Sighing softly, he felt the material fall away and as he looked deep into her eyes, he almost lost himself, just as he had once before. But that was in another life, far away, inaccessible. Then she stepped backwards from the ring light clothing made beneath her.
Back from the fringe of night-light, where her now naked body instantly pulled him, like a strong magnet. No wonder that her immaculate form, the perfect lines that clothing concealed had been so sensuous.
Slender fingers guided the remaining hindrance from his body at arms length. Then those long fingernails dug firmly into his skin, dragging him to her, though there was no sign of reluctance.
As the two hot bodies met, melted together, dark skin on light, they fell backwards onto the bed, soft tones oozing from the woman's throat as she rolled onto his anxious form without any preamble.
The moist heat that engulfed him wafted clouds of pleasure through the corridors of his mind, eyelids lowered slowly for the evocative images to develop more fully. Gifted as never before with such a madonna, he stretched back his head in ecstasy, forcing fingers over the peach like skin and into her soft tresses as they bounced across his neck, forming a delicate curtain around his face.
As hands twisted, wove around the forest of hair, feelings within his body rose. Past the outer boundaries of pleasure, perhaps to levels never before even dreamt.
"Heaven," the word trickled like syrup from his mouth.
There was an angel rocking gently on him, her nails tensing into his skin as the movement bathed her with waves of excitement. Time seemed meaningless, he was no longer in the real world, arousal had taken him to another dimension.
Time meant nothing. Perhaps it was mere moments before a lack of continuity dragged him back, maybe as much as an hour.
In the midst of passion the sweep of the clock has no meaning. But thoughts were straying away from pleasure, only gradually, but enough to despoil the moment, as his sensitive touch noticed an almost subtle change. That the hair somehow seemed to become shorter, wiry, almost brittle between his writhing digits.

Confused, he let hands drop to naked shoulders, ready to slide lower, to delight in the contours of well formed breasts, but smooth flow was hindered by fold upon fold of hard, heavy, wrinkled skin.
Eyes opened quizzically, to gaze not upon emerald pools of an enticing beauty but into two dark pits, cavities in an angular skull where the almost black, menacing sockets glared at him, the centres, the actual eyes almost glowing a pale green, like cat's eyes reflecting in headlights. The delicate golden curls were gone, replaced by short black clumps, greasy, unmanageable and caked with the dirt of ages.
The mists of love had disappeared, only the harshness of reality remained.
Harsh hardly began to describe it.
At that moment, time didn't need to stand still, it should have been capable of rewinding, rather rapidly.
Shit, where the hell is the continuity director?
But this was not a scene to be re-shot, the only take two, was in his mind. Unfortunately both clips were identical. Albeit apparently straight out of movie make up.
"Oh, God," he thought, "her head's moving, crawling, alive!" But it was a notion that flashed across his mind only for a fraction of a second, for the ugliness of the thing above caused countless fear drenched images to fill the cortex of his brain.

A smile, it must have been a smile, cracked, wrinkled across the craggy ancient face, rimmed by black bootlace lips, the cheek bones almost protruding from beneath the taut, pallid skin.
A vile face where once he had seen a rosy glow and full moist red lips that longed to be kissed. That he had kissed!
So how!
There was no clear message, no sense anywhere.

Cold sweat poured from his forehead, his arms dropped limply away.
"Something wrong?" the woman said in rich, lurid tones.
Then her voice broke up, she cackled fiercely, "You look pale. Heh, heh, heh." A gaping black chasm appeared to fill his face as muscles forced a mouth to open far wider than ever before, but no sound came!
Gulping air he flayed his arms to remove the heinous form, but she drew her thighs together, gripping firmly the tissue that bound them. The agony it caused, the pinching, no cutting from bony hips, racked his now demented form so that muscles arched his body sharply, twisting up from the mattress.