In my younger, less responsible days I would sometimes lay there next to a woman I just had sex with, then lightly drag the tip of a knife blade across her throat in the dark, seeing how much pressure I could produce without her waking up; I'm sure a lot of men have done things like that.
You could pretty much imagine the look that would be in their wide eyes upon awakening to a slit throat: the gurgled attempts at gasping, the array of thoughts that must be ricocheting in their panicked head.
I'll never see Mom again.
Who will take care of Mr. Wittles the cat?
Will Mr. Wittles ever understand that I won't be coming home anymore, and will he spend the rest of his days thinking I abandoned him?
Is this man going to fuck my corpse in the ass?
Just thoughts.
Really, it is a great way to learn the limitations you must put upon yourself when in situations of great power, so: character-building.
Inevitably, the inevitable happened: one woman woke up with me dragging the knife across her throat. After her initial shock she asked me if I was planning to kill her.
"No," I said. "I'm not crazy."
I expected things to go poorly after that -- there is only so much you can explain -- but then she asked me to drag the knife tip along her stomach and breasts; then, her inner thighs. Pretty soon we were having sex again, and she scraped her nails down my back with great ferocity.
"You could've killed me," she said afterward, "but you didn't. It is like I have a New Chance at Life."
Which was a pretty nice way of dealing with it, I thought.
The next time I saw her she had tattooed my name along her neck.
"You gave me a second chance to really live," she explained.
My name, tattooed on her neck? I thought that was a bit too freaky.
I am Laslo.
http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/07/neal-falls-showed-up-at-womans-home-on.html
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