fiction (an excercise mostly...)

"i'm leaving!"

he rolled over, the scattered sheets crumpling under and around him, and fixed her with a bleary-eyed stare.

"did you hear me? i'm leaving."

"ok." he rolled back over and smashed his face back into the pillow.

he could feel heatwaves of anger and indecision wafting across his back.

"and i'm taking this!" accompanied by the sound of something or other being lifted off the dresser. her dresser.

he didn't even bother rolling back over to see what she was "taking" with her.

an exasperated breath, followed by: "don't you even wanna know what it is?"

he sighed, rolled back over. took a moment to focus on the object she held in her hand. some meaningless knick knack.

"issin tha' yers?"

thunderheads accumulated in her eyes, "i bought this for you on our one year anniversary!"

"oh." he waited. she stood transfixed.

"well," he said, lamely, "you bought it, makes it yours i guess."

she cast her eyes feverishly around the room.

he rolled back over.

she hissed an exasperated noise.

he tried to go back to sleep against the ticking of the clock and the burning holes her eyes tattooed into his back.

after a few more moments of feigning sleep, he rolled back over.

"thought you were leaving?"

for a moment he thought she was going to cry; then the thunderheads broke in her features. "i am!"

"'k."

he rolled back over.

the clocked ticked. the back of his skull lit afire with her stare.

"aren't you going to say anything?"

"ha'n't plann' on i'."

"what?"

he sighed. rolled back over. "hadn't planned on it."

still she stood.

he rolled back over.

tick tock tick tock.

"oh!" he said abruptly, rolling back over, the sheets falling away in his haste.

"what?" she turned from the door where she had been lingering reluctantly.

"take the cat and the plant with you, will ya?"

lemme know what you think. what you think each character wants. if i hit my mark or not.

darth sardonic

just an interesting thought (or a bit of a rant disguised as an interesting thought perhaps...?)

i am sure it comes as no surprise to the non-existent readers who still stop by this droplet of piss in the ocean of the world wide web (and i know you're out there) that i think sex is a beautiful thing.

yes, i understand that certain aspects of sex are ugly and disturbing and/or morally wrong, but for the most part, i think sex in all its different styles and proclivities is an amazing, beautiful, and yes, even exciting, thing.

except in the presence of children, i generally feel my own nakedness is not something to be ashamed of or hide. i don't feel that anyone else's nakedness is improper or inappropriate. i feel if it shocks you, bothers you, disgusts you, or offends you, you have the right to not look, leave, or even, in some cases, ask the offender to leave.

i guess in one form or another i have felt this way my entire life.

now, to the rub, o my droogs and only friends:

yesterday i was watching a movie with a group of friends. it was an effects blockbuster full of explosions, blood, gore, foul language, nudity, and sex acts. oddly enough, no drug use that i could recall, though it is implied that several of the characters are whacked out of their noggins. but i digress.

the thing that i find strange about all this is that a small group of young teen girls was also present as we watched the movie. every time a pair of boobs flashed across the screen, or characters were depicted in acts that might be considered sexual, their father would say, "eyes!" and they would dutifully cover their eyes and look away and wait for him to tell them it was safe to look again. and i am not judging the father at all for that. that's his right as a father, and in many cases the sex was what might be considered "deviant" and "wanton" and not necessarily the kind of input you would want a young teenage girl receiving.

but here's the deal: when soldiers were depicted getting blown up by rockets and their bloody parts scattered to the four winds; nothing. when one of the characters' head was exploded from her body in a scattering of gristle; nothing. when another person gets mowed down by a vehicle; nothing.

it is traditional in this, the united states of america, to be blase about violence. to be inured to it's sting. it's ok for a 13-year-old girl to watch characters on a screen not only battle each other and die, but to do so in violent and extreme ways. we almost cheer it on. and maybe that's fine.

but suddenly it's not ok for a girl of thirteen, who is already beginning to sprout her own set, to see a pair of breasts bared on the screen? to see two ladies kissing without their tops on? to see someone moon others out of the window of a car?

again, the sex and nudity portrayed in this movie had a bent to it that i also agree is not appropriate for a young teen girl. but then, i would deem the whole movie inappropriate for a young teen girl, hence the rating of "r". but i have watched many movies with this group of people and it is always the same: the violence is acceptable, almost lauded. but nudity and sex, regardless of how loving and open and innocent and reaffirming it might be, is not.

and i personally believe, o my beloved non-existent readers, that therein lies the quintessential problem with the u.s. violence is good, acceptable, the appropriate measure; love, lust, and sexual excitement never is.

i sure hope that one day we can tip that scale the other direction.

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

passenger (fiction inspired by the deftones' song)

warning: the following story is erotic fiction. it describes and/or hints at sex acts. moreso, it is easily the kinkiest thing i have written. sometimes i don't write the story, the story writes me. read at your own risk. you've been warned.

he stood beside her car in the enormous parking garage underneath her apartment building. she was slightly bent, taking her time inserting the key into the door, a wicked smirk playing across her blood-red lips.

everything about her was dark. her hair, the black sunglasses she wore in defiance of the half light in the concrete structure. she was encased in a black blouse and tight skirt; the hem riding high on her luxuriously long legs, her calves pushed up into tight knots by the heels of the shiny black stilletos.

the car was like the last cock he had sucked, sleek and black. built for speed. the flourescents cut angular lines of blinding white across the highly-polished enamel. he noted with a quick gunpowder flash of agony that the windows weren't as tinted as he had hoped. at each stoplight, passersby might be able to see inside.

much like they might be able to see him right now, should they choose this moment to leave the garage. he was clad only in her favorite ball-gag and a pair of cuffs. the cool underground air brushed his skin like dead lovers, and he agonized again over how long she was taking to unlock the car.

she knew this, and for this reason had chosen the key instead of simply pressing the button on her fob. now, one fanglike tooth sneaking out to bite her swollen bottom lip, she pushed the key into the hole and pulled it back out over and over again, watching him as he tried to shrink into himself. the more he tried to be invisible, the more his organ asserted its presence.

finally, he was in the passenger seat, the leather cool and smooth on his naked thighs. she produced another set of shiny silver cuffs and attached his wrists to the pull handle of the door, then leaned across him to buckle him in, her breasts dangling close to his face and filling his nose with sandalwood. the buckle clicked and sent an icy shiver through him as he had a momentary flash of the humiliation he would face should they be involved in an accident. his erection pushed upwards, bobbing at the thought of all those people catching him in this state.

she noticed, and laughed; a dead, brittle sound that bounced back at them from the pillars in distorted echoes.

a cold sweat broke out on his brow and shoulders as she slowed down to a crawl as she passed the guard hut. he looked straight ahead into the night, but was sure he heard one of the guards chuckle as she waved pleasantly.

his balls were aching.

the twilight and traffic afforded a certain anonymity, but without removing the obviousness of his situation. she powered her window down to smoke, and cracked his sufficiently that his face and the vinyl of the gag straps would be visible to anyone who pulled alongside and turned their head.

the thought pained him in his stomach and genitals. he feared to make eye contact, but yearned to view the other vehicles' occupants: businessmen negotiating mergers on their cell-phones, truck drivers, families eating fast food from paper bags. all the normal people passing by with their normal lives, almost too busy to notice the toy riding shotgun in the black mercedes.

she reached up languidly to adjust the rearview mirror, and he gasped past his own drool upon seeing that she had turned it sideways to watch his face as they drove downtown, where the friday night traffic and stoplights every two blocks would assure they would never drive faster than thirty miles an hour.

his pupils were dilating. his breath was burning in his chest. the head of his cock was smearing a mercurial stain across the smooth skin of his belly. his testicles were pulling tight to his torso.

he feared he might come simply from the thought of his own situation, and tried to drag his mind away from himself for a moment. she had promised him she would put her own panties on him and tie him to the hood and proceed to drive slowly through the seedier parts of town should he ever get any semen on her interior.

the thrum of the motor teased its way throughout his body. the gleam of empty lenses over the devil's smile greeted him in the rearview. the dull ache in his hands and gonads caused tiny prickles of sweat to bead all over his body.

he groaned, bubbles forming at the corner of his mouth.

"shut up!" she hissed in a twisting cloud of cigarette smoke, "or i will pull over and offer rides to people on the corner like a taxi."

he took a deep breath, trying to calm the barrage of thoughts and anguishes and needs that riddled his mind and body like a sickness.

a stoplight painted him as red as her nails, and he glanced to see what show might play in the car adjacent, only to find that the vehicle was full of frat boys who were slapping each other on the shoulders and pointing at him, laughing at the show they had discovered next to themselves.

he felt faint. his cheeks puffed in and out. sweat stung his eyes. he broke contact with occupants of the car and looked down at his lap. tears pooled with his spit on his lips, and formed droplets that joined the shining river that ran down his chest to join his precum. his glans was swollen beyond anything he had imagined. the skin of his shaft was tight and glistened in the sparkling streetlights. his sphincter and the skin of his scrotum contracted until his lower back ached.

"if you get any come on my leather, i'll fucking stop the car and shove my fist up your ass over the trunklid for all to see. you understand me?"

he nodded, his vision swimming. she smiled her venomous smile into the mirror, and reached over to brush a fingertip across one of his erect nipples.

like a dying butterfly, he felt pinned somewhere between the dazzling lights of the clubs and the soft leather of the seat. he hung there, babbling to god, like his entire body had become one vibrating sex organ, coated in the lubricants of his own spit and sweat, hard and ready to spill forth his seed. his eyes rolled back to white and he gibbered, no longer needing the thought of the other travelers or how they might point and laugh. no longer aware of the steady forward progress of the black cock piloted by the sexy demon that laughed at his torture, a smaller part of a larger whole all fucking the cunt of the city; pushing to be the tiny car that penetrates the egg; a conglomerate of men and women laughing, talking, pointing, crying, fucking, shoving, angling, fighting, screaming, dying.

"hey, you pussy, wake up and get out of my car before you bust your load all over!"

he felt coated in gelatin, too thick to comply. only vaguely aware of outward stimuli.

she slowly placed her lips around one of his tiny areola, the vampire teeth engulfing his hard nipple, and bit down.

the hard rubber ball stifled his scream and he fell out of the open door onto his knees, immediately spewing gouts of brilliant white sperm across the dirty black of the tarmac.

panting, he leaned forward, feeling like he might be sick. her hand was cool on his back. "you feeling better now?"

he nodded. she opened the trunk. slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. she had pulled down a narrow alley, with only one outside light. again, he was exposed without really being exposed.

the cuffs clicked open.

"here, towel off. god, you sweat a lot. here's your clothes. drinks and dancing at the mercury?"

he pulled the ball out of his lips. "yes, that would be amazing."

"fucking drinks and dancing though. you get us into another goddamn orgy and i'll fucking pack up and leave your ass there to get fucked by anyone that so chooses, got it?"

he smiled for the first time of the evening.

"got it."

a long short story

fiction:

he wasn't sure how long she had been gone. as it was, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, and after the night they had had, he would've snoozed through a trainwreck.

his head hurt quite a bit as the insistant alarm went off. though the sheets were still rumpled and warm where she had lain, he had the distinct feeling she hadn't been in bed for a few hours. the dust-free rectangle in the hall closet (the only one in the apartment large enough to accomodate their bigger items) made it fairly clear that she wasn't coming back for some time. if ever.

such a strange thing. where had she gone? why? had she been angry? or was she crying as she hailed a taxi?

he had the distinct feeling he would never see her again.

which made last night even more incongruous. in the three years that they had been together, they had never had a night like the last.

she had had dinner ready when he arrived from work. wine chilled, candles lit. he stayed in his shirt and tie, but with the collar undone and sleeves rolled up and his braces down, because he knew she thought that was hot. she was wearing a slinky black evening dress, but without stockings or heels, as if she had just cast them off after having come in from a night on the town. she was also not wearing any panties he guessed, and later confirmed.

they had both had uncountable glasses of wine. they had flirted and teased at the table, the couch, the hallway, the bedroom.

and things got hazy somewhere in there. she had goaded him into pushing her against the wall, with her back to him. her dress shoved up, his tie askew. bites, slaps. grunts, pants.

her absence sucked the life out of the apartment. the ache in his skull, combined with an immediate and malingering malaise caused him to call in sick to work. he had several days coming, why shouldn't he? but maybe if he had played hooky a few more times with her they would be enjoying breakfast together now, naked...?

he had called her names: whore, slut. she had been like a wild animal at each one. shouted out things he had never heard her say, how good his cock felt, how much she needed him to fuck her hard.

had she known? were her things already packed, discreetly tucked away in the spare bedroom (hardly more than a closet), noticeable if only her sleight-of-hand sex hadn't ensured he would be looking elsewhere?

he didn't bother dressing, but rather, wandered from room to room like a ghost haunting his own living space. touching this, adjusting that. everything somehow tied to her, and exacerbating her absence.

bites on shoulders, his handprints in red across the softness of her bum, one pillow still crushed into a corner of the room where it had been violently exiled as they both grappled for a better purchase on the increasingly slippery mattress.

his wanderings brought him back to the room. it smelled faintly of her perfume, sweat, and their comingled excretions. he became increasingly aware of her taste on his lips, her smell on his face, chest, and genitals. he wanted to bask in that smell, savor each leftover bit of flavor.

he suddenly felt extremely exhausted, and stretched out across the sheets, hugging her pillow against him, falling to sleep inhaling the remaining reminders of their aggressive fucking (because what else could he call it?) and hoping for the phone to ring.

he awoke several hours later to an empty silence. the scents that had soothed him to sleep had gone sour. the bedroom had grown rank with last night's exertions and the morning's vacuousness.

he groaned and pulled himself upright. he felt crusty, caked in dry flakes of spent lust and unanswered questions. he showered, the scalding water removing the residue of the night before, but conjuring up each detailed memory of its happenings.

she had offered herself to him like she never had before, making nothing taboo. and he had not hesitated an instant before accepting, and aggressively exploring the boundaries. he wondered if someone else might have introduced her to this side of herself, provided her with a treasure map to unlocking this chest of hidden wonders that she had only shared with him this one time. he wondered if she was with this person even now, begging to be taken as forcibly (more?) as she had begged him to take her last night.

he slipped on boxers, and stripped the bed to the mattress, dragging the eviscerated bedclothes to the laundry room like a dead body. he cursed the small washer, forced to leave some of the sheets in the hall to spread the achingly rancid smell of their one-time love throughout the apartment.

he busied himself cleaning the kitchen. tossing out melted candles, empty wine bottles, leftover pasta primavera. rinsing the plates and silverware before putting them in the dishwasher, lingering one moment too long over wiping off her red lipstick from the rim of her glass.

as time passed, he erased the traces of their last night, and at the same time, her presence in the apartment.

when he was done, he sat in his favorite chair with a beer, lit a cigarette (she would have told him to get out on the balcony), and stared at the ceiling in the encroaching twilight.

there was no puzzling it out. it would never make sense. at this juncture, even if she was to call and explain her reasons, and even if they might be as simple as "i don't love you anymore" and "i have found another" he would still be sitting in the dark considering the textured roof and the dirt in his navel.

he would never understand.