Affectation
Throughout that dreadful solitary time, I waited. Then it seized me, so cold was it in the horrible darkness. Panic finds its home. Once in, not retreating, it burrowed. Hooking. Deeper. Cold wailing search the warmth. I remembered who she was.
In 1949 I took time to write my thesis along the Mediterranean. I stayed, traveling its coastline for six months, at camp grounds, abandoned farms, on the beach, and the occasional rented room. Knowing after submitting the paper I would have to find secure employment, this was to be my 'cogitates scheme' measure. I had money from my parents. Knew what I wanted. So simple. After three months writing and re-writing, traveling and drinking I needed to sleep for two years. There it was. The signal, 'Room to Rent'. Had I not needed the newspaper to cushion pointed objects in my backpack, I would have missed the advertisement.
Protected from the street with its cosy garden, the small house showed a note of sadness. Drooping eyed top room windows blanketed with old black curtains illustrated neglect, and loneliness. The front door painted deep bourbon sold me. The property closed-in with a frail wooden fence had certain charms drawing immediate attention towards its age. Certainly older then it neighbors, it stood with quietness that spoke a need for attention. Not spiritually at any sense touching the wooden pickets produced warmth. Late afternoon, the sun had been out all day, yet the sensation not from daylight, felt comparatively full of emotion. The warmth spread over me. A blanket with yourself. Then her voice came showing a time where I did not want to travel. I believed in what could be seen. Not phantoms within the weaker souls of men. Sprites in the night. Nor Christ turning water to drink. Who worships a figure, tortured gruesomely dying on a wooden cross, celebrate it, and then mischaracterizes people of different, or no faiths?
I did not want to love, or any part related too it. She was dressed simply. Straw hat and a shovel. The sun behind her, skin tired, she smiles. A young couple happily married. She became pregnant. Then his parents forced her to have an abortion and divorce their son. Because they felt he loved her more than them, and in old age he would not look out for them. That story came to mind as she walked across the small garden. Approaching the fence the breeze brought her scent, and with it never a divorce. And we would have twenty children. All happy. Forever. Love.
And I do, did, still, want, can't have her. I do need to stay insane. I can't stand upright. Laying horizontal could bring an orgasm. That passing out a blessing. Then I'd not remember her. And I forgot her. For years. How did she find me? If she found me then others have too!! They know where I am!! Saved. At last. Now I can be sober. Help those I didn't. Love as I didn't. Be a man. At last be a man. A whole man. Just what mummy and daddy wanted. They will be so proud!! Our brave son who became a man and did brave things. Brave sweet boy. We love you dearly. Yes.
Delectable a cockroach can be. How I love watching them scurry between my feet, crossing the toes. Considerable vitamins too, and what flavour. That essence. What gusto. Why if I could just package this it would make a fine retirement nest. Yes it would. Why people would line up craving the distinctive qualities. Demand would be great. I should plan well ahead. What of sustainability? True. That could be an issue. I could import. And export. For a while. But not strain the source like those fools and their potato chips. So over-abundant they haven't any taste. Salted cardboard. No. My treats will be sold exclusive and with a twist.
'What twist?'
I don't know yet.
'Well, why do you think it'll be better than chips?'
I know.
'Know what?'
Yea.
'What?'
What.
'Jesus! What is it that you know?'
About what?
'Listen you chicken dick fuck, screw me and I'll cut you sideways slow and deep.'
Chicken fuck?
'All right that's it.'
Wait you think I'm a chicken, or what, that I have sex with them. Both maybe?
'You need to start thinking of her.'
Yes I do want that, but can't.
'Well, you should because this knife is going to slice off your forehead.'
But I told you I can't think of her. Please put that away. I’ll be good I promise!!
'Fuck you, now hold still.'
Oh please wait, Christ that hurts!!! Wait for to be sure...it gets better cousin. Stop, ooh God please stoop I'll be a goood!!!!!
The cell door opened, I fell out scaring my insect friends thinking why few scientists have tried to see whether bats have a discernible influence on insect populations. I tried opening my eyes but was blinded for sure from my missing forehead. Those bastards cutting me like so. I will find his mother before this is over. And I yelled that too. I think. I must have. Why would there be banging at the door from authorities telling me to shut up or suck dicks?
But I could feel the blinking of my eye lids. Tiny clicks. Click, click, and click. We are all so happy now. Click open, Click close. Oh happy, happy, joy, joy time. I'm not blind just in the dark.
'Con los palos.'
What do you mean 'with bats'?
'La recuerdas?'
Shut up, I'm asking you about bats and not about if I remember her.
'Ha mentido a su.'
Bull shit I did not lie to her, she knew about me.
'No todo.'
Yes, everything. Screw this I'm leaving!!
'Que la amas?'
What?
'Que la qusta?'
…...
'Has oído hablar me hizo que la amas?'
Yes. Yes I loved her.
'Ir a su.'
From here...how the hell can I go to her?
'Come el murciélago.'
Eat the bat?
'Sí, está bien condimentado.'
The bat is well flavoured?
'Sí.'
Again, the door opened and I fell out thinking bats migrate there in the summer and are considered a major insect exterminator. Yes. I recalled wondering about these bats while curled on the floor. Then it became wet and warm, than bees started biting me. Were the bats bees now? And what is that loud grunting sound? Why is it so hard to breathe? And the smell of garlic all around? Barley perceptible, I come to bent over a table, one authority laying on me, shoved it in my ass, tasting salty, warm liquid squirting on my face and neck. The other, busy letting his piss-load into my gasping mouth, laughed.
Her hand reached opening the gate, allowing me entrance in a world where cats lazily lay on window sills, scented flowers drift in bed sheets, and my first orgasm from love ensued. She spoke of the room to let, its condition and should I be interested the availability for short and long term agreements. Nonsense. I heard only the lifting of her breasts, and whispers her thighs made as she walked toward the front door of the house. Her shape seen clearly through the light dress shocked me. She wore no bra, her firm nipples erect. Roundness of breasts, complimented her buttocks. She opened the door and turned, smiled slightly, seeing I noticed her in this way. She was used being looked upon. It didn't bother her and why should it. I often thought we should all be naked. As she passed through the door, I followed pressing my hands on her ass, feeling her panties, reaching through her arm, grasped her breasts, and softly liking her neck. Her back arched, she dropped the shovel and placed one hand on my waist, the other between my... 'This is the living'. She said softly. I had neither the courage nor imagination to do anything. Only dream of. That ultra-masculine ego, shadow of wanton respect, lust. Disguised.
'This is the living'. She said softly moving through the room towards the large front window. 'Sunny and fresh air', she spoke reaching up unlocking and opening the window, looking back at me, waiting for me. I could taste her, lifting the dress, pulling down her panties, kissing her wet, warmth deeply.
'The sun. It comes through half of the day. And very quiet here.' I felt my genitals warming, getting hard. She might see this. I moved toward
the window and looked outside hoping to draw attention away from my growing erection. To draw attention to my growing erection. To draw her to my growing erection. My light tan coloured pants must now show dripping cum. She'd notice the darkness. My stain developing. Filling the front of me.
'A kitchen in the back and upstairs are three bedrooms. I use one. You can chose from the other two. If you are interested.' We stood close to one another. At the window. At that time. At least...last...close. Losing myself was easier than I thought, feeling its pull as I left the cliff, over the side.
Muttering I believe the house to be exactly what I was looking for, that I would stay a month, that the sun shone fine, that I wanted her now from behind while we both looked out the window, heat burning skin. Branding. Both moaning, she pushed her curved firm ass against me. Hard cock sliding soulfully homeward.
'One month would be fine. Would you like to see upstairs?', her breasts full with sweet honey rising as she spoke. Licked her lips the smile grew on her showing teeth made for biting. How I wanted her to eat me. Hard. Animal hard. The tip of her tongue showing itself calling me. Then her scent came. Spice that pulled the brain as she turned away from the window toward the stairs leading up. I wish I was drinking. I'd drop in front of her, spread the thighs and lick till the moon wept. There is no greater drug then lust in any of its forms. My pants weren’t stained, and as I crossed the room taking the stairs, I was not drinking only knowing at that time, I could never handle a woman as I dreamt of. I knew only the vaguest of these manners.
The month showed my hidden youth, before birth. We spent time together in many fashions, always in distance. The absence lifted life's shrouding, lying film placed there when born. I never spoke to another as I spoke with her. What was the point. You simply understood elements that won’t be shared again, and shouldn't. We were the orange and its peel.
I wrote when possible. Often dozed in the sun, smelled her frequently and masturbated only twice that first night when she said the following day it wasn't necessary. She said hearing my whimpering orgasm, and thought it interesting, and would confront me in the morning to resolve the issue. She confessed this as we sat over coffee and fresh juice. I grew embarrassed. She assured me it was fine and I should come to her when the need of relief commanded. There was never a month such as that one in my life. Since then, I hated everything that was not in myself, and knew the remaining time spent as clouded torture. I closed that time long ago. Not wanting to remember, drinking from a golden flask, I my king, moved on.
'There ain’t never no other month?...Christ ya deserve this.'
Shut up.
'Ya simple. Ya think the sun shines out yo ass.'
…..
'Ya can't play dump. Ya are, but ya don't do it well.'
…..
'Ya need a vacation.'
I am not talking with you.
'Where was it ya went that summer to expand ya thoughts...ya know.. that sunny place?'
Mary had a little lamb, a little lam...
'Nice ya hide her away. Do ya ex know?'
FUCK OFF YOU SHIT FUCKING BASTARD RAPE SONBITCH FUCKKKKKKK!!!
'Might have helped had she.'
Oh that's enough!! That's just far enough with your sickness.
'Maybe yo ex always knew...?'
You're sick. Not here. Sick, sick sick....
'The troops go marching, laa dee da'
What?
'Sure. If it wasn't for them troops then you'd be talkin' nother language.'
For fuck sakes....!!!
'They done sacrificed n died for ya. Ya know that. In them battles.'
…..
'Other folks too. Some burnt up good. Incinerated they said. Tortured.'
Shit.
'Yep. Kept in camps n raped. Whatever.'
That's nothing.
'Ya was there. Ya saw it funny boy.'
Wrong! You lie!!
'Nope. Am sure. Ah seen ya.'
LIE LIE LIE LIE!!!
'Or was it yo pappy?'
WHAT?!!!!
'Now Ah recall it was him. Scare over his left eye, sort of made it hang down. Droopy we called him.'
GUARD!!!!!GUARD!!!!!!!!!
'No he ain’t no guard silly. He's evil.'
GUARD. OUT OUT OUT!!!!!
'Oh ya. He an evil piece of work yo pappy. Look right through ya. Took the light from yo eyes. Then snatch'em with that metal hook he carried.'
No no no no.....
“Seen him drag them children around hooked like a fish. He loved it ol'd Droopy. Loved it fine'
Pleeessse....
'Always with a sweet sorta smile having them dragged behind him the way he done. Peaceful look 'bout his face too. My how they did scream though. Lord. I'd pray they'd die quick just ta stop that yellin.'
Yell-down war hell ride!!!!
'Ya wish. But ya ain’t crazy yet. No sir. Take more buddy time with that.'
KILLYOUKILLYOUKILLYOUIWILL!!!!
'Don't want listen no more? Tired? Sleep some. Mind, wake them on that other side this here door and skin ya good they do. Even might hook ya like yo pappy done. Sweet like.'
FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!
The cell door opened and I fell out onto the floor. They began.
Small in Stature
How I love when you wrote. Often your hair in twirls, fingers working magic on paper taking notes. Later I knew your hands would hold me, those fingers weaving my breasts and thighs toward passion I longed for but only knew with you. Would only want that. With only you. You were shy at first then once we talked did you then relax and find your way. We walked often, you saying it helped your thoughts, so we embraced this, our new world with courage and together wondered life's mysteries. You wanting children saying as you lay on my lap gazing on wistful clouds. Lust on your mind as you sought the warmth in us. That held us. Close with no bounds for glory that one true love has. As you spoke I dreamed of time only with you and knew my love was what I had waited for. You opened this. You were its caretaker. I trusted all with you. For me, it was all that was, and needed no after, as I followed you into worlds drawn not from here. When then did we move before? How instinctual we have lost this, forsake of holding what thought of as wealth, now only damns us. Where have we gone? Why does time hold us? How is our love taken from us that which we desperately wish to give, and then returned? Who has done this?
Three days after release from solitary I received this. It took another week to understand it. My eyes were light sensitive. Beaten, raped and starved, keep me alive is the simple fact in wondering how she found me. And what the hell does it all mean. And remembering times with her. And wanting those times. And wanting out of here. And wanting a new life. And wanting the past year forgotten. And wanting to torture those that crossed me, from birth. And wanting that to take years. And loving it. And loving myself in knowing what I really am. And bathing my soul in that lust of knowing. And seeing the sky...
The potato whiskey friend visited me with water what little food he smuggled out or didn't eat himself. Walking was not an option, I was certain I had internal bleeding. Any movement save the eye lids caused convulsions of pain. Three teeth were knocked out and four were loose. The top of my left eat was bitten off. What remained gave off a foul odour. I washed the infection. It still stank. I stank. Everything had the same stench of no hope. Slow pustule rot. But she found me. Saved from impalement.
Losing count of those recovery days showed the real side of this prison. You can't trust anyone. At all. Potato whiskey guy was fine when sober but when drinking he loved to play. Just getting back on my feet he fell onto the blanket next to me whispering, 'You got letter' late one evening, or morning, I don't what to recall which. Now what goes through the mind at this time is beyond what most people could possible understand or endure. I knew it would come to this and payment was due. I am small in stature, but good in business. He was big and did well in beating. Three men went for him once. He tore the t
hroat out of the first, kick one in the balls hard enough so they popped; the third had his eyes pushed in till they seemed to come out his nose. No one played much with him after that. He is Ukrainian and here because he cooked and ate his girlfriend after she was caught in bed with another woman. Could be the combination of the two has a morbid impact on residents here.
'Yes, I received a letter.'
'You know who from?'
'Yes, I know.'
'Want more?'
'What?'
'You want more?'
'Letters? You know.'
'I know.'
'Many letters?'
'Maybe.'
Fuck. Here it comes.
'How much?'
'You pay now?
'Maybe. How many letters are there?'
'You not dumb son-bitch. Two came when you locked away.'
Oh come on!!
'Who has them?'
'Friend.'
'What does your friend want for the letters?'
'He want talk.'
'About?'
'Money.'
'I talk with your friend and then get the letters. Right?'
'Maybe.'
Oh I've enough of this shit, am goin' break fingers in my ass hole if this dick doesn't clear up!!
'What do you mean he wants to talk about money?'
'You want letters? Yes or no?'
Just breathe. If you breathe you calm down. He's simphisticated, simple but yet sophisticated, with a message, and who can shove his dick in you causing permanent rupture.
'Yes.'
'Good boy. You wait. I back latter.'
And he slid away.
I listened thinking he would return. And realized I was delirious. That he was never there to begin. Phantom potato boozer, and the simpering twat.
A few days later I tried walking the halls. Movement should loosen up things. I made it a couple of steps. That was enough and fell against the wall where I slumped, waiting. A cut here would end it quick. Someone passing by. Flick. It would be done. Saved. Not to go further. At last. But I would miss her. True. I would. She would miss me too. Of course! That's right. Yes. Indeed. Fool. I'm a fool. She’s so pure. I left her. The way I left her. God she'll kill me when we meet. Maybe she'll do it before. Yes. Before we meet. She might just wait and as I pass on way to see her, pop. Oh shit you've fuckin' lost it now. Over the edge. But it's possible. Get a grip man. Think all this through and drooling from the corner of my inflamed lips, potato whiskeys feet appeared next to mine. How strange. Why would his feet be here in this hall? And they're facing me. Toe to toe. Absurd. I am drunk. He gave me some of his potato crap, rotting my brain, now unable to ever storm again! I hate this. I hate me because basically I just let people walk all over me for no apparent reason other than my own bitch-made-ness. My only defense; financially rape the simpleton fucks. And the strong arms reached under my struggling to maintain an erected limp form, Carry Hawking me away.
It was dark and smelled wonderful. Spaghetti. Not able to see but that fragrance was better than well-washed pussy. And I'm starved! For both. But there was something else. Tobacco. Cigar. Good cigar. And something in my hand. Paper. Thick paper. Probably folded. And...and...My head didn't hurt. I lifted my hand instinctively wanting to touch my ear. That source of so much pain, but there was a bandage. Which I followed. It crossed over my eyes. And to the other side of my head. The entire head was covered. I traced my face, resting my hand on the chest, and understood I was dead for these were not the rags I have worn for months. I feel nothing, and smell heaven. She must be nearby. Waiting for me. But what of these bastard bandages. A trick from The Higher one. Penance. She's cooking for me but I can't see her. Wait. Be still. Listen. I think I...
'Will you shut the fuck up?'
Jesus I almost peed!!
'Whaa..'
'Shut up. Fuck are you smart or what?'
…..
'You always talk to yourself.'
'M..nut..dead?'
Sigh.
'In a couple of days, maybe. You're all right for now.'
'Shee...'
Listen. You're drugged. We had to cut you ear off. The infection would have killed you.'
'Mu errr..'
'Just get some rest. Nok will help you. Eat. Talk later.'
'Wert nuen...'
'Give him some water and a little food but not much. And Nok, if someone comes kill them.'
The door opened. The door closed. He left. Me alone. With a Nok. What is a Nok? And my ear is gone? What the fuck does that mean?!!!! We cut your ear off…??!!! That's enough of this. Smell or not, I'm....
'Zit still. You fuckin' baby.'
What? Is that Potato?
'Putoutu...'
'Ya, what you think. I be your angel now. Maybe good or bad angle.'
Potato is Nok? He has a name? He's and angle? Is Nok also her? Could I have three more wishes Genie?
Cotton and Chunks of Blood Everywhere
Naked Letter Page 5