Message-ID: <17354eli$9811192017@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: DrPanda@myhideout.com Subject: A Mirror Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <36454e8b.54089716@192.168.0.1> x-no-archive: yes It's a dream, sort of. It has recurred a number of times in the past several months, and while I could entertain all sorts of "explanations" for it -- stress, bad meals, long work hours, whatever -- it remains untouched and apart from all that. It comes, it rapes me, it leaves. It's a goddamned drive-by shooting from the subconscious. I know this woman's face. I feel like I've eaten lunch across the table from her every day for the six years I've been at my current job. Or maybe hung over her shoulder as she turned the pages of a newspaper and then took her ink-darkened fingers into my mouth and licked them clean. Or maybe let her suck me off, let me fuck her in the ass, make her clean off my cock after she's let me smear her rectal mucous and my own semen on it. The whole gorgeous gamut of shared pleasure. All that great shit. All the stuff you cunts live for. Whatever I feel, it's all based on reality: we're together. We are Siamese twins joined at the genitals; a mind-movie perpetu-fuck. My rectum tightens, my testicles wind together; the sweat and matted dirt from my balls runs down and plasters itself against her ass crack. Joy. My whole day has been spent in anticipation of this bad smell and these unwiped mudflaps. And I believe it. I'll even package it and resell it to whoever's listening. I have roadmaps of every pore on her skin, every brain-like fold of her cunt and every wire-like line of her swollen, knobbly asshole. I know the root of each hair, whether or not it's clogged with filth, how likely a pimple may be erupting there, looking like nothing more than the filthy little hard-on that an insect might get. I know exactly how far I can shove my cock, my fingers, my tongue into her before she squirms first-to-the-right-and-then-to-the-left with her whole body. Whipping around all at once, like some slug you've besalted on the sidewalk. More metaphor: an orgasm like when you focus sunlight through a Fresnel lens on her and burn her alive. One broken-off scream after another; it takes hours before she's managed to pull herself back together. Of course she loves it. This is love. This is the divine pleasure. Do you believe that, you piece of shit? Splayed-open crack and blue fracture veins and lots of little red-rooted hairs and a gassy stink every time she coughs, even when she's got her face turned the other way. Millions of people fucking with the light off. Suddenly they don't seem like clowns anymore. I can't figure out if she makes me sick, or makes me feel human again. I once woke up to find her sucking me off. I was lying on my back and she'd pushed a pillow under my ass, supporting me underneath with one hand while she guided my dick into her mouth with the other. She was totally relaxed, completely absorbed in the act. Not hurrying and trying to bring me off as closely as possible so she could smirk at me with sperm-greased teeth; she has no need to brag about any of this, least of all to me. She will enjoy herself and I will cum in my own time, at my own pace. That was the whole idea. I had feelings about her raging in both directions long before that. Horror or ecstasy mixed together. No separating the two. If my cock's a weapon then she's running the risk of splitting her mouth open when I cum; my dick inside her turning into a carnivorous creature that eats her from the inside out and breaks free through any available orifice. If it's just what it is -- an erect penis, no big deal -- then she'll close her mouth around it and I'll lie there like I'm on a warm cloud. Turn her around when I come and open up her thighs and it won't be me sticking my tongue into some ravenous piranha-cunt. Nothing there to scissor off whatever I stick into it, slobber it down and shit it out. It's just her body and not a bottomless pit of acid and hunger. Going through it all was the only way to find out which side of me was right. Of course she had no idea of what was burning up the inside of my head as I went down on her. I licked her with my fingers inside her; she pulled my fingers out and lifted them to her mouth. I could see her curling in tight around herself like a conch shell, licking out her own cunt, devouring herself and vanishing into a puddle of her own secretions. I choked; she thought I had maybe gotten some of her muff hairs into my mouth (which made a great excuse). Her mouth on my fingers was like a trigger release, I guess. Heedless of what else it would set off inside me, I mounted her and we wound up fucking most of the rest of the day, even though it was still a greatly confused fuck. I went soft a couple of times and wound up cumming *while* soft, which is painful and embarrasing. It got me that much of a respite. Her nipple at one point had become a fat, maggotlike slug that invaded my mouth, crushed my tongue out of the way and blocked my throat. I couldn't take it any longer, so cumming like that was body-wisdom at its finest. Even showering doesn't get the stink of cunt out of your body; it comes back to you a day later when your beard hairs grow out. You piss the smell, sweat the smell, you even find the fucking smell when you tear off layers of your fingernails and smell the onions from the meal on the same day mixed in with it. Perfectly human. One time we lay on the couch, not paying attention to the TV, her hand tucked into my belt and my hand supporting her head. All she had to do was move her finger, which rubbed against the skin of my stomach, and suddenly fear lept up inside me and begam yammering away: DON'T LET HER MOVE HER HAND, DON'T LET MY HAND MOVE AND GIVE HER ANY IDEAS... But of course fear like that is like sticking your fucking hand into a beartrap and waving it around. Her fingers soon went for my fly and my hands went for her tits and everything beyond that is submerged in a sea of alternating fear/disgust and headless bliss. Or just a moment of blindness and blankness that lets you drop that much easier into cold sleep, and we call that bliss because we think it does the same thing to us. If I could banish that horror, just take her for what she is, that would be more than enough. To just cum inside her and leave it as having cum inside her, not lying there with me still semierect and wondering, would I see a string of blood and semen and delicate, tubule-like, veiny innards being pulled from the tip of my dick on the way out?... If I fucked her in the ass, would she absorb me only to shit me out hours later? Why are you expecting this to make sense? Of course it doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense about the whole arrangement of fucking in the first place. One piece of one person gets all slimy and another piece of another person gets enflamed and they shove one into the other. It's as arbitrary as politics. It's not about logic or sense or any of that stuff in the first place. It's stink and desperation and moisture and a brown stain on the bedspread. I know that this woman has the power to kill with her cunt, the same as I have the power to kill with my cock. Stalemate. I know this without being told. Counterarguments are mere words. I have all the proof I need when I put my cock into my fist and jerk myself off, thinking about her folded cunt lips and her moist real lips and all that wonderful PENTHOUSE close-up glistening spread beaver replay-anytime-you-want crap. Not about the ideas in her head. Not about the way she asked me if she had made the right decision, firing that guy. Not about the way she smiled when I came downstairs and took over cooking breakfast so she could lounge and read the paper. We are not talking about what happens in the daytime between people who sign checks, wear deodorant and suck in their assholes to hide their farts. We are talking about what happens on the face of the scarred and naked earth between pieces of raw flesh that might as well be holding knives to each other's throats. When she sucks me off, when I fuck her, there is no house, no society, no words that are put into books for guys with too much hairpsray to jerk off to. "Sensitivity", "foreplay", "power exchange", all catch fire and explode into ashes. This is about pounding my fist into the bedboard and breaking a finger because I don't want to shove the same fist up her ass and rip out the anus while yanking it out and leaving her to die with her intestines prolapsed out onto the mattress, red-brown with blood, the fibrous body wall membrane still wrapped around it like a wet shower curtain. Because I remember a perfect moment, a sterling piece of time in my mind, when I kissed and awakened every inch of her body with my fingers, not thinking about potential damage. Her fingers on my cock were nothing more than that, and the smile on her face and the sweat that glazed her stomach were no more and no less than what they were. And when I came and she came it was rivers flowing over both of us. All that good shit. All that "need" shit. Care, trust, love and rape and fucking blinding wasting pain. I want so many fucking things with her, it's eating me alive. I want to hold her head and weep and pray that I haven't done something irreversible, something that wouldn't accumulate over time the way all those other cunt-batterings have on so many other vaginas I've seen. The mashed-in lips and the browned edges; the slackened outlines and the hole that hangs open wider than the mouth or even the cancer-wound asshole I could probably fit my arm into. To look at that and go, MOTHERFUCKER, I DID THAT -- I HELPED HER ALONG ON THAT ROAD... I'm divided down the middle I don't know whether to laugh insanely and send her on her way, fucking like a broken machine that can't be switched off, or to curl up with her head and her tangled hair and weep and lubricate her face and her pussy with my own oily tears. It's the way of all my dreams now. And then to my disgust I find I'm awake, bathed in my own slime, staring at my reflection in the brass knob of the bedpost, a cold and loathsome feeling in my lips that contaminates the rest of me, as if I've kissed a mirror. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----