The Consummation of
Marcel & Beatrice's Marriage

by Mordantia Bat


Oh, the boys were in the yard, preparing the altar. Beatrice was hanging in the middle of the courtyard, her wrists bound above her head, her body stretched into discomfort. She was marked, stained with blood.

Today was her wedding day.



Marcel was a grasshopper, a little green boy with lime-green hair and a complexion so deep and vibrant he made heads turn when he walked down the street. He was unaware of his effect on human beings, and when he walked he followed himself as if he were his own destiny.



Pain. Beatrice knew pain. The night before she was to marry Marcel, the boys took her into the courtyard and did painful things to her so that it would seem like Marcel would be rescuing her.

Marcel got off free because he was a tender boy, had curly lime-green hair, and wore tight enough pants that EVERYONE wanted to sleep with him.

But he never said much of anything. He was aloof. He watched.

Voyeurism is the ultimate purity as long as you don’t appear to be excited about it. If you don’t participate, you’re always innocent.



Marcel was innocent.

Beatrice knew pain.



It was a small community. Beatrice was fourteen when she first knew pain. Everyone found out about it. They decided she was a priestess. They made her live in a temple.

They respected her (sort of), made bread for her sustenance, gave her clothing, and did all those things people are supposed to do for the religion of their choice, but they talked about her behind her back. They didn’t like it that she wore pain on her exterior, that she marked herself with razor blades, that she would on occasion fall to her knees and beat her head against the ground.

They didn’t like it that she knew how to cry.



Oh, the boys were in the yard, touching Beatrice. It was okay. Beatrice had never refused anyone – at least not in a way that seemed like refusing – although she did cry a lot and once, just once, she had breathed a deep sigh and had said, "Please, please, just leave me alone."

But they didn’t, and she never repeated the request, so they thought it was okay.

The boys in the yard truly loved Beatrice.

However, they all wanted Marcel because he seemed so goddamned unattainable. No one would ever venture to ask Marcel to go to the movies or to the high school dance – well, because it was just an established fact that he would say no.

There was that night, though, when Rufus had had a fight with his androgynefriend in a way that hurt Rufus’ ego and sense of adequacy. Rufus had taken a bottle of vodka and went for a walk. He had found Marcel sitting by a fire by the tent where Marcel lived. Marcel was toasting marshmallows. His complexion was, in the spastic firelight, alive and enticing and maybe not so aloof. If Rufus could take Marcel sexually, then his ego and sense of adequacy would be paramount. So, Rufus put his hands on Marcel’s shoulders and slowly brought his lips to Marcel’s neck.

Marcel shuddered, brushed Rufus’ hands away as if he were an unwelcome fly landing on his person.

Rufus was so upset that he didn’t even bother to torture Beatrice. He simply wasn’t himself until his androgynefriend said (he/she) loved and needed him again.



It was a shock to the community when Marcel one day, in the middle of day – it was a spring day, nice weather, cool breeze, all that sort of rot – anyway, it was a shock to them when Marcel went to Beatrice’s temple on this rather nice absolutely normal day. He had never been before. It was even more of a shock when Marcel announced that evening that he intended to marry Beatrice. The boys, later that night, took Beatrice out to the movies and pummelled her in retaliation.


(the wedding ceremony)

Beatrice was simply gorgeous, dressed in gold, her knees bound tightly together by the gown. Her feet were bare except for an emerald toe ring, and her hair had been done, at great expense, by the best salon in the community.

Marcel was in tight jeans and a sleeveless white shirt.

It was a lovely ceremony. Hardly anyone snickered.

They took pictures for the local paper. Everyone oohed when Marcel kissed the bride, and everyone threw rice at Beatrice.

There was a room reserved for the couple at the local inn, and allegedly unknown to Marcel and Beatrice, Charlie the Innkeeper had installed a video camera behind the two-way mirror that would broadcast the erection results (as it were) to a T.V. set at Ronald’s Bar & Grill.

What a reception that would be, hmm?


(the honeymoon)

Marcel took Beatrice into the room. They had dinner from room service (squab, chocolate cheesecake, champagne, etc.). They talked for a while about nothing much that interested the spectators at Ronald’s Bar & Grill. They laughed a bit, too, and seemed to be enjoying one another’s company. Then they took off their clothes, fucked, drank champagne, and fell asleep in an embrace.

Everyone at Ronald’s Bar & Grill was shocked by the lack of complexity about the whole ordeal.



Marcel behaved no differently in public afterwards, which was the cause of much speculation.

He had asked Beatrice to move out of the temple and into his tent. She did so. After that, the boys never quite knew what to do with themselves when their egos weren’t adequate because it seemed vaguely inappropriate to assault Beatrice in Marcel’s tent.

Besides, watching Beatrice and Marcel fuck in such a normal almost-caring way had rather disillusioned the boys about Beatrice.


This story was originally published in HOWLING DOG (Detroit, MI), 1986.

And was reprinted in SINS of COFFEE, Issue #3 (1989).