Message-ID: <42024asstr$1051096205@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: "Sean Farragher" X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1106 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 22 Apr 2003 15:27:41 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} TxM6: Writing from the Hip: Sexual Improvisation part 1. Beastiality and Scum Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2003 07:10:05 -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: dennyw, gill-bates (c) 2003 Sean Farragher http://www.seanfarragher.com http://www.seanfarragher.com/taximurdersbook http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss http://www.seanfarragher.com/hyperfiction sfarragher@nj.rr.com Writing from the Hip: Sexual Improvisation April 22, 2003 2:41 PM Every step we take we find another step in the back pocket or porch where we have hidden all the memories that catch at us, make us shiver, make us hide in the gutter trying to fit down in that space where we are invisible. I will not be seen, I scream. I watch the woman fall asleep at the table. She tries too hard to keep awake, and in the usual fashion her arm collapses under her chin, and she falls flat, dreaming, she said later of the long island between dark and night, when the coast of Coney island and the Hamptons are rising up in a rage burning down the houses, making the sand into charcoal. I can finger the dust, no she says finger my lips and feel the metal on my skin, as I will erase you, make you invisible with one puff of my eyes, one puff of my breath saying nothing but alive alive alive. I am too much alive for you. That is what she told him, slamming the door, fucking cursing, she said, breaking the window by the force of her rage. She rants, he told his friend later. She is diseased. I am holy, but what he didn't say was how he woke in the middle of the night and took a lit cigarette to her arm to hear how loud she would scream. He did things like that for attention, he told her, and one night she poured scalding water on his feet, and he was bound to the bed for four months, and she paid the price by having all the work to do, and nothing she said would change the law, she was the one on probation. No one believed her about the cigarettes. No one believed that she understood the torments that pain catches when you leap up to the highest rung on the monkey cage, and sit there, nursing the chimp, and you are human, and he sucks, and when you put your hand in the male's mouth he tries to mount you and just like men he forces you to count his fleas, and of course you keep losing count, and blame yourself, and then after awhile, he is bored and asleep so you masturbate endlessly smelling the rotten fruit at the bottom of the cage. You are the beast, and you are glad, and you deserve it. A man rising above the horizon finds you later, bent up, down, wrinkled like a shirt left to brew in defecation. It is brown stained and blood stained and the pocket is ripped, but it is all you have to wear, so you put it on after washing it in the slight pool your keepers provide you, and the more you wash, the dirtier it becomes, and finally, he shows up. This human male, and he recognizes you, calls you mother or some other shit words, and then beating you, torturing your tits, he suddenly prays to God and God strikes him down out of the fucken blue sky. I remembered my prayers after this parable. I remembered how to fuck again too. I felt him up and in heat I strangled him after he gave one last grunt into my sex and then I simply swooned. Yes, I can answer to God, and I can make God into my likeness. I have that power dear mankind, but my nipples are sore from giving too much up for the party. Those bastards came and took me. All seven men for seven days and seven nights fornicated me until I could not blink except to express semen from my pores. God loves the blue skies and cornfields, yes she does. She is the blue eyes of God and her orgasm, well it started with a tidal wave in Australia, and now the great waves are breaking down the bridges cross the Thames. I love English weather, as it is the dull gray sap of an old oak dried sticky on my cheek. Come lick it off Love. Kiss and bite where I am bled to me made healthy again. I am such a sexual tree my health is perfect if I could just clean the ooze from my parts I would not smell anymore, and God, she would forgive me, as she would in any case, because I do not fear life, but I fear living. 2:56 END -- 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: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+