Message-ID: <26599asstr$970420201@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: "Sean Farragher" X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6: Deranged Confessions of CJ Parker Date: Sun, 1 Oct 2000 13:10:01 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00) http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00) http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon http://www.farragher.com (Poetry updated 9/20/00) TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only. Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher. TxM6 HYPERFICTION NOVEL DERANGED CONFESSIONS OF CJ PARKER ANSWER THE QUESTION: What happens when the brain is beaten black and blue? CJ stunned by the sorrow of pain removed her mind and set it back in place. CONFESSION OF CJ PARKER AS TOLD TO THE GADFLY BY SILENCE INSIDE THE FEMALE GIG FOUND ON EARTH AGAIN ABDUCTION AND PUNISHMENT CJ PARKER: "There is no escape." Murder huddles in a corner. Murder marks the territory where there is no return. Negation breaks us down. Indented and suppressed plot lines show that I cannot survive and my mouth and teeth are broken, and the snot I hold under my eyes is loose like phlegm; it cannot help me breathe or assist survival. We buzz into evil every day imagining how we will fight back at evil or those who bang us with their own pain over and over again. What if you cannot stop the pressure to be defiled? Should we tolerate any ordinary everything? What is the nature of suffering after all? CJ TALKS ABOUT FUCKING NAM: "What if the heroes are all dying in some rotting fucken jungle? Answer that question motherfuckers." What are we going to do with those nine thousand half 55 gal. Drums of petrified shit left over from the shit burning detail. It stinks motherfucker. I don't care what you do about it. Just get it the fuck out of here. Are we on a secret mission to steal all human life from the soup pot? CJ asks for more life not less: "Where the fuck do we hide our pain? How do we stop it from bang bang against those fucken family lies when we were children on the dole without one fucken sou for compensation? All of us know how truth is diseased. Case studies on child abuse do not just rattle their bars to show how we suffered for all. The small print does include those who would be blind. Even the guilty suffer it says. Abusers are victims in that extended form. Should we forgive them that abuse? Consequences are never fully understood. We lash out. We break down the margins. We cut our way through the prison into the outer plain where the broncos are brought to herd. We fuck children when we are children. I did it too, CJ said just to escape being normal. Now, I ask why is normal wrong? II. CJ said that pain broke her where and how we hunted. We don't realize that weakness is strength. "See these muscles," she said. CJ opens her arm and shows the veins where the cock sucking man sucked her cunt and missed with his teeth opening all her portals. "Look how they are cut by words of knives that dissect the mind first. See how he bled CJ with his thumbs pushing his tools deep into her cunt. That is my sex. That is my deep forgiveness blocked out of the way because I am not the usual freak. I do not want to be different. I would prefer an easy life, nine to five mind fuck job. I would prefer a husband who doesn't fuck up my chances or make his children look and act like the shit he really has become. After the madmen blow us down the trail into drugs just to feel self- important. Don't you love a horror story the man writing the story asks us to forgive the pauses before conscious mistakes? Why are we so comfortable within horror stories? What will I do, CJ cries. Who will fucken listen then? Some guy in a hurry will poke his cock inside my heart and cut my nipples away, placing the pain on his lapel. He will scream blood and mercy will end. God I remember all those mad stories about how I have a choice when fucking. Why do we accept the burden of opening our legs and shoving that thing inside? It is smooth sometimes and does feel pleasure. Your cunt knows how it penetrates when it is holy wang left back from the dark minds from before some holy rite was assembled like tinker toys. I, CJ, thin woman screamed loud, biting, throwing my body against the walls of the black room where masked man who couldn't speak had taken me to open my pockets and fill my sex with his fingernails. Gagged with a foul tasting cloth I am bound tightly with rope. III. CJ SPEAKS ABOUT HERSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON: Abel hit CJ twice with his fists. He kicked her once, and her legs hurt when he dragged her out of his car through the back door of his van. CJ Parker is thirty, thin, and almost attractive: Brown hair, green eyes, and full breasts. At fifteen CJ uncovered the first deadly germ. Heroin is the skull inverted like the mark of poison. On the lips when a kiss is designed to subvert not love but pleasure. At sixteen, CJ sold her ass, and at seventeen, she almost ODS. CJ has been a hard-core main lining heroin addict two weeks after her fifteenth birthday. I've been clean for a year, she told the probation officer lying fully and with a rapid pulse. IV. CJ IN FIRST PERSON: "What good does it do, and now this fucks. Shit, I always get beaten by the creeps. Was he wearing a plastic mask, that couldn't have been his face? My legs hurt. Dark when you can't see. Couldn't stand it when my sister died of an OD. Well I am almost clean now, anyway. Methadone. Next year, I plan to attend college. Still turn some tricks. HIV negative at least, CJ thought. Later, when CJ woke, and posthumously, this would be her last thought before the man struck her head with some terribly hard object. How could it be a posthumous thought, as she talked to the doctor while she lost her mind before a temporary death? What is temporary death CJ asked softly when the Dr. cut her throat." "No, stop the music," CJ screamed. CUT MY THROAT. I do not die. NO. That is not part of the plot or the continuity of the scene. V. CJ SPEAKING IN THIRD PERSON: CJ was told later that it was a metal baseball bat. Three children playing at their hide out discovered her open cunt filled with berries. CJ complained that they did it too early and now she would be discovered fermenting of all things, CJ thought. CJ's "mother" told CJ later that the kids almost didn't say anything. The boys were curious and had touched her breasts. Thinking she was dead, when she rose up, and then fell down unconscious, they thought they would be punished. CJ CONTINUES: I found the children near where you had fallen (or where taken, she said) and then my nine-year old son pulled me over to the fence. He had been scared. He said, "Thought I would go to hell for pretending to be the devil." CJ called the cops. They came in less than five minutes and you were alive, but would not awake for two weeks. No one could believe she was alive. I have to admit, one female witness said. "I thought you were a ghost, and I wondered what god would do to me for such a malicious thought. It was as if you could feel the rustle of the elephants as they ran down the dry riverbank searching for water," and there was nothing but salt port and some cheese snack. Later, CJ thought that was odd. It is as if this terrible life is a drought. Feelings misplaced, and I am off center. CJ had no motive other than some other direction. Is it pleasure, she wondered while he tied her to the wall? Is this a game, she screamed as he placed a hard plastic ball into her mouth, tying the straps behind her head? He can't hear me. I will bite his eyes if he touches my clit again. "Listen, my name is CJ. I'll do anything for you. Don't hurt me." Abel knew great delight when he snapped a neck or a forearm. The creep loved to free the landscape of those who cannot afford to live. Perhaps Able said. I will promise if elected to murder all the creeps and poor folks who have nothing to give but their sacrifice of living. I by my life free the hidden landscape where no one can achieve more notice than a small clip in a local newspaper. CJ once blew a man's heart through his back. What force in words, CJ lingered on that fake accomplishment. No one could stop CJ from blowing the dude until he died. He said just before ending that page that he too had before murdered women and me just for sport, as sex is gums and rapid management of disease speculation. Murder is quite the rage Abel admitted. The terrorist didn't consider himself a cowardly man attacking only women and children. He proved his value, he said, when the firefight got really tough. Watch out we are not overrun. No one knows how the packages will be decorated. Why should we care about how the dormitory is set up for Yom Kippur? CJ fucked the man at night and then woke the chef up early so he could make his favorite stew from those who did not make it past the first hill. VI ABEL SPEAKS Yes, I know I murdered all with and without motive, opportunity, and fantasy. I had a simple game. Whenever I traveled over the GW Bridge I would stretch my life searching for desperate crackers roaming the bridge for cash. Abel once ripped off a blowjob specialist. She came into his car, lost at the bottom of the hill, and sucked his cock dry. Come here, get me some cigarettes, a drink, no, I will be nice she said, posing under the dark stairs, and the screams broke out of the old house where CJ had been left. Dark bruises on arms and hands made thin cold blue and pink colors, a variegated swarm of blood breaking free of its hold. She could not escape death, CJ thought, nut the passing of the sky seemed blue to gray, and everything she had been was changed. Three days alone in the dark. A radio tuned to a Spanish station had almost assumed a familiar tone. Can I understand what he said? The man who had taken her was not Spanish. She assumed it was a man. His hands were large and hard. Nobody care to help her when he dragged her into his car, and sped off to another waiting around the corner. There were no screams as she bit his hand and face, shredding the man's arms with her nails. Where are the eyes I cut open as a child? I would look into them, but I am exposed. After removing all CJ's clothes, He threw the dark hair woman into an almost black room. The windows had been taped from the outside, and the glass covered with wooded shutters. There was a small bed, pillow, but no blanket. What raged in the dark room? He didn't bind or gag her. He left her naked. Dark shrieks that dripped blood, and made the bare liver stripped. It rang not only the ears, but also the calm of anyone present. Her waist length dark hair was curled under her back. It was matted, and was crusted to her back. CJ didn't move. Nothing could save her, and she felt it. Saved, let down on the road. The tires have no hard skin. The remainder of the wall is black, and when I spring forward, there's the pull of the well, the darker boiling that settles under my skin. I do know her, she heard him tell someone. Her face had been covered with a cloth bag, and all her life had been stripped from her skin. Nothing he could do would change the conditions. She was trapped, not so much in this precarious place, but trapped in the foolish course of a broken life without many promises. What can I speak? He brought me down. I felt each nail dress my cloak. I didn't stand at the edge. He resumed breathing, fast packed, the sins were renewed, and the stretch was clean. He cut my neck. I bled, and died. It was too simple and implausible for contrast. If I am dead, why can I handle words, string dark skinned concepts? How will I touch the air with my associated dress? She was not dead and the spirits had insisted that she be allowed to live for at least the next months. Why does anyone life CJ asks Abel? Shit, I don't even bother with Lilith. She is the eye of her death machines. All she knows is the precision of destruction and the pleasure of masturbation while cutting out the lips of what she calls soft women with a rusting cooking cutter. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+