short story eight

The smell


There was only one little thing that remained unexplained to his complicated way of thinking. He had solved many things before, many knotty puzzles that he could figure out in just a snapshot. But that tiny thing has kept him busy for the past few days.

As the clouds were swallowing up the hot sun and the wind increased, the smell of burnt skin was penetrating his eyes and nose. It was a common smell. He had notice it before. Many times. Jonathan must have been twelve the first time he played with a lighter. It was one of these old American army lighters he got from his dad in case he had to offer a lady a light. Matches were getting out of fashion his old man told him. While he was figuring out the precise mechanism of the lighter he burnt himself. That bitter, incisive and unforgettable stench of burnt skin remained incurved in his juvenile brain forever. It was addicting, fascinating, exciting.

Many years he had tried to keep that smell alive, mostly using himself as a subject of his own little experiments. Only when Jonathan couldn’t resist his self inflicted wounds no more, he would switch to a different source of skin. Mostly there were tiny animals such as lizards and mice that would provide him the right amount of tissue to satisfy his needs. As he grew, his tolerance grew along him so his search continued for something bigger and bigger. The best time of the year was around Christmas when his beloved grandmother was preparing the traditional turkey and she would first roast it on open flame to get rid of all the additional feathers left on it. Jonathan would find some business in that old-fashioned kitchen, pretending to help out with the dishes or anything around the gas stove so he could open his nasal fosses and deeply inhale the stingy scent.

On that Tuesday, the park outside his bachelor apartment was overwhelmed with people and while the wind kept increasing, the crowd was seemly convinced to stay and finish its last crumbs of a late afternoon picnic. Many families gathered around the lake, spread out their colorful sheets and started to unpack their baskets with what it seemed to Jonathan, the most useless items. Chairs in all odd shapes were unfolded, sophisticated picnic tables were set up, china and cutleries were neatly arranged and all kind of plateaus and dishes were displaced. He would watch this weekly show from his veranda while enjoying a good barbeque. Jonathan would hear the skin of the sausages sizzle and let that burnt smell hit his mind.

As soon as Trish set eyes on that charming, athletic and surely the most handsome guy she had ever seen since she broke up with her ex, she had hoped that this one was to become at least a one week stand. She missed the company of a funny guy with whom she could have a good chat and with any luck some great sex. Nothing stable she thought, nothing fancy and without any involvement of emotions. Trish had had enough experience with the male species to know what to expect even before a guy had a chance to open his mouth and say hi. The first thing she noticed in Jonathan’s eyes when he walked up to her asking what novel she was reading, was that childish twinkle combined with a mature intelligence. Her response was brief: “nothing of your interest, but I could get you interested if you’d like”. Jonathan’s irresistible smile had captured her instantly and a refusal of a glass of wine and a well baked sausage was an impossible rejection.

The living room was simple furnished; totally revealing the life style of a well read man. Two main things were capturing anyone’s attention, the walls of books and the overwhelming amount of candles. “This is surely my lucky day” she thought, “ I just hope he is more of a doer than a literate talker”. In a miraculous way the bottle of red wine kept refilling itself and so were their glasses. At least Jonathan wasn’t a liar; the view from his candle lit veranda was indeed magnificent.


The pine and lavender smell from the steamy bathroom was swirling all around her naked body. Her toes were tinkling, her knees were relaxing, her round hips were dancing to the patrons of the steam and her pear shaped breasts formed the perfect bridge between the wet smell and the sheets soaked in passion sweat.
Trish’s female intuition had been right again; Jonathan did make love like a poet. Without him saying one word she had her reach her orgasm, just by following the rhythm of his inner spoken sonata. She could feel every single verse and every single strophe. She also perfectly remembered the moment Jonathan pulled out of her, just to get a burning candle and start pouring warm wax all over her body. The next instant he held the candle so close to her that she could feel its heat. Almost burning her. She screamed out loud and let herself come for a second time collapsing in a serene stupor.


The sizzling sound and the intense heat woke her. She wanted to scream again, but the ducted-tape was keeping her agony trapped. The ropes around her ankles and wrists were cutting her flesh. All she could see was Jonathan’s naked body on top of her and his hand holding firmly the handle of the welding pistol. His body was sweaty and his eyes had lost all their charm. Deep burning coals were looking straight at her. The light blue flame was spitting out of the welding pistol and as Jonathan was holding her firmly between his hips he played with the flame in the same rhythm of the same inner sonata.

While Jonathan burned her left nipple, his mind opened preparing to absorb the scent. No revelation, no sign from outer dimension, no thrill. He was convinced that a second attempt, on her right nipple would give him the desired. Jonathan approached the flame and burned again. The confusion increased as well as his anger. The next morning he woke up with a terrible headache, went straight to the kitchen and poured him a cup of thick black coffee. He had to think. Apparently all he needed was a larger piece of skin. On his way back to the bedroom Jonathan noticed that Trish was breathing somewhere between daze and reality. Still naked, he lit a match and turned on his welding torch. As the tongue of fire was licking Trish’s belly, the familiar sizzling orchestra came alive. The dark skin was crimpling, but the odor was inexistent.

Furiously, he closed the veranda windows, refusing the fresh air to take away his pleasure. Jonathan switched off the air-conditioning and returned to his work. Today he had to accomplish it. This time he turned Trish on her stomach and started to prepare for her torso. But it had to wait. He could not afford to loose. He was determent to win. His brains needed to be at ease. Slamming the front door, he headed for the park.

It was already Friday evening and the streets were empty when Jonathan returned to his apartment. He threw his raincoat over the books covering the single table in the house and made his way to his bedroom. He could hear Trish’s irregular breath, but he wasn’t sure if she was awake. Not that it did matter. The job had to be completed. His and her nakedness formed unison. It was now or never. Jonathan lit the familiar torch to its full blast once more and let it rest on her back. The neurons inside his head didn’t make any kind of contact, no connection. There had to be an immediate solution. As the flame pierced Trish’s back, he spread her legs and penetrated her. The orgasm reached him instantly. The orgasm of their touching flesh and the orgasm of the burning smell…