White Tiger on Snow Mountain (21 page)

That was fine with me. I had no intention of meeting up either. I never intended to meet anyone ever again, unless she sat beside me in my doctor’s waiting room, or to chat “off-line” with another human, except across the counter of a deli.

So I targeted this perverse minority. In fact I took it up as a (blocked) writing challenge: I knew each girl would get hundreds of responses from desperate dudes drooling over their keyboards. Could I, purely through the magic of language, rise to the top of the pile? To make it really sporting, I answered only the dirtiest, nastiest, and most twisted of the posts, the masochists and the submissives, the self-named whores and sluts, the daddy’s girls, the slaves, the bitches in heat, the toys. Henceforth, it would be among my fellows, the fallen, wounded, and lame, that I would find my only friends.

HELLO DADDY . . .

I just read your response and it turned me on so much!! I do have a pic, but I am on campus right now and cant send it . . . But i wanted to let you know that you got me thinking such filthy filthy thoughts. There was a few things that TOTALLY peeked my interest . . i have interested in a while to do pee control . . when you make me hold it till
you say so . . or me holding your dick when you pee . . I have 3 little girl outfits that i think you may like . . and i hope i get to wear them for you! I deo have to tell you . . i am not that experienced . . but I love to rollplay and pleasure my daddy . . i tend to be naughty a lot . . nothing a punishment cant handle . . hope to here back form you . . Lyla

Hi Baby,

It’s Daddy. I’m glad you liked what I wrote. And I’m very happy to know that it turned you on. Did you get all wet reading my letter? Don’t worry about being experienced. After all, that’s what Daddy’s for . . . to teach his lttile darling to obey and please him. I will certainly train you to hold your pee till I say so and to have you show me how you learn to go like a good girl. Yes, sweetheart, you will get to hold Daddy’s cock while he pees, but that is a reward for when you are good: If you’re naughty you will be punished: Daddy knows what to do with naughty girls too.

Hey Daddy . . . I want to play with you soon . . . i read your first 2 emails . . and they were soo hot . . lol . . . Your little girl had a confession to tell you . . i am not sure if you are going to be pleased or upset . . I have recently found out that I like playing with girls too. . . . i am not sure if you are into playing with 2 little girls . . maybe having 2 daughters . . but it could be fun . . once in a while . . she is into older men too and we played together one night and it was great since then me and her play a lot . . i jsut wanted to let you know . . . we are both 20 . . but we look like we are 15 . . lol . . . I just turned myself up totally . . lol . . .

If you have a special best friend, of course you can bring her to play with Daddy. There’s lots of fun we can have. Although she has to be a good girl too, or she’ll get spanked and punished also.

Well we both are sometimes bad . . we would both need to be punished from time to time . . . sometimes we argue over our toys and clothes . . . we usually share nicely . . but sometimes we get snotty . . we are little girls . . lol . . we love to experiment on eachother . . but for our daddy we would do anything he told us . . . I forgot to tell you i did mention to her this situation and she got excited . . i told her about pee control and holding your cock when you pee and she said she has doen some dirty stuff like that before . . i never have . . she said her last daddy liked to pee on her . . do you like to do that? i am not sure if i would . . but you can do it to her . . . i mean if you really wanted i guess i would have no choice . . bc i know what you say goes . . love Lyla

I complained to Dr. Chang about my back, so she added a new item to the menu: cupping. Amy had me lie on my belly with my head to the side. I could see a fellow patient’s white-socked feet, tiny as cat paws, poking from her curtain, and a cheap calendar hanging on the wall, printed in English and Chinese. It was January. There was an ink drawing of a tiny village, thatched huts cuddled in chimney smoke at the bottom of a hill. Brushy trees climbed the heights, and a ram posed at the peak, his horns curling like shells. A line of check-mark birds flew off the edge. “Morning in Cold Village,” the caption read. I meditated on this image for a month.

Meanwhile Amy placed a small clear bowl on my right lower back. Attaching what looked like a giant turkey baster or small bicycle pump, she began to suck the air out, until I felt it bite my skin like a leech. It sealed and stuck when she let go. It didn’t hurt precisely; it was more like being molested by some futuristic parasite. She put another one on the left, repeating the process until my entire back was covered with these globes, like giant blisters bubbling from my skin. When removed, they left big circular welts, super-hickeys from an octopus. In the men’s room mirror, I looked like I had some terrible disease that made you break out in polka dots. I covered up when some guy in a suit walked in and gasped.

What could I say? I’d been horribly beaten by a mugger with great design sense? It was impossible to explain, even to myself. But as I bent to tie my sneakers later, I noticed my back pain, my neck pain, my shoulder pain: all gone.

That day, while I was running, New Jersey disappeared. The river froze white into fog and rose like a ghost from its grave, becoming first a curtain, then a mountain that covered the far shore. As if I were witnessing the geological past, or peering into the drowned future, the river now went on forever, blending into the horizon, with only the clock atop a mall’s tower still awake. Farther uptown, the black stubs of a fallen dock appeared, rows of broken teeth in the river’s mouth, a folded white gull asleep on each, like an envelope or a handful of snow. I ran along the edge, against the wind, with a scarf over my mouth to warm my breath, and snowdrops stung my face like sparks.

IM with sweetsally

hi Master

Hey slut where are you?

in my apt

Are you wet for me? Did yr pussy start to drip?

its always wet for you

thats right. Your horny little pussy should melt as soon as you see me online . . . you should drool at the thought of my cock like a starving bitch in heat

i neeeed ur cock i am drooling for it

you’d love to crawl and beg for it . . . worship it . . .

yes Master

you’d come crawling as soon as I come over . . . with your leash in your mouth

yes Master

I want you nake on all fours with your collar on . . . what is your body like?

Althletic, curvy

what size are your tits?

34DD sometimes 34D depends on the bra

Real or fake?

real i work out a lot i lost like 40 lbs a couple years ago and now im a workout junkie

good . . . Shave? Wax?

wax

good . . . I’m strict when I inspect you . . . if I find a stray hair . . . legs, armpits, pussy . . . you get whipped

yes Master

if you asshole isnt pink and clean when I stick my finger up it you get slapped

yes Master

maybe I should weigh you too.

oh god that makes me so wet and if we go out to get coffee or anything and i try to order a cookie or put cream in my coffee u stop me right there and humiliate me in front of everyone by slappin gme accross the face and saying you think you can have a cookie?!?! i dont want a fat fuck for a slave and then i have to apologize and thank you for stoppin gme

Then I’ll eat a big brownie and drink a cappucino while you watch, haha . . .

mmm god im soaking wet tell me more about how u would humiliate me please and make sure i dont get fat and the names you would call me like slapping me if i ordered a cookie and making me apologize and thank you and show everyone that i cant get fat

ok . . .

I’d take you shopping and pick out the tightest sluttiest little clothes and make you try them on and come out of the dressing room and parade around . . . and if they dont fit I’d call you a fat pig in front of the other customers and laugh
at you with the cute salesgirls and talk about how hot they looked and how you should lose weight and maybe bring one home to fuck in front of you and eat cake and hot fudge and let you lick us clean after

oh god i am soaking wet

oh my god that is so hot

the more u make me feel like i am the MOST worthless girl in the universe

the more i want to please you

the more you humiliate me

the wetter i get

please tell me more

im begging you

the more you treat me like shit the more i want to serve you

you have power over me

I know, you are my slave. I have to go . . .

just stay two more min

please

please

please

im beggin you

two min

PLEASE

PLEEEASE

can you talk on the phone? tired of typing

i cant talk on the phone my bf is here

but im so wet please if we talk for 2 min i know i’ll cum

please

im begginng you

please stay and let me cum

or at least tease me some more

please i need you so bad

I know what you need

you need to craw lover here and take my cock out and put it in your mouth

mmm yes while you call me a fat fuck

and kick me in the ass

telling me its jiggling too much

I better be able to bounce a quarter off that ass

u inspect me regularly

and put me on a diet

tell me more about it please

and even if im in perfect shape what would you do if i wanted to eat a real dinner

like a full meal

If you are perfect and have served me well . . .

I will let you cook me a steak and then kneel beside me

for scraps that I feed you from my hand

mmmmmmmm yess tell me moreee

maybe you can lick the plate

that is amazing

for desert . . . I stick one grape up my ass and let you nibble it out

mmmm yes

shit i gtg bye

I passed through to the acupuncture room, where the hands and feet, shoes and hats of my fellow sufferers poked out from the shifting edges of the curtains. I drew my shade and disrobed before lying on the table. It was February now, and the calendar showed a new picture, which I had been eagerly awaiting, sick to death of that wee winter village. This one was a puzzler, though: a slope, several vertical slashes representing bamboo stalks, and a cluster of curvy strokes that meant nothing to me, until I saw the small slit eyes, the tiny teeth, the claws. Then, like one of those 3-D puzzles, the image snapped into shape: The black waves were tiger stripes. Though lacking an outline, the form was there of a feline hunter leaping in the air, like a ghost rippling through space. The title read: “White Tiger on Snow Mountain.”

Just then a cell phone blasted a jangling pop tune, and the old lady lying beneath the calendar sat up and answered, yelling in Chinese with a nest of needles poking from her face and hands. I looked away.

Amy entered and greeted me with a slight chuckle that seemed to both express her general joy in life and hint that there was some joke I was missing. Maybe that very joke was
in fact the key to her joy in life. Or maybe the joke was me, a goofy, pasty white guy lying in his undies, paying her to poke him with pins.

I turned facedown in the donut hole, and Amy pummeled my back, sore from typing, and worked my legs, stiff from running, and dug her fingers into my neck, hard as cardboard from the stress of supporting my mind. I fought to hold still while she battered me, gripping the edge of the table, flexing my toes, and grimacing horribly at the floor, in part so she wouldn’t snort and call me sensitive, but also because each wrench or rip of pain was followed by a surge of pleasure, the one seeming to unlock the other, until the line between them blurred. Just as one imagines, or in my case recalled, ecstasy as a rising pleasure whose intensity approaches the unbearable, beauty as the door to terror, so too I now felt pain build into its own relief, blossoming, just when it seemed most fatal, into happiness.