I’m a murderer. If corpses could suck breath eleven would tell you that it is so.
Why? For the joy of a righteous cause. Whilst their eyes leap with fear, mine do a burgeoning dance of orgasmic pleasure. Raping them and gargling their blood is the only way to conquer arbitrariness and its snotty producers.
I’m a Messiah. I happened to compensate for those that have already failed; that dickhead Levi, his arrogance inflated dog, Fat Crowley, and that wimpy, street trick dude … what’s his name? Jeez something, I think it was.
I’ll succeed because no one can harm me. Nothing can stop me. I AM. I’ll read history books about myself. The city will bow to me [a thirty-six wheeler truck winds around the corner at an ooh-too-fast speed]. I’ll rule the world [the driver fights the wheel desperately]. Planets will tremble in my presence. God will step aside! [Messiah # 45 323 steps into the road, blinded by his wisdom and deafened to the half-screamed warning of a passing vagrant]. I will ru-URGH!
S P L A T !
NB: This is an audacious parable (as related by a scribbler drinking Black Label) to be heeded by psychopaths, killers, gods, rapists, lead singers of house and acid bands, and, especially (dear Rowan), bank managers.
NB2: Think that i wrote this in 1991. It was against that hypocritical, enormously popular, evangelist, Jimmy Swaggart, who got caught twice with prostitutes. He and his family are still making millions selling the word of god. Read about that idiot at Wikipedia.
Her skin was white cream. Her breasts were firm with youth, the nipples pressing against the thin dress and pointing slightly upwards. The material hugged her inwards and flared gently at her thighs. He found himself unable to stop imagining what she looked like underneath and how it would feel to have his fingers touch her … probe her.
… his tongue became a squirming reptile on her lips below. Her stomach and thigh muscles twitched with pleasure. The reptile thrust into her, his saliva mingling with her wetness. Uncontrollably, she arched upwards, her breasts flattening and her nipples leaping at the strain. And while he licked her, his teeth rubbed gently on her clitoris, bringing her a sensation that she had only dreamed of. Her approaching orgasm threatened to pop the dream, so she cupped his head with both hands and drew him up over her pubic mound, over her aching nipples, up until his mouth, wet with her secretions, joined hers. The kiss was urgent but gentle. Touching a finger on his lips, she retraced his route and took his dribbling penis in her mouth and worked him up and down, constantly flickering her tongue until his hips were jerking so rapidly that they barely touched the bed. Suddenly, she stopped in mid motion, unclasping her right hand from the base of his penis. In those seconds, as he came salty and strong against the roof of her mouth, her heart stopped and she felt the outer silence; the night as present and silent as voyeuristic shadows. And then she came back to the world, to the ends of his gasp and their locomotive breathing.
She shifted awkwardly; unnaturally awkward. This left him wondering as to the cause of this ungraceful movement. Wondering until the wind caught the hem of the flimsy dress, floating it slightly, so that he realized with horror that she was not kneeling but had no legs. He fought to conceal his shock and distaste … and failed precisely as she looked up at him and into his eyes.
PS: Humans are damn fickle. How do we approach handicaps that we’re not prepared for? I wonder at hypothetical scenarios where the true self is discovered. Can a young couple survive if one of them contracts AIDS accidentally? Can parents remain true to their love for each other when faced with a down syndrome child? I realize that i’m as fallible as the next but take some consolation in the fact that i can look at a woman in a wheelchair and think her attractive for a pretty face, especially if there’s a personality to match…