24 (rough)
|
Posted:Aug 18, 2018 5:16 am
Last Updated:May 8, 2024 11:22 pm 5048 Views
|
9 o’clock A.M. (24)
…Will feel like a minor headache. You might be tempted to ignore it- really there isn’t much you can do-take pills or not- it really doesn’t matter. In about 24 hours …Well. Look ahhhh”, she looked at the monitor to check my name, “ this isn’t about you – not really- it’s just your immune system hasn’t been able to fight this off- you aren’t contagious.”
“Wait—what?” I was incredulous.
She took another breath- I could see that was getting used to the explanation. I looked up- at her for the first time. I had been referred to her for cancer treatment. I hadn’t told anyone- I thought it was early days and we caught it early enough… I thought I was gunna be ok. Now I was fucking dying? But the chemo was going so well. I tried not to giggle.
She didn’t seem cruel- just indifferent. I thought Drs were supposed to care- but I could see the set of her lips- we were done our talk. “Is there anything else?” she said as she handed me a stack of prescriptions. Seemed a lot of paper for 24 hours. I could see there wasn’t anything else- really- and shook my head. I had seen so many Doctors and long ago given up the idea they were gods.
How do I tell my parents? My brother? How do I explain that I won’t be at his wedding? - How does one get their affairs in order as it were in 24…no 23 hours and 47 minutes? I had just told them I was getting well. Do I return my email? Go somewhere? Fuck? I don’t remember walking out- how does one call in dying? – Fuck it – it’s a phone call I don’t need to make but what about the ones I DO need to have. What – who even-
And then I was at the park watching the ducks.
My heart seized- painfully- like it was squeezed by some outside iron-gloved fist. How many minutes had I lost in a daze? How many minutes left? I checked my phone- 21 more minutes gone- ticked away into nothing. I looked around—how many other people were infected- like me- how many counting hours still- or more terrifying- not knowing they should be.
I searched through the earlier conversation and tried to recall the symptom list, confusion, thirst, gritty eyes, fever, irritability, headaches and nosebleeds, and death. No vomiting or diarrhea- no muss no fuss dying streamlined for the millennial… I smirked and wondered to myself if a black sense of humor was a symptom.
“Hello? Lisa? Yeah…no it went fine. Yeah. I’m fine. Look- I ahhh… I am not coming back. No- I mean ever. I just thought… maybe you could tell payroll? Make a memo or something? Hey—for what it worth- you were one of the people that made it worth coming in ya know? Take good care Lisa” I hung up before I could hear her choke on -----.
Now I was dying and unemployed.
10 o’clock A.M. (23)
Standing in line at the bank I keep looking at my phone- wrote a text but didn’t send it. Wrote another to send later- just in case I lose my nerve. Looking through my contacts list I had distressingly little people to say goodbye to. Little plans to cancel. Took a step forward as the room titled and righted itself. “Yes…good morning…” I swiped and pressed the buttons “ all of it- and my savings. Am I what? No- not switching. Can I close these accounts, please?” She went away, returned with paperwork. More minutes ticked by … 24…25… and then back with my cash.
I would have thought there would be more and felt the guilt of being unsuccessful.
I handed the pharmacist the stack of scripts and she smiled at me. I never know what to do while they fill my order- I read the news channel, standing off to the side, blending in. “Jus’ look at that- so many”, the woman said to me- I shrugged “Yeah… it’s what now- the ninth week?” She took a step back, and really looked at me “It’s a shame, “ she said and shook her head, pointing at the screen, “they all thinking God gunna help them.” I could feel her judgment on me like a layer of sweat “It’s God that done this thing- who else?”
It was a good question.
The TV was helpfully telling me the numbers of dead, new theories, new researchers, billions being poured into the medical industry globally, although admittedly it DID look like a first world problem. Hospitals were full but there really nothing that could be done. By the time the symptoms appeared you had at most 24 hours to live. One day. When I had taken an ethics class- it was an essay assignment: Imagine you have been told you have 24 hours left to live- what do you do and why.
I wish I could remember what my thesis was.
11 o’clock A.M. (22)
Another line at Starbucks and a 15$ coffee. I watched the people around me- for the first time since university I made stories about them. That girl over there was madly in love with a ghost, and that man had his heart broken last night- see the old couple? High school sweethearts- she used to be the head cheerleader and he was the quarterback. That baby will grow up and cure this--- whatever the hell it is.
NEWS FUCKING PAPERS! I’m such a fucking idiot.
I read. Had another 15$ coffee (damn they were good) and researched the papers and websites. 8 weeks ago patient zero went to the hospital with a bloody nose complaining of migraine- fell dead before they found a bed for the poor man. Outrage. More and more bodies left in apartments- mentioning headaches to the family not waking the next day. None of these people knew each other- had any contact. Spread throughout the country- rural- urban, women, men young and old- all races. There was a test now- the panic had subsided now there were patents on the sickness- there was talk of a test drug- it will all be well a test leads to a cure.
The doctor hadn’t mentioned that.
I vaguely recall giving permission for my body and brain tissue to be studied upon my death.
I watched Youtube for a while- perving on the goodbye vids and funeral posts. There was something disturbingly Victorian about this new fad. Hundreds of people- around the world- different languages but all sounding the same. Goodbye- I love you- I’m scared- Find a cure- don’t forget me. It was voyeuristic and narcissistic—sucking the tit of misery, and fascinating.
12 o’clock P.M. (21)
Jobless.
When I was a shiftless youth I would watch the downtown shuffle with my buddies, smoking a joint, feeling superior. I’m too old now to know where to get some pot (probably a high school) and all my buddies where moving from office meeting to lunch meetings. Except for Richard- he was gunna see meg (his secretary) for a nooner- that way her perfume will have worn off before he gets back to his wife. Meg was really hot though. Redbull and rum for lunch or Chrystal Lite and vodka if you are watching your waistline. Working girls and pushers met the white collar elite in a frenzy of commerce that would make the NYSE floor look like meditation room. How had I not seen this?
Monsters with snapping teeth and overpriced ties reached out tentacle hands-but nope- that was just a hallucination. I shook my head- at least I can still tell the difference I thought to myself- is there a pill for this?
I used to spend endless hours wondering the core- looking at the architecture, the new city smashed into the old. Sandstone and copper roofs. Steel and glass. The ugly concrete squares of the 1970s not yet torn down. My feet sinking into the stone sidewalk. Endless hours walked away for nothing- I would give anything to have even 1 of those hours back.
1 o’clock P.M. (20)
But how?
This is what I needed to know and it ate my brain.
How?
Sicknesses come from somewhere this isn’t the goddamn middle ages- there are viruses and contagions mutations DNA all sorts for reasons for getting sick. I was getting better I was entering into a full recovery. I had sacrificed everything- my relationship, promotion, and heaved my body to rags. I had fucking earned the right to be well. Here is the thing: when you go looking for conspiracies you find them. The bigger the blame the more complicated the conspiracy. The Internet was my friend and I googled the hell outta everything.
When the first hundred died within the first few days the blame flew around. Of course, it was the government- protecting something some secret something almost no one knew and those that did certainly didn’t know they knew. Worldwide.
Some random sampling that was a by-product of the human genome project done all those years ago- we are the descendants with the trigger gene. An experiment for the sake of knowledge- the paper works long filed and forgotten. The united nations/doctor without borders/FIMA: all to blame. The next thousands died.
There were interviews; mostly experts find new ways to say, “I don’t know”, and CNN coverage- by the 4th day they had a logo and new font to introduce every segment related to the sickness- now called the Holt- Galligher Spontaneous Virus.
Where was I? The room pinpointed into focus and the head throb began.
3 o’clock P.M. (1
When you shamble down the street the hordes part like the red sea. Still 2 and a half hours until my parent expected me for dinner. Lloyd has news- something spectacular I was sure. I should bathe-I stank and the thought of water propelled me homeward- fuck this- there was starting to build in me a sense of time. Profound and like nothing I had experienced- how full each minute is- until it has past. Those deflated minutes build up into our past. Too many too quickly-Where I stood to hail the cab I saw a poster for the walking dead- I barked a choked laugh so loud I scared the mother next to me into pulling her closer. “Sorry”, I mumbled and moved away.
The cabby was friendly and the drive was short but even so I watched the minutes tick by. I mumbled in the right places- nodded, tipped well. My walk up had seemed stylish-worth the overtime I worked weekly to afford it and food. I liked to have a few unusual things on the bookshelves, a kick ass gaming system that screamed single, good pots and pans- not that I actually cooked or entertained. I remember a few dates had been impressed enough to spend the night-but not lately.
Pizza boxes and vodka bottles crowded the recycling- and I added it to the chores someone else could do after I was dead. I hoped it wouldn’t be my mother- she had cleaned up too many messes in my life. Is there some company that does that? At least there wasn’t much food to rot. I looked around at the small horde of stuff I had managed to collect in my semi-adult life- pitifully small and tawdry seeming now and tried to sort out who would want what.
I felt my skin tighten across my skull. Or maybe my skull ballooned inside my skull pressing out the wrinkles my facial features either pulled askew or smoothed to bursting. The tingling of billion little needles covered my hairline- everyone standing on end like quills. More pills, some pot, some water, a shower.
I gotta pull my shit together. I gotta go to dinner with my folks and listen to whatever latest grand thing Lloyd had to share with the rest of us.
Fuck I hated Lloyds’ perfect life.
4 o’clock P.M. (17)
Nothing fits. Too loose, too tight too beige too denim I hate everything. I sat naked in the towel staring at the wall. Wouldn’t it be ok to just be here- just die here- not move from this spot and just expire- except- it wasn’t like that –No. This was gunna hurt like fuck. I could feel it in the set of my shoulders already aching- the slope of my neck. The muscles throbbed and refused to relax even after watching the minutes swirl down the drain with the wasted hot water. How long could this fucking dinner really take- 2 hours? 3 hours? An 8th of the life I had left in the Dr's office? I smoked another joint.
Lloyd’s dinner- hosted by my parents- was legendary amongst the Bridge Club and Masons. Every other week or so- at least monthly- there would be an announcement. He would wear his laurels and graciously accept the flattery. I would eat my moms cooking and drink my dad’s good scotch- visit a bit with my family and rest easy my duty was done.
As I mouthed the smoke I played the scene of stealing Lloyds’ thunder- in a quiet voice I would say” I’m dying- right now”- so softly they wouldn’t have heard me- commanded and they would of course be shocked, saddened, they wouldn’t know what to do. My dad would bluster “how- who did you see- we will get a second opinion- just because some quack says something… and he would be thinking of what could be done. My mother would cry. Talk about flowers for the funeral and what she might wear. About how small the guest list would be- maybe I had some friends? She would ask hopefully. Lloyd would hug me- tear up- tell me how much he will miss me and try and reminisce about the times we had. But inside he would be seething. The rage would clench his jaw into a kinda rictus grin, and I would know. Fuck you Lloyd- I win!
Except I have die to do it.
5 o’clock P.M. (16)
Dressed in jeans carrying flowers and expensive Canadian club I went home. This place is all I have known- never traveled- never seen the things. A few stores closed around the block, but mostly things were good here. Middle class lawns carpeted domains encircled by middle class fences. This is where I am from- made 16 blocks west and come back when I’m hungry. I sat on the porch- faded but still blueish and hadda smoke. Mom had always wanted me to quit- but here I w as disappointing her again- in her own home-a gain. What would they right on my tombstone ‘almost not a failure”? I watched the around me and tried to remember being like them- did we play like this? The more I tried to recall the hazier my head felt- punched and stuffed up with cotton. Storybook gardens- we had gone there when I was 5 and Lloyd was too old to love it but I remember he rode the stupid story train with me.
I could almost see us growing up together. There was a birthday party where one of us got a bike but I was the one that broke my arm riding it. As I reached by a hot wire of pain snaked into my eye. There is sat. Blinding. I closed my eyes for a second but then the pain flared. So there I sat with my left eye almost open, tongue between my teeth pulling apart the threads of my memories. The flowers fell from my hand.
Slowly focusing trying to pinpoint the voice, slowly the blob of colors resolved into face-I knew? Sort of- definitely I recognized. I held up my hand and squinted my eyes “no-who the hell- wait. Stop moving.” I closed my eyes and filled my lungs with the still hot air. How had I not seen the sky? My father was helping me stand- the same voice he used when talking to potentially dangerous animals. I lifted myself and pushed the bottle towards him “dad. I missed you- I’m sorry I am such a fuck up. I really am- so here.”
He looked at me framed in the doorway. He was looking old to me. “Dad, look, I just have a bit of a headache- but I got some good news at work today and wanted to share with you. Besides”, I pushed the bottle forward into his hands “I’ve had enough of your booze over the years- lets enjoy mine tonight. But don’t tell mum or Lloyd ya?” and we walked into the sitting room with his arm around me.
6 o’clock P.M. (15)
I can’t lie to my mother. I mumbled something about the doctor- further tests, small headache and hey! Tell me about the Bridge ladies. There was always some single good catch that one of the ladies knew to set me up with. The flowers needed a vase the dinner smelled great could I help? I poured for Lloyd and dad, drank one poured another for me, brought mom her wine.
Lloyds voice is used to being listen to. Not loud- but there and you can't get away from it. It fills the room. He seems like someone you should want to listen to. Mom and dad were laughing and Lloyd was looking smug. I stood on the outside trying to remember a connection with these people- I wanted to feel the love.
Each.Syllable.pounded.in.my.eyes. I closed them. I was on the floor, hammered down. noiseNOISENOISENIOSE-what the hell. Voices. Didn’t they know I had a headache? I stank like rye- fuck dad would be pissed. I tried to stand up but the strangers kept pushing me down- shouting at me. I pushed them off and tried to stand up but my legs wouldn’t fold the right way. I couldn’t quite clear my head.
Hey Lloyd was here…Lloyd would get me home- sneak me in bed. I just hadda smile. Lloyd would do the talking. We …. home …. crash…
*
Eyes open. On the couch. At home. Mom with water, Dad on the phone. “My pills, just grab whatever, it doesn’t matter. Oh- a few of the blue ones. No—Yeah I’m fine. Just headaches, lots of stress at work. Just…. Headache.” I smiled at my mom and she relaxed a bit- handed me the water. “What time is it?”
“About quarter to 7- there’s a lot of pills here kiddo.” My father sounded guarded. I am sure as he knew- how could he not. He watched the news.
7 o’clock P.M. (14)
Dinner was. What else was I expecting? Lloyd informed us he was planning to ask Alice to get married- he even had the ring. It was beautiful. Next spring he would guess- Alice was into that sort of spiritualism. Mom cried and dad gave out a rare hug. I was so pilled my head rattled when I nodded, grinning like an idiot.
I stood on the porch in the cooling down of the late day smoking. “Hey, kiddo…how are you feeling?” He looked at me- he looked serious “ Headaches bad?” we looked back out across the other yards and streets. “Do you remember who I am? Your mom? I’m asking because they say that sick people- they could forget near the end. Look- I don’t tell you often enough but we are”, He stopped and I flicked away the butt. “I’m proud of you.” The strength of his hug made me gasp. “Come back in- lets have a drink. We won't tell your mom. No need to worry her.” He slapped my back and pulled me inside.
8 o’clock P.M. (13)
So I sat with Lloyd’s older friends, drinking this guys scotch. I kept dropping the cards and the rules were fuzzy, but I think I muddled through. My mom had always said I charm my way out of Satan’s parlor with a smile. It had gotten me jobs, and gotten me laid, and now it was gunna get me through this damn card game. I don’t even think I like card games. Maybe they were Lloyd’s parents. Dunno, but they seemed alright- I could see Lloyd growing up here, maybe family game night every Thursday. I was too drunk to think of my folks, but I hoped they were doing well whatever it was they did.
9 o’clock P.M. (12)
Lloyd and I took a drive to the harbor and watched the waves for a bit. Smoked our last joint together. We spoke about bullshit sitting in his car. He told me he loved Alice- how happy he was. He told me how much he was gunna miss me, and we hugged- not since like we were little. My head started to hurt- my jaw clench in the ay it does just before a splitting killer headache so I ate some more pills. I was starting to feel disconnected- bobbing along on top of the current.
I thanked the guy for the ride and the joint, even though I couldn’t remember how we had met…maybe I had been at a party and Lloyd sent me home with him? That makes sense- man, Lloyd was the best brother. I missed him- I should give him a call when I get home and have time to just talk, ya know? Like we used to.
Half over. The rest of my life was half over and what had I done? Seen any great thing? Dance with the love of my life? Hadn’t been to the symphony- ever. I wasn’t a firefighter, hadn’t made a difference in anyone’s life- not even mine. What had I even wanted to be? Thinking back hurt- far easier to walk home on autopilot.
I coulda paid to get laid I suppose, bought some sympathetic company for a few hours, but I didn’t. I wasn’t hungry, slightly drunk and high, had pockets full of unhelpful pills, didn’t want to sit and waste a few more hours in a movie- so…
What do you do for fun when you’re dying?
10 o’clock P.M. (11)
I stood in my doorway for a few minutes. My place always smelled like apples, I couldn’t remember why but I knew it was part of me. I touched the spines of the books I had bought thinking I would read again- it worth it to have the paper copy. I touched my bike. These things became real through touching- but this magic didn’t work on the photos I had hanging around. I thought if could just touch them I could feel the love.
It was like house sitting- you know you have use of everything but you don’t really own it. When you make popcorn the microwave needs to be wiped clean. I hoped I wasn’t pet sitting, I was never any good at that as I found dogs needy AF and cats annoying and no one ever cuddled a fish. I tidied up; mostly shuffled papers around ad hadda smoke. I didn’t know if I should open the mail or not- looked confidential, ya know? Lots of medical correspondences. A few things from a lawyer.
Fuck all on TV, of course, no movies in the off-season. I grabbed my laptop and kept my smokes close.
Headache
H E A D A C H E
holyfuckinggodwhatthefuckitHURTSFUCK!
Like an ax coming down. Wood screeching at the metal catches in the grain. MY FUCKING SKULL-fuckme SMACKCRACKSCREACHMOTHRFUCKER! I grabbed a handful of pills and swallowed- I couldn’t get the image outta my head- the axe swing over the shoulder, the arc down picking up momentum-splitting the air the wood waiting my head waiting the axe falling and the PAIN!
More Pills.
Throbbing
Breathing
Holymothermary!
Later
Midnight (and a bit) 9 (8h 43m)
When I cracked through the darkness I immediately checked the time- this was important but I couldn’t quite remember why. It was only 12 17 a.m. I felt terrible- like I had been drinking after a hard work out- I was exhausted. It was too early to feel this terrible…maybe I was getting sick. Man, that would really suck- I had just been assigned that huge project- If I could pull this off with a minimum of fuckery I could secure a raise- maybe a promotion.
Then maybe I could get my own place- I mean I can only housesit for so long.
I think in the morning I may go to the clinic- in the meantime, I can Dr Google. I lit a smoke. It’s so bad- I know. I am trying to quit- even saw a Dr. for a patch.
Here is the thing: when you go looking for conspiracies you find them. The bigger the blame the more complicated the conspiracy. The Internet was my friend and I googled the hell outta everything.
World leaders spoke but they didn’t say anything. When the dead hit 10,000 in 5 days, the rioting began. I re-watched the news I had paid no mind 2-month ago- worldwide chaos sparked and spread. Police beating the enraged back-tear gas and plastic shields. The cities in the backdrop changed- the uniforms a little different from place to place. People screaming. Beatings and pushing back. The fear of this unknown predator far more primal than the fear of authority. Women and men thrown to the ground and trampled- by cops or fellow protestors- the population screamed for a cure- NOW. Stop all other spending and find us a cure.
People poured into churches. Indulgences were sought and sold. Holy rolling hand laying preachers expanded their millions until the first one of them died- sort of ironic really. “The devil took him- the devil got him because you all lost your faith”, his widow told his flock- send some money to cover the cost of televising his funeral.
The pope spoke- rabbis and ministers urged everyone to calm the fuck down. This isn’t the end of days we were assured- and they should know. News stories started to focus on the fall out crimes- the murder and sex assaults cuz well the whole world is going to hell and whose gunna live to do their time anyway? Suicides and marriages increased dramatically.
1 o’clock A.M. (
As the night goes on, the links get stranger. I had always been interested in biology- not enough to turn into a passion and a good job, but enough to read science magazines and understand released studies. I had followed cloning and stem cell research. I had been an avid watcher of medical reality shows.
I never really paid attention to conspiracy theories- it all seemed somewhat silly to me- all these pieces fitting together in different patterns. I mean who really thinks any government is competent enough to actually DO some of these things. It is the impossibility of coincidences I have a hard time with. A brain strives to find patterns in random events.
Initially, I had searched my symptoms- vague enough to apply to several diagnoses- reached for some pills to find the bottle empty, and cracked open a new one, helped myself to beer from the fridge. As I got more tired, my head hurt- my fingers started to feel funny fuzzy not really there but I kept clicking.
2:30 A.M. (6.5)
There is no lonelier time than 3 a.m. those that are awake stay inside, its too early for 6 a.m. start and too late to get home from a bar. It’s the time when looking at images and videos of actual cancer cells changes somehow into looking at how Big Pharma is controlling “The Cure”. It’s the grail of biopharmaceutical medicine- one pill cure all to all cancer forever amen.
Firstly, the disease doesn’t work like that- but lets say that there was a cure for a type- lets say lung cancer for example.
Q. How many people die of lung cancer every year in the US
A. 157 000 +
That would be would be worth it- wouldn’t it?
3:07 A.M. (6)
It works like this; Big Pharma (the entire medicinal industry) can make more money if people are sick, and is, therefore, more interested in keeping people sick so they can make more money. By suppressing symptoms (speaking of which I swallowed a few more pills) Drs are able to relieve the discomfort of the diseases we are terrified of but not actually cure anyone. drugs aren’t researched if they are unpatented or cheap, and if they have extra side effects that can be managed with more drugs, all the better.
The conspiracy runs that cancer was created in a lab- it was accidentally (on purpose) released into the public. This could have been done by the government, or the tobacco companies. Pharmaceuticals companies create more drugs to manage the ever-changing lists of symptoms; doctors make more treatment plans at higher costs. The rich get richer and everyone is in bed together.
But why?
4:27 A.M. (5)
The information we consume is wrong- to know how wrong you need to be awake down a rabbit hole watching the ranting about the deep web and shadow men. Take some more pills and smoke some more death. There is an aching screaming pain in my eyeballs- it seizes my face and twists my slobbering smile. I can’t feel my feet or hands, but I’ve been here at sleep dep before.
My lungs burn. Every breath is like inhaling acrid fire. It stinks up in my nose- worse than the marijuana.
Cancer cells are not pretty, tumors are repulsive- like something alien almost. The insidious tentacles are sent out like a monstrous vine Penetrating and taking over healthy cells. It is easy to see it as a thinking evil nemesis. They way it invades devouring vitality. So. How to kill it, retard it turn it against itself- fuck we are the human fucking species- we can figure this shit out.
5 o’clock something A.M. (4)
I can’t really type or read anymore- the pain is almost constant. I feel sick. Like coffeetoomanycigarettes-gut rot sick. Too hard to roll joints anymore just sucking on my pipe as I click my way through the pod casts and vids. So much research.
Holy fuck me- why had I not known? Why had no one told me?
I looked around at the stacks of pill bottles and sheets of blister packs. Had I ever really known what I was eating? What was going on in my body?
In. ME.
The vision of the tentacle worming their way into MY lungs spreading like an (INSIDIOUS) hungry monster. Like ink blot staining and killing everything it touches. I could feel it.
Can’t breathe. The worms writhing won’t let me. I can almost feel them squirming their way up into my nose…
Sunrise (3, 2)
So long since I had seen a sunrise. It’s miraculous to imagine the mechanisms that run the universe. I had blood on my shirt still- that bothered me, but better to lie here and listen to morning birds. I wanted a smoke so bad, but it hurt to lift my head- better to sit here and watch the sky begin to glow orange and pink. My head hurts so bad- I can’t remember it not ever hurting. I can’t remember where the pills are- if I have any left. I’ve never run out before.
On my desk, the web keeps talking to me and I ride the downpull. Seductive. It feels s good when the pieces fit. When the why makes sense, even if it is horrible. I watch videos showing new medical research from the last few months. Cancer treatments successful. The new cocktail given out in trials. It’s a stealth cancer cell killer- it dissolves the outside of the cancer cells with a “hug”. The cancer cells die leaving…what? Lumps of scar and dead tissue.
I watch cancer cells die through the remote view of the microscope. It really fucking works. We have THE CURE.
Only they didn’t tell me.
Minutes
At the bottom of the rabbit hole then. I watch the cancer Killer turn on every piece of body tissue that had been tainted by tumors. Eating-ravenously chewing blood cells and t-cells, plasma and platelets, the body tissues disintegrating, until.
24 hours total.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Being Batman's Girl
|
Posted:Mar 26, 2011 8:43 pm
Last Updated:Aug 19, 2018 3:43 pm 27871 Views
|
He comes to my window. He watches. Most nights he leaves, some nights I don’t open the latch, few nights I do. I strip for him and slide into a slip, smooth and soft to be touched, I wait on my bed. From a shadow on my window pane to a dark stain on my wall, he watches. I caress my face, my neck, my shoulders tug open the laces left untied. I hear him breathing as I play with my nipples, close my eyes as he brings the cloth to my face.
He tries to protect me, at first, kisses shallow- I bite his lips. When he puts his hand under my skirt I open my legs, my panties wet. He pulls my face to his hard cock and I open my mouth eagerly. Strong fingers push the fabric aside and pinch my clit. Strong fingers pull my hair, pulling my head back pushing his dick into my throat. He plays with me- teasing my clit and cunt, stopping only to have me lick his fingers. I work the head of his cock with my throat muscles, suck and tease with my tongue. He feeds me some precum smearing my lips. He pulls my clit hard – his breath stops while he watches me cum.
Blind as bat the room spins as he pushes me down on the bed and holds my legs open. Blood will be left on the sheets, some of it his, he smells like violence.I can feel him watching as he enters me- fingers grabbing my thighs – so deep. I arch my back aching for more. He pins my hands down, mounting me. When we fuck he rides me like a nightmare- held fast and used. I writhe under him – I tighten around him. I moan and cry out. He growls, his grip tightens and shoots pouring hopeful rage and regret into me.
In the predawn purple, even as he turns his face to the light his shadow grows across my wall. We don’t say goodbye- there are no words. Tonight, or another night, his shade will fall across my pane. Some nights I open the latch…
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
MY RANT or *Open Letter to Men*
|
Posted:Oct 11, 2010 11:31 am
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2015 1:03 pm 26038 Views
|
Alright, so I've been dating- but thats not quite it. I've been meeting, fucking, drinking. I've gotten dressed up and down, slipped into more comfortable things and wasted my time being pretty. Made small talk, laughed, fienged interest or not, been interested- or not. I've invested. Without putting numbers on it- this has happened several times.
There was one, but too lost and broken- my fault too for feeling for him- knowing. Sometimes it's good to ache- to be moved and need to re-centre. I will miss him- no doubt about it. Now there are expectations, fairly or not, but fellows if one man can do it- you all can.
It's not that I am hard to please. I want to be talked to- dirty and wittily- seduced with your mind and mouth. On the phone- email- in bed- walking through the city- talk to me. Make me laugh- I love to laugh- dont you? Fun. Remember that stuff- carnivals and drive-ins - movies- dancing and drinking. A playmate, by defination, implies that playing will happen. Is that so terrible- to create trust so when you push I allow myself to fall. To see your smile when you blindfold me.
Sex. Thats what we are all here for right? Indulge me. Let me be indulgent. Play my games and teach me yours. I am a very fast learner. Don't you know me? You would if you listen when I talk. Don't you want to- even if I promisse it will be worth it. I love to please. I love to be told I am a good girl - to have earned your praise. To be a toy, treasured and precious. I am not weak, not stupid, not silent, not domesticated- I do not not wish to be. I ache to be your wild grrl, flirt, slut, wicked and wanton; what is it you want to be?
I was told by a MAN recently that He would teach my place. I replied that I know my place, and it is on a pedistal.
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
interlude
|
Posted:Aug 9, 2010 7:14 pm
Last Updated:May 8, 2024 11:22 pm 24782 Views
|
i had a dream last night.You and i were in the desert. You were walking, a single strand of chain between us, fragile as hope. i crawled. Your feet were raw and bloody, ground away and weary. my back blistered and burnt. Fearlessly i placed my palm under Your next step. In Your shadow i found shade, and ease. i had a dream last night...You and i found an oasis, and Wwe rested by the waterside.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
LOVE LETTER
|
Posted:Aug 1, 2010 6:06 am
Last Updated:Aug 15, 2010 10:58 pm 25305 Views
|
MASTER,
To whisper Your name is a song, an aria to You. Sighed or screamed, pulled from me or given.Your breath fills me and plays across my voice, becoming Your instument. There is magic in a; kiss old and forgotten, the seal of honour, a gift given to heros. i bend under You, and surreneding pull You into my mouth. Every breath out a loss, gasping to fill my body with You- the tide crashing through my senses, dashed to a million glittering pieces on the shore.
To crawl to You is a dance, i feel the strings of Your desire pull and stretch my body. Arch my spine until i am bent and strung like a bow. Stroke me like a canvas- open me like a sail. Stain my skin with Your fingerprints. Bound by Your will, fallen, found, fucked. Scented by Your smell, Your taste deep down my throat, i am raised into space- a sister to the stars, one shining moment.Yours forever.
Collar, necklace, bites and fingerprints around my throat. You trinket, my heart a red drop on Your cuff, and addiction rolled into a sleeve. Confessor and devoted, Lover and loved. If You were to be my murder of crows, i wait to be Your exhaultation of larks. Your in every. filthy. thought. Stupid song lyics and cliches as bad as this.
To You i offer my freedom found when alone, my fear of strength, my pretty pride and messed up head.i humbly ask to kiss the sky for You, steal Your pain and find Your fire.
grrl
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Date Night
|
Posted:May 24, 2010 4:04 pm
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2015 1:04 pm 26064 Views
|
- for squirty and getit cause grrls like to collect action figures-
"Fuck date night", she inhaled-" fuck therepy", she exhaled. She was still angry, but the fire was burning out, and she stopped walking. Her feet were aching now- the high heels hard to walk in. " Ahfuckthis", she thought. She was lost, in the dark, in a part of the city were rooms were rented by the hour. The skirt was too short to keep her warm, and most of her tits were exposed. He said he always wanted a , and noone can say she didnt try. She was reaching in her purse to find her cell phone when the police car flashed lights at her.
"Please stay where you are" the voice firm, manly and safe.
She started walking toward him, and touched the door of the car "...so good of you to stop really...I was just about to call a cab and go home..."
"Please do not touch the car again ahhh...miss.. do you have ID?" The flashlight made her blink, "Please miss- hand me your bag" He got out of the car. Damn, she looked him up and down. She had to look up at him, even in heels. "Care to explain any of this?" he dumped her bag. No phone, No i.d., a few joints, pack of cigarettes and lighter, lipstick and a vibrator.
"look officer- this really isnt what you think...." She tried sounding authroitative, but it came across as defensive.
"What is it i think, miss?" He leered at her.So long since she was looked at like meat, she flushed.
"What I ment is...look this is the truth- My husband and I- well we are having kinda a date night." He snickers, and she realizes how she sounds- "Seriously, officer, do I look like a - ok- look I will give you my husbands number- call him." As she talks, he walks toward her "Look miss- this isn't just - you are in possession of a contraband substance- you are in some trouble here." He is youngish- square jaw and full lips. She notices how cold she is- her nipples hard through the lace shirt and bra, and bites her lip.
"You know- you are very pretty girl- " He pushes her to the car, bending her over the hood, her tits hitting the metal. He grabs her arms and bends them hard into the centre of her back- the cuffs are uncomfortable- frightening and cold. He pulls her up by her hair and turns her to face him. "You can't say it can you - you are a ." He slaps her tits and she stumbles agaisnt the car, catching herself on her arms- her nipples thrust out. He pinches her hard- pulling her tits away from her body, watching her wince and moan.
"You girls are all the same- all want to be treated badly- you like it mean dont you - fucking slut." He pulls her skirt up- looking at her pussy barely coverred in her thong. "Show me then- show me your cunt slut" He cups her in his huge hand and pushes her back agasint the car. The cuffs dig into her and she shifts, opening her legs, and he smiles mocking her, "Your a well trained fuck hole aren't you- let me see."
He open her legs by kicking her ankles- sticks his fingers into her and pulls her wide open, the fabric of her thong digging into her slit and ass. "Very pretty- very pink and juicey."
Huge fingers push into her stabbing up and she grinds down "Good fuck puppet- I'm gunna shove my whole hand in- ride it slut." She grinds down, lifting her shoulders up as the first orgasm hits her- and then she is his. He pumps his fist into her- punching inside her cunt, pinning her down by the throat. She looks up as she gasps- he is watching her face- the terror and the climax-"Now tell me you are ." She lifts her face and spits at him like a cat. As she cums he pulls his hand out of her- leaving her gaping open and cold.
He rubs her juice across her face,"Fucking. Bitch. . You need to be taught a lesson- I'm a fucking cop." He picks her up and spins her- bending her over the car her ass in the air. The first crack makes her yelp- the second and third makes her grind - she looses count as her ass stings and she quivers- biting her lip to hold back her pleas."Do you want something to fuck ?" He bends over her- cock hard in his pants as she rubs agasint him "yesss-"
No sound of zipper. She moans as something hard and unyelding is rammed up her pussy- his baton. He leaves her like that- bent over and stuffed- he steps back and looks at her "Fuck thats pretty- such a pretty - I like the new meat." He opens her cheeks and watches as he fucks the nightstick into her, finger rubbing her asshole. He grabs her hips --
---burns and rips through her- her thighs shake as she cums slaming back on his hard thrust up her ass."Its what all whores want- feel it- to get fucked till it hurts." He cotrols her by the nightstick, as he pins her with his cock. "Now tell me you're a " He slams into, her calling her names, and she whimpers ..."yes-fuckme--harder--hurtssss-", she pants. His arm reaches around her throat, pulling her back on his dick as he shoot in her ass- she cums hard- shaking and panting calling herself his pretty .
He cleans his nightstick on her skirt, and opens the cuffs- helping her stand in her heels.
By the time she gets home she has almost conviced herself it didnt happen, except for the throbbing ache between her legs, and his card tucked in her purse.
"Fuck date night- Fuck therepy", she thinks, and exhales.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
SMACK
|
Posted:Jan 28, 2010 4:36 am
Last Updated:Oct 11, 2010 11:31 am 26045 Views
|
(for CHRIS)
He talks sugar in her ear, leaving sticky fingerprints on her imagination. He gets her fun and funky, charmed and disarmed. He is smart and witty- entertaining, and she relaxes. He listens to her actions- attentive- comments on her drinking, lighting another pipe, when she starts dancing. His voice changes growly sugar, and her breath catches. He asks what she is wearing, and laughs with her- what does she say- tell the truth? Say that she chose the black satin pajamas he would love to touch- for him- even though he can’t see her. Of course- the truth then, and leave the other unsaid- understanding he will know. Another drink and the song changes. She sways her hips and smiles; she starts to feel how he sees her. Her hands glide over her belly and fingertips teasing her nipples. She feels wicked- like she is teasing him- teasing herself.
He tells her he is looking at her, and she moans long and low. Pictures she never should have sent. She imagines him sitting in front of the computer, his hand on his cock, using her like a pin up girl. He tells her how smooth and warm she would feel in his hands, pressing his body against her so she can feel how she gets to him, squeezing her nipples and making her squirm- and she does. He knows, can feel her control slipping. Slides her hands down her body like a stripper- and giggles, and he laughs with her. He tells her how he loves her laugh. She doesn’t know what to say, and says silent- and hears his breathing come a little more ragged.
“Do you know what I’m doing?” he asks softly, and she whispers her reply. It’s so wrong to her- not a sin, just a weakness. To be avoided and sublimated with punishing workouts. ‘this is what you do to me…I see you and rub my dick” She whimpers, wants to hear more. “I look at your pictures, think of you when I stroke myself. Fuck you make me cum at least twice a week. I have my favorite in front of me right now.”
“Soooobad. You are a bad man”, she says, “Self control is what elevates us from animals- the choice to not surrender. The mind controls the body.” She shakes as she takes another drink. She explains her excuses- it doesn’t feel good, there is nothing for her mind to hold to, it’s the silences she fears. Every argument he silkily wraps up.
“You want to- enjoy- yourself. Let me help you. It would be my pleasure.” Half heard dirty words from his sexy mouth…her own images begin to crowd into her. His voice slips inside her and she rides his perversion. His words snake through her thoughts like a drug. Pictures in her imagination framed by his mouth, his thoughts of her. The drugs hits her she falls into her body and out of herself.
“Talk to me.” she whispers.
He tells her what he wants to do to her, how his fingers reach deep inside her while his mouth sucks her clit, so wet, how he needs to lap her juice and kiss her feeding her sweetness to her fro his tongue. All her dirty thoughts he whispers, like he is opening her and reading the shameful secrets. She pinches and teases her clit, straining to reach her fingers deeper. He asks- wants to know what she is doing- how it feels-can he fuck her with a toy while licking her pink. He tells her to lick her fingers, thinks of how it would taste on his face. She whispers back to him as she pants how she sees him; sinking her fingernails into his shoulders or pulling his hair as she pulls his face into her cunt. She wants to grind on him – to use him as he fucks her with his tongue. She wants to be devoured- to be pushed over the edge, to claw at him for more writhing on him as he holds her down- forcing her to accept the pleasure he gives her. In her ear he calls her his pretty slut, and she swallows her moans. He demands she cum for him, and listens as she chokes on her orgasm.
“Now bitch, talk.” He pushes his will into her and she can the hear edge in his growl. In whispers, half confessing, she tells him what she likes- the things she thinks about. His cock in her throat his fingers impaling her his, hot mouth on her core igniting her. On her knees in front of him- worshipping his dick with her mouth, and want. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her head while he fucks her throat. Milk him and drink him down- be his cumdoll.
“Beg for my cum slut.” God help her she does. “Fuck yourself for me- be the you are.” It’s his urgency that pushes her. She can feel him. His moans make her shiver, his held breath and snarliny exhale. She can see his cum in his hand and thinks of him feeding her, her licking his palm and sucking his fingertips. When she cums she soaks her hand, while he whispers how pretty she is at that moment. She is hooked.
Recrimination is held at bay with is voice. He talks her to sleep, his cadence changed, and the growl in him subdued. He wraps her in comfort, tells her stories and calms her. Before the shame tears her apart- he talks her into peace. She floats away on his syllables-
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Mr. Flint
|
Posted:Jan 26, 2010 4:43 pm
Last Updated:May 18, 2010 9:07 am 25887 Views
|
She didn’t like him. It wasn’t anything that he did or didn’t do, and she could find no fault in his work. He was never even 1 minute late for his shift, suit pressed and never rumpled. Filled it out quite nicely too, she thought. His yes ma’ams were crisp, and he said the right things; but it was how he said them. When he said he was standing outside the door while she bathed or that she was safe, he was watching her- made her unsettled, deeply. And now she was here, in a hotel room with him, at least for the night, or so the airline had said. She sent him in, and tried not to watch his ass as he walked by her. “yes she thought, “fills out quite nicely”.
“Could you please come and help me with this”, she asked, holding the necklace up. Without a word he walked behind her, slightly to close, his breath brushing her neck. Leaning forward, the front of his pants brushed her ass. Taking a breath she moves away from him, taking her robe, going into the bath and running the water. Thinking about him watching her. She stands at the counters remembering the feel of him agaisnt her; idly she strokes her breasts turning small circles on her nipples. Bending over she turns off the tap, drops her robe and steps into the hot water. She sinks into the bubbles, the heat making her head floaty. Reaching into her purse she lights a joint and exhales and closes her eyes. She hears his voice on the phone in the other room. “What would he be like” she thinks as her hand opens her swollen lips and she strokes slowly,” probably in it for him” she smiles as she thinks of him onto of her gently fingering herself slowly teasing.
“Don’t let me stop you”, she froze. “No pleases…continue”
“Get out…go”
“Sorry ma’am the door was open and…well you were standing so close to me earlier and…well you know, I guess I misunderstood….sorry ma’am.” She felt flustered. Her standing close to him? Did she? When he leaves she gets out and dries. Thinking about him, again. Maybe he isn’t interested…really for all she knew he had a wife and family somewhere…still if he wasn’t interested what harm would there be if she teased him a bit?
When she comes out of the bathroom she leaves a few buttons of her shirt open and bends over in front of him taking out clothes making sure he sees her tiny lacey panties ‘could you come here and lift this off the bed please…perhaps I am going to lay around and work.” He lifts the suitcase easily, one handed. He looks different his jacket off and tie loosened. Suddenly he pushes her down and rips her shirt open standing over her, he kicks her legs open and steps between them. She looks up him. He rubs his cock through his pants as he squeezes her tit through her bra.
“No. let me up” she squirms under his hand as he reaches inside and pinches her nipple. A shocks runs down her belly making her clit throb. He smiles as he leans closer to her.
“I could arrest you for smoking weed what would that do to your book sales” he pinches her nipple again making her wiggle “now we are going to finish what you started.” He holds her hand and brings it between her legs under her silk pajamas his hand rubbing on top. “Scream…no one can hear you…secured private room at your insistence”
“Ohgod” she think, “I can get through this and then fire him I’ll close my eyes and…”
“Open your eyes, bitch, look at me” he rips her pants off and kneels between her legs, moving her panties out of the way “I’m going to train you to fuck this before you get the real thing.” He shoves a toy in her wet pussy pinching her clit hard between his fingertips and she moans as she cums, thrusting herself on the rubber cock.
He pulls her down the bed until she is kneeling; her legs spread open. He is standing in front of her. The toy is gone. All she can think about is being filled again his hands are in her hair.
“I know what you want.” His scent fills her nostrils as she starts lapping at his balls. She feels the rubber dick on her lips and she licks her juice off. Wanting to show him that she can suck cock ….she wants his dick in her throat. He holds her head back by her hair and teases her mouth only the head and then little more. Pulls out and in fucking her mouth. She gags as it slides down and he chuckles “your doing good…you can trust me…see? I'm just giving you what you want” he pumps in her mouth until he is almost there. She can feel him throbbing in her throat and he pulls out.
“Shh, its ok” he strokes her wet face “I know you like a gentleman don’t you? …see?…its ok I can be gentle” softly running his hand through her hair…”you know you teased me didn’t you ….you look at me….I know you want my cock..and I know where.”
Pulling her hair her face is on the floor, ass in the air completely exposed “it was wrong of you to tease me so much wasn’t it”? He slaps her ass and the hot tingle makes her ache to cum: "yes” she whispers “pardon me? He asks” SLAP. “I dint hear you” SLAP “yes..it was wrong” “and now I am going to punish you” SLAP. “say you need to be punished…so I can hear you.” SLAP. Anything, she would say anything he wanted “please…please no more” SLAP. “listen to you whimper to be smacked…slut. I know how to satisfy you” the rubber cock rams into her dripping wet pussy, “Yes. More.” She begs. The head of cock presses against her asshole “this is what you want…I’m going to hurt you.”
“NO” she squirms but he’s fucking her and her clit aches and she wants to cum so much.
“yeah…I know…scream…” his voice tips her over the edge. She presses back on him burning aching and trembling cumming over and over. He holds her hips and rams into her and the toy shoves deep in her pussy and his cock thrusting her ass. Sore and raw she feels him cum, and trembles under him. Gently he strokes her pussy and pulls out. He covers her with a blanket and kisses the top of her head, helping her into bed laying her head on his lap “good night ma’am…I’ll be here when you wake up”…
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
that one
|
Posted:Jan 26, 2010 4:42 pm
Last Updated:Dec 2, 2011 10:01 am 26343 Views
|
That one. The one with the light of god in his eyes and the smell of England still on him. Young and fresh unbeaten by the desert and self doubt, hell even his tabard is still a soft brilliant white, the Red Cross glowing like blood. I want him to kiss me to taste the vows still in his mouth. I could call him to my room, some pretext of state will do, maybe a letter to carry to his superiors, to make it clear I am in authority over him. That must gall them all, especially the young ones, that a woman could order their actions. Stand close to him, lean over his shoulder and brush his cheek with my hair, let him smell a woman again. Whisper close to his ear my lips brushing him lightly; remind him of the softness of a woman. I can feel him startled, looking for a trap, licking his lips and a slight change in his breathing. I press closer to him my breasts against his shoulder and lean over to reach parchment on the desk. He presses his hands flat against the table top. I think about him standing behind me and lifting my skirts as he pushes me down across the desk. He could kick my legs open and slide his hand between my wet thighs. I take a deep breath and stand up suddenly…I am wet I realize soaking wet. But this knight wouldn’t…I am princess and he is a type of priest…so shiny still. He stands and grabs my arms to hold me up and pulls me against him. He is hard…his chest his hands are rough and I think about them on my smooth slick thighs and tremble. I put my hands on his chest and push him away slightly and he doesn’t let me go.
“You think I don’t know what you are doing…I am not the first man you have had here am I? They told me…they said you could cast a spell over a man so that he couldn’t think rationally. You could twist the love he has for god…fill his mind with lustful thoughts. I thought I was protected…but you…” he is hurting my arms as he pulls me into his body and kisses me. Not the sweet kiss I imagined, he is hungry and consumes me. His tongue explores me as he pushes me backwards trapped between his body and the wall. He grabs my breasts and squeezes hard. I whimper into his mouth. Heat flushes up through my belly from my wet clit. He is biting my neck and pulling the laces down my back. The wall is rough and cold against my corset and shoulders.
I smile at him” is it true then do I fill you with lust?” I press my hips up against him and feel him harden trough my skirts. My legs part slightly as i think about him. Hard leather riding boot pry my legs open and his hand is there.
“I know how to punish a woman like you” he pinches my slit hard and I cum on his hand, pressing into the pain between my legs. “See? You aren’t any better than the whores that follow us…are you princess” his finger flicks across my lips, tugging on me just the tip inside me” say it princess…tell e you’re a and you want me cock were my finger is” he slowly slides it in and out mf me. I want more…my hips are thrusting trying to satisfy myself. I slide my hand down and start rubbing him trough his pants. “I’m. I am a ..Please I want you cock” he pushes me onto my knees “pray…show me what you can use your mouth for...princess” he rubs his cock agasint my lips pinching my nipple and when I gasp he pushes it in. holding my face stroking my cheek he tells me how pretty my moth is…how god must hear my prayers...he pumps deeper, mking me choke. I can feel him begin to loose control and then…he pulls back and pulls out of my mouth” you are very good at that . Who would think a woman that sings praise for the army could suck dick like that. Now we know why god listens”
When I stand up my dress stays on the floor. I am completely naked in front of him between my legs dripping wet slicking up my thighs. He walks behind me his cock lightly brushing my ass he bends me over slightly my ass sticking out. Sharp hot pain across my ass cheeks. And again I feel myself begin to orgasm. He rubs his crop across my lips “kiss it” and I do. He is behind me and the lashes land faster but not harder. My ass stings but I thrust after each stroke across my cheeks. The tip catches my pussy and I buck. “This is how we discipline our stable boys…do you want me to show you more” I moan as he aims for my clit. The leather hits and I moan in pleasure spreading wider “tell me again…tell me you need my cock princess”
“I need it…your cock I need it mylordplease” I pant. He stands behind me his rough hands stroking my ass like he would horses’ flank and I tremble under his fingers. He slides something thin and hard into my pussy…deep and leaves it there. He pulls me open and I feel his fingers stroking up and down my crack toying with riding crop in my cunt.
“pray…pray to god” he pushes his dick in my ass I try to pull away but he hold me back “ogod..Ogod” I am shaking as he starts stoking it in and out of my asshole. Thrusting in me ramming it harder moving the stick in my cunt. I cum over and over as he uses me until I am screaming for him to stop. He pounds me harder gripping hard with his hands. He drills so deep I think I am going to split in half as he cum shuddering as he fills me up.
Still inside me he pulls me up and holds me close. He is so strong I collapse in his arms. He pulls his pants back up, and wraps me in his mantle..So soft and white...Still smells like England.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
