brick wall. Her eyes look savage and her head moves back and forth as if possessed by Satan. I grab her left leg and pull it into the air. She wraps her legs around me and my pelvis is pressed tight against her crotch. She shakes her head from side to side vigorously, banging her skull against the hard brick. I place my forehead against hers and moan, "No matter what happens, I don't want to hurt you."
We stand still, gripping each other. I am unsure whether I am trying to subdue her or control myself. She seems restrained but waiting to explode. Letting her go I step out of the way. Immediately she begins making false lunges at me.
"A little jumpy aren't we Caeser?" she chides.
She sits on the steps of a storefront and fixes her shoe. I lay down my notebook and computer discs which have somehow made it through the evening without being lost. When I look away she grabs the notebook and discs and runs into an alley. I chase her and grab the notebook from her hands, but she holds onto the computer discs.
This brings a new wave a fury. She bites my shoulders like a madwoman. My every limb is in excruciating pain, with wounds bleeding from my knees, arms, and nose. She again clenches her teeth into my neck delivering the most intense pain.
My mind is inebriated with the pain. The smell of my own blood coalesced with her saliva peels away civilized restraints. A rupture of animal instincts transforms me backwards through evolution. 'Neanderthal..Cro-magnum...Homo Erectus... Australopithecus.." My mind flashes red. For the first time I understand the pleasure of misogynistic brutality..
I think 'O.K. bitch, you wanna see how easy it could be for me?'
I encircle her with my arms and raise her into the air, believing she will be incapacitated, but her thrashing legs, armored with a brand new pair of platform shoes, still make a perilous weapon.
I throw her down on the gravel covered macadam of the alley way. Leaping on top of her I pin her arms above her head and sit on her legs. To add insult to her subjugation I run the flattest part of my wet tongue up her neck and across her face.
Catching myself before I follow an uninhibited path to the point of no return, I halt. I am dazed and struggling to control myself. Minutes pass as we both breathe heavily. A passer by walks past gawking at our spectacle as we lay in the alley way.
After we regain our sanity I allow her to rise from the ground. Still not beaten she runs towards her apartment building shouting "I've still got your discs and you'll regret it!"
I follow her at a walking pace. When I turn to start down her walkway I see that she is entering her front door. I walk to the door, which is always kept tightly locked. I Turn the knob and freely enter. I begin ascending the stairs that lead to her room. All is quiet inside.
I know that if I enter her room all inhibitions will be torn asunder . I visualize her black stockinged legs and white panties as I climb the stairs. It almost seems too easy.
I stop momentarily as a smile crosses my face. Turning I descend the stairs and run out the door and up the street. I am laughing aloud as I picture her bruised body lying on the black sheets of her bed. Perhaps she is wondering if I am lurking in her apartment somewhere. I wish I could hear her thoughts when she realizes I have declined her temptations.
When I return home there is a message on my machine. It is Ornelia. With a petulant sneer in her voice she hisses, "I've still got your computer disks. I didn't think you'd give up so easily. Have a good night, Caeser!"
"Have a good night." I lay on the floor of my empty room. It seems a fitting symbol for emptiness that has taken my once full life. I close my eyes and wait for sleep. Sasha seems a million miles away, and the abyss between us grows wider each day. I hate to sleep alone. I think of Ornelia, so near and sleeping alone in her room. I hear her words again, "have a good night, Caeser."