November 18, 2012.
It was a cold and rainy night.
I had spent the last several years gorging myself on cliché.
I fell asleep that night watching little people porn.
I woke up before sunrise, a caricature.
A monster.
Now everything is terribly normal.
I will try,
fail,
to speak your tongue.
Cryptex lock which opens
not with words. not with light.
but with words and light.
Inside, sunlight bruised by pending storms.
What small gifts shall I lay at your feet?
What dusky recompense may I offer in
exchange for your light
that breaks through my own heavy clouds?
No. Clip.
Not that way.
Today you grow this way. The other ways are not for you. clip clip clip
Tomorrow maybe. Maybe a new way tomorrow.
Clip. clip. clip. clip.
No. No. No. No.
Yes. This way.
This way is release.
This way is comfort.
I will take all the other ways from you.
With each clip
you are freed. clip.
owned. clip.
every clip, choice denied.
clip.
bliss.
His.
Whisk of flog, slap of the paddle
spiced with degradation.
Possession. Consumption.
A function of
lifestyle or cruelty?
For the last 23 years, I have been living a lie.
So far, so good!
Always be kind, because you have no idea what another person is going through.
But then I look at a person and think, "what if this douche has been skating through life without a care in the world?"
So fuck him.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
God is a promise whispered in your ear
as you shit the hospital bed.
Me? I'm short on trust these days.
Cursing, begging.... deaf ears.
There's you, the clock, the cheap motel art
and waiting.
Death is patient, disinterested.
It's exhausting staying alive for the sake of others.
But what else do I have to do?
I'm fresh
out of control.
I've none left to give.
If you want control, look elsewhere.
lesswhere.
Or you can stay
in my bed
on the floor
against the wall
but you've been told. buyer beware
I'm out of control
and you'll have none while you're here.
Debbie threw the ice tongs off the bed, turning her head so she wouldn’t have to look at them. Finally free, she wriggled out from under the corpse, too scared to scream. The image of a fat bumble bee dying without its stinger flashed across her mind.
She’d had lovers sneak out on her, steal her money – hell, she’d even been drugged once or twice. But she never had one die on her!
Die in her.
She felt ill. Still avoiding the tongs and their gruesome prize, she stumbled to the bathroom sink. Debbie turned on the cold water and splashed her face, and the wave of nausea passed.
I’ve got to get out of here.
The thought of her daughter seeing her on the news almost made her sick again. “Women Severs Dead Lover’s Penis. Details at eleven!”
Not going to happen.
She quickly fixed her hair as best she could. There was a crazy woman staring at her from the mirror. There were red blotches on her neck and stomach, and one of her tits was turning blue.
Shit, he was heavy.
The other one has a brighter red mark just above the nipple. When Debbie recognized the hickey, she threw up.
She quickly dressed in the bathroom, not wanting to see the body or, she swallowed, or the tongs. She was numb now.
I’m in shock. That’s okay. A-Okay. Whadda ya say, Jay?
She hadn’t packed anything. The hotel room had been a spur of the moment thing, and with enough tequila and Viagra, a couple could do without toothpaste and clean underwear for one night. She grabbed her keys and phone from the dresser.
“I should take his wallet. Make it look like a robbery. That’s what they do on TV.”
She shook her head.
How the fuck would making this look like a robbery help? And what kind of thief steals a dead man’s cock?
Debbie laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. The wallet stayed, and she left, remembering to hang the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. That was the extent of her criminal mastermind. The rest of her brain was focused only on escape -- and a bath. The hall was blessedly empty. It wasn’t until Debbie was in the elevator, that she felt her pussy tingle.
She frowned; then her eyes grew wide with horror.
“No. No, no, no, no.”
But she could feel it now. Rubbing against her in a disgustingly pleasurable way. With real horror now, Debbie unfastened her jeans and slowly slid her hand under her panties. She felt gently around until her fingers brushed against something that felt like damp paper.
Debbie gave a soft yelp of alarm, and involuntarily closed her legs together. The stiff member shifted with the movement, sending another unwanted wave of pleasure through her body.
She closed her eyes and waited for it to pass.
There was a ding. Debbie’s eyes flew open in time to see the elevator door open. She started to pull her hand from her pants, but her panties had caught on her bracelet.
The woman from housekeeping stood there, safe behind her wheeled laundry hamper, frowning at Debbie. Debbie pulled harder, but only succeed in pulling her panties tightly against her pussy, causing her to moan again.
Oh my God!
Finally, she worked her hand free. The elevator’s doors closed with the woman still on the other side.
The walk to the street was unbearable. The dead cock moved inside her with every step. She had to stop in the lobby and lean against a brass luggage trolley; she was shaking so bad. By the time, she got inside a cab.
The cab driver was a Middle Eastern man, with one of those unpronounceable terrorist names.
“Good day. Where can I take you?”
“325…Rockside Drive,” Debbie gasped.
The car started moving. Part of her knew the terrorist was looking at her with alarm in his rearview mirror, but she didn’t care. As the cab turned onto the highway, Debbie was in the middle of a full blown orgasm.
By the time they reached the house, Debbie was soaking wet, perspiration above, something else below.
Now she could feel the cock slipping. Perhaps it was finally getting smaller, or it might have been her wet pussy. At that moment, she didn’t care which. Inside, she went to the kitchen, grateful that Karen was still in school. She quickly got out of her jeans and panties, keeping her legs closed as best she could, not wanting to have to deal with a mess on her kitchen floor.
If I had kept my legs closed last night, none of this would be happening.
And if “ifs” were ships, we’d all be sailors, as her dad was fond of saying.
She quickly quashed the thought, preferring not to think of her father right now. She grabbed a brown paper lunch bag from the small stack next to the toaster and hurriedly squatted over it.
Closing her eyes, she pushed gently, reminding herself again, to sign up for those free Kegel classes at the “Y”.
After a few seconds, she felt it begin to slide down slowly. It came out about an inch before stopping. Debbie suppressed a gag and pinched the outside of the paper bag between her fingers and pull.
She almost fainted with relief. She tossed the paper bag on the kitchen counter and quickly washed her hands. She was halfway to the shower when her cell phone started rang. The ringtone announced that she was “making money moves,” whatever that meant. Debbie’s daughter was always changing her ringtone to something she thought would embarrass her mother. A new wave of fear washed over Debbie. Had the police found out already? How would they have her number? She put the bag down next to the sink and found her phone. The screen said it was “Johnny.”
“Johnny,” she asked the empty room? “Who’s Johnny?”
Her phone stopped buzzing; the call going unanswered.
Wait.
That’s not my phone.
Debbie leaned against the counter, breathing in great ragged gasps.
“Not…my…phone…Fuckall!”
