It’s My Turn

 “Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
crippledshark
Split right along the thigh, a filigree stockings showed signs of abuse and my knees, a little bruised, were hidden a bit by the dark color of the fabric. I just finished a hard night, and everything in me hurt. By now I knew how to hide my mind and the fragile assembly of my soul from the harsh violence. The patrons demanded so much shame. “If I was a cyborg, a fleshy hole without a heart, they would be happy.” Perhaps that’s why I had the demand of so many, they loved violating not just my body, but my heart. My list was long and extensive, not that it included the famous, but the notorious. I fantasized long ago about bringing my skills to bear on those who had power over me. The slaps, the tortures, the drugs held at bay while I crawled for one hit. They made me lick, beg, and fuck for every little advantage. I was good at it now, the numbness helped me give all to the beck and call of these silly men. “Fuck this shit, it started when I was 5. My tits and ass have continued to call men from their holy sanctuaries to find their sin in my pure little body”. Now it was my turn.

I knelt, and looked at him, taking him in my mouth, like I was taught by my many black eyes and gasping breaths. My mind and life is a filthy list of commands and forced obedience. I’m hold the chains of your mind mister. While he held my hair, pulling it in his desire and forcing himself in my mouth, I reached down and slipped the Exacto knife from my boot. I took him deep and he smacked me hard, which thing I loved by now, it gave me energy, yes the rush to take my knife and shove it deep in his ass. His mouth dropped in agony, which looked to me just like an orgasm. I twisted the razor blade in his ass a couple times and then plunged it in his neck and hands. I took a lot of time to cut his fingers loose, disfiguring those hands which near choked me with his selfish desire,  setting them in a loose “fuck you” sign that none would mistake. “This was done by a whore, a bitch disfigured by lust and men. Yes, I did this, so fuck me hard, in the end I’ll splatter your whole life on the front page and your embarrassment will be more than the blood shed by my hate filled spree of revenge”. 

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Angel, Part 12 – A Glimmer of Betrayal

We decided to meet again at a mutual friends house, and soon drowned our past in bottles of liquor, as was our custom. The party gave us enough publicity to dial in our emotions and be civil, at least for a moment. The night went smoothly, and our intoxication soon led to giggling and playing grab-ass for a couple of hours. The self-induced heaven I maintained was an amazing effort on my behalf, emotions in check, brain on hold. Of course, the sexual tension that always surrounded my Angel and I kept me going, “Hell”, I thought, “if nothing else I’m gonna get laid”. That seemed to get me through many nights with her, and, if I sorted them out then, I’d see what really was wrong with us. It’s entirely possible to live in my head, not checking the facts or figures or any reality whatsoever. But so goes this dance and regardless of logic and pain, which never added up to a positive, the door shut and in the darkness, our hands found each other. I breathed her in great gasping breaths, like a drowning man, breaking the surface a moment before unconsciousness. My hands ripped her shirt near off, her nails left tiny blood lines of passions anger. Our bodies moved so smoothly, wet with perspiration, sexual excitement, and hunger. As we satisfied our lusts with our fingers, our mouths, every part of our body became a playground, things that some considered taboo, seemed to possess us. Closing my eyes to the music, swaying with her sounds, wet and sighing sounds of desperation and passion. The light from the new day showed the results of our play. Clothes were everywhere, the mattresses separated and laid crosswise displaying the crumpled sheets and suggestive pillows and silken ties. That’s when I saw it, as she rode on top, driving herself on me with hard strokes of still drunk love, a glint swung from her neck, a glimmer of gold, a spark of diamond dancing just above my face. I’m sure she forgot she was wearing it, a symbol of her betrayal to me, a sign of success for her, his necklace pronouncing a conquest of my Angel. Yanked from passion, I couldn’t stop, I really couldn’t move, hypnotized by her sex, and violated by her betrayal. Oh dear God, my heart is stopping, I can bear no more, my mind drove itself to these newest depths of darkened morose pure and unadulterated pain. She saw it on my face, my tightened jaw, not from an orgasm, but, and she knew it quick, from that necklace. I could barely breathe, my throat dryly gasped out, “Why? Why would you wear that here with me?” But that was my Angel, that is who she is, no thoughts of anyone but her, no understanding of the repercussions of her curiosities. I was the fool. I made this whole thing up in my mind, I created the “us” from my own fantasies. She merely rode the ride, the ups and downs being a thrill of entertainment and nothing more. My reality, merely a fantasy, an old man wrapped in the make up and pretty things of her young world.

The End


Angel, Part 11 – The Fornication of Love

silvereyedgirl
I stayed away for more than a few days, days of torment made longer by the endless churning of thoughts and questions. I kept my phone on me all the time, slept with it near my head, staring at the black form until sleep overtook my reluctant eyes and mind. Every day or two, my waiting was granted a teasing reprieve, her text would come through with the ring I had set for only her, electronic signals that love was alive in me, but was it love? I didn’t really care by this point, in the pain, truth and lies fucked each other, perhaps like we did, and in an orgasmic cloud, a fertile ground for these games, love twisted with deformities of lust. The games turned quickly to survival, her bullets of jealousy, desire, and my insatiable desire for her ripped through me with startling accuracy. I sat in an almost trance-like state, even while I tried to work there was a shock, a numbness that was only shattered by her call or the stabs of jealousy that poked at my cavity of care and concern for her. I was helpless. Strong, intelligent, and utterly helpless before my Angel. No other force on earth could have brought me to my knees as quick as her magic body and moist mouth. No choices were left for me, I had to see her, I would see her. I could swallow my pain and calm my shattered mind, we could make it work. She really didn’t mean it, she was young and had been hurt before. There’s no way that she really meant to do this, right? I mean she really had to love me, it was an anomaly, a freak of nature that she let it go this far, I mean no one could be so twisted. I consoled myself into my own fragile and crazed comfort, I’d forgive her. I’d treat her better, be there more, make more money, put myself in harms way for her. Yes, that’s how I’d show her that it’s ok. I still wanted her, more than ever it seemed. The next call would bring us together again. Ahh, sweet relief as I gathered the entrails of my dreams and stuffed them back into this amazing thing I had with my Angel. Only, the tears kept coming, unexpectedly creeping up and running down my cheek as I swallowed hard with the acceptance of this new Angel. It probably was my fault anyway. 

Angel, Part 10 – The Hunt

billiefuckingpiper

I gathered the leftovers of my senses and with a hollow aching knot deep in my gut, stronger than any hunger, I went to edges of sanity and looked over. Putting all my tools in the trunk of the car and covering them with a tear-stained blanket, I drove slowly in the early morning, my only company were the frogs and katydid’s of the country, and softly falling rain. Parking a mile away, off the road and hidden from curious eyes, I crept just close enough to her house to see the driveway and laying down in the wet grass, stared at her front door until my eyes ached and head pounded with concentration. Who I should kill first? Imaginations of what was going on between them were thumbscrews of jealousy that tightened around my throat in an unflinching grip. Many questions; some of her, some of me, some of him, were just empty mirrors that reflected a violence behind my eyes. The rain was gentle, the pain was not, both soaking me, both making me cold. There I laid for hours, till the early light of day peeked over the trees. I grinned, even the sun shuddered at what was going to happen. Someone must have told her I knew because they never showed. Walking back to my car and tears came again at what I was becoming. Following my Angel cost me everything, I lost my way and lost my identity. What was I doing? The unknown circumstances and crazy love drove me mercilessly, and loves evil sibling, Jealousy, took me farther than I ever thought possible. I shook off the channeled spirits of murder from my soul, thanking God, not for lack of courage, but for lack of opportunity. My imaginations stoked the fires of wicked intentions, but now I’m confused, for love had calmed me enough to lust for her again. I didn’t care if she slept with them, as long as I could hold her and act out my fantasies on her, fucking her like they did. This is love, this is us, this is hell.

Angel, Part 10 – The Hunt

billiefuckingpiper

I gathered the leftovers of my senses and with a hollow aching knot deep in my gut, stronger than any hunger, I went to edges of sanity and looked over. Putting all my tools in the trunk of the car and covering them with a tear-stained blanket, I drove slowly in the early morning, my only company were the frogs and katydid’s of the country, and softly falling rain. Parking a mile away, off the road and hidden from curious eyes, I crept just close enough to her house to see the driveway and laying down in the wet grass, stared at her front door until my eyes ached and head pounded with concentration. Who I should kill first? Imaginations of what was going on between them were thumbscrews of jealousy that tightened around my throat in an unflinching grip. Many questions; some of her, some of me, some of him, were just empty mirrors that reflected a violence behind my eyes. The rain was gentle, the pain was not, both soaking me, both making me cold. There I laid for hours, till the early light of day peeked over the trees. I grinned, even the sun shuddered at what was going to happen. Someone must have told her I knew because they never showed. Walking back to my car and tears came again at what I was becoming. Following my Angel cost me everything, I lost my way and lost my identity. What was I doing? The unknown circumstances and crazy love drove me mercilessly, and loves evil sibling, Jealousy, took me farther than I ever thought possible. I shook off the channeled spirits of murder from my soul, thanking God, not for lack of courage, but for lack of opportunity. My imaginations stoked the fires of wicked intentions, but now I’m confused, for love had calmed me enough to lust for her again. I didn’t care if she slept with them, as long as I could hold her and act out my fantasies on her, fucking her like they did. This is love, this is us, this is hell.

Angel, Part 9 – The Call

billigibbons

The parties ended the same, taking the cash and getting drunk off our ass, then fucking each other raw till we passed out. Her body was young, firm and supple. She easily withstood the ravages of those long nights and trailer appointments in the hood. I’m a creature of habit, and, true to form, found my rhythm and performed flawlessly. Except for the little splits in my sanity, the little blackouts now and then. Was it because of stress? Alcohol? I really think my Angel is making me crazy. Love, damn the love that drives me, that won’t let me go, that keeps me tied to her. Shit, it didn’t matter, I barely had time to think about serious things, she kept me going and going. Isn’t this how the military breaks their prisoners? Lack of sleep, push, pain, push, pain, push. I knew I was coming apart, I knew what was happening to us. The paths that we walked down, never had a peaceful end. I kept going and going, never looking back, never having time too.
 
She wanted more. More money, more exposure to the life, more manipulation. This meant one thing inevitably whispered her name. Call girl. Which, has a legitimate sound, and like exotic dancing, is legit, but what she had in mind was to be paraded around, bought lovely things, be spoiled with attention, and then…to culminate the affair. Any woman would love that, but she wanted to make a business of it. In other words, a prostitute. I found this out, not by her telling me, breaking it to me easy like the private parties, but by soul wrecking surprise. I came to the club to drop off flowers, a spontaneous thing I did for her, my Angel. One of the girls met me at the door. She said that my Angel wasn’t there. She left with another guy. There it was, the brilliant crack of lightning as my mind and world shredded down the middle and splintered into a thousand self-destructive shards. Those shards hungered for more than my destruction. Oh no, I had more sinister intentions. Rage, mixed with betrayal, love and overwhelming curiosity to know all the facts. Perfect for creating a devil for my angel. I found the code to her voice mail (she still had the generic code set on it, go figure) and listened to the man arrange the date. I listened from the pay phone outside a little rat hole back city bar. It was dark, all the lights seemed yellow, dim, and barely holding their own. Leaning against the booth I replayed it over and over. Tears began, coursing down my cheeks in an angry, hurt mess. They would not be the last tears, nor would I be the the only one crying.

 

A Broken Seed

 “Some of us look for the way in opium and some in God, some of us in whisky and some of us in love. It is all the same way and it leads nowhere.”
W. Somerset Maugham,
The Painted Veil
wehaveforgotten

Me, the living dead, a zombie of a man, a tortured and near empty soul made void by the very thing that I sought to deliver me from the pain of existence. I sought Them. The caretakers of darkness, who, pawning their wares to this little child, made sure their victory. Taking their empty promise, I swallowed the hook and ran. They, laughing, knew it was a matter of time before they would pull up hard on that line and watch me struggle valiantly, but in vain, against the taught leash. I jumped, thrashing against the line, but into their hold I fell. In the misery of the company around me, I saw I wasn’t alone in my plight. There were many who, in an act of innocence, in an attempt at living, took the camouflaged snare, and, like myself, struggled to retract their explorations and be safe again. Years have passed now, a blur of feigned life, an echo of songs long since expired. My hands reached out of their cage many times, hoping to connect with freedom. I found my release, unexpectedly, born on the wings of tumultuous circumstance. My cage was thrown to the wild waves, into a deep sea of desperation, leaving me, in heaving labored breaths, to struggle against the inevitable. Death. Cold and final. Release. It wasn’t my end, but my beginning. Spring, bringing tender green shoots and a fresh vitality, broke me from the seed that bore my soul. In a dance of liberty that only those who are long held captive can know, I spun around and around in delighted exuberance of the death that brought life. Captured and prostituted soul, find your open door through a death. But not a death, a door. For how can it be called death when you live again? It is a door, not an end, but an eternal beginning.

Also published in Life As A Human Magazine