The box was heavy. Much heavier than it looked, considering its size. At least 10 lbs. He looked at the returned address and recognized the name and address instantly. Ah, the little devil. He said a quick "Merci" to the man behind the counter and made his way up the three flights of stairs and down the endless hallway till he came to his door. Sacking the box and the other 50 or so rubber-banded letters from family, friends, and fans under one arm, he teethed out a key from the several on his keychain and keyed the door. Unsucessful, he tried another. Then another. Until he was in the living area 3 feet away.
He piled the letters on the corner of his desk. Then inspected the box once more, ignoring the "Fragile" warning on the side as he turned it over several times and shook it. He laid it on the desk and grabbed his letter opener. The one with the devil's head on the end he'd been given by another fan so long ago. He stopped. Nah, he couldn't open it just yet. Had to wait for the boyfriend to get home because there was usually something in there for him too. They liked to be surprised together. Or at least his boyfriend did.
He pushed the box to the back of the desk and looked at his computer. FUCK! He'd forgotten to publish his blog post. It had been hours since he'd finished it, the masses would be wailing. He laughed at the thought because he knew that he was the only one who'd be wailing about its lateness. He clicked the mouse and signed out, then made his way over to the window, which he opened on the brisk Paris afternoon. The wind wasn't blowing in, so he got out a cigarette and inched closer to the window, his head half out as he smoked.
He heard the kids playing soccer down the lane, so he moved a little bit closer and stuck his head out a little farther. He wanted to play soccer. He wished he was 10 again so he could go out and play with them. Fuck, he'd do it at his age, but all the people who didn't already think he was a perv would think he was and those who were sure he was a perv would just find it to be further confirmation that he was. Fuck people, he thought. He just wanted to play soccer. Or at least kick something really hard. Like Mussolini's head. How much fun must that have been kicking that old fucker's head around...
He threw the cigarette butt out the window and closed it. He sniffed around to ensure he wouldn't get caught by his boyfriend later. Taking off his old olive-green coat, he tussled the white hair on his head and sat down at the desk. Wiggled the mouse. Hit a bookmark for his one of his favorite porn sites. Then looked at the box across from him. Fuck it, he could re-tape it.
He stood up, pulled the box to him and grabbed his letter opener. A letter lay on top of whatever was balled up underneath. It contained just a few words:
"Glad we could meet in DC."
Laughing, he fingered the tissue paper apart. And jumped back two steps. "Jesus Christ!" When his panting ceased, he tiptoed to the desk and peered over the side of the box. He shivered. Jesus, no way. Just no way. He pulled the tissue paper farther apart, shoving it down the sides of the thing inside the box. And stared at it. He put a finger to his lips, his eyes looking into his brain for a similar image. Fuck, no way.
He sat down at his computer and did a quick search. Jesus Christ, it was him. But was it real? He knew the answer already because he'd seen too many dead people in his life. With a sigh, he pulled the box onto his lap, then dislodged the man's head from it. He turned it over and over, as if it were a priceless egg, studying its details, the gray hair, the swollen eye-bags, the protruding bottom lip, the glassy eyes - he even thought he could see the anger still residing in the landscape of the man's wrinkled skin.
He sat it on the desk. Moved it around. To where the light would hit it best, most provocatively. There was an incinerator in the basement. But no, he'd decided against that as soon he'd searched the man on the internet. His boyfriend would shit his pants, though. Then again, his boyfriend was always working. By the time he saw it, it'd be just another piece of furniture he'd grown accustomed to. And he'd tell him it was fake, a piece of art from a fan. Or his artist friend down the hall.
He grabbed a sheet of paper and leaned back in his chair, tearing the paper into little bits, which he then balled up and flicked with his middle finger at the face staring at him from God knew where. He laughed and shook his head as a tiny ball of paper lodged itself in one of the man's veiny nostrils. "Goooaaaaaaaaallllllllll!" he whispered.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Bette Meets Her Match
Bette sat upon the little, wooden shelf against the far end of the shack and looked the place over. "Did you build this yourself?"
"No," said Mark. He laughed. "It's been here forever. I used to come here and play by myself as a little boy."
"Weren't you scared?"
Mark shook his head. "I'm not scared of anything." He walked the fifteen or so feet to the door of the shack and dropped the duffel bag that hung from his shoulder onto the floor against the wall. "Though I guess I'm still a little boy. Or at least hung like one." He looked at Bette.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Stop it! Right now! You're an adult male. And I told you that doesn't matter at all. It's how you use it."
"Really? Do you really believe that?"
Bette looked away, her color changing from a slight beige to a slighter crimson. "Yes, of course, I believe that. Ask any woman."
"I'm asking you-"
Before Bette could get up, Mark jumped over to her, put his arms around her and squeezed. "I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
He let go and leaned against the waist-high table lining the wall. "Did you bring The Sluts?"
"Yep-"
"How do you like it so far?"
Bette's eyes rolled up into her eyelids, searching her brain.
"Huh?"
"Oh, it's good." She nodded, without looking at Mark. "The writing's really good. But it's..."
"What?"
"A bit extreme. I'll just be honest. It's a fine book, but I've had to put it down a few times."
"Does it lack literary merit, do you think?"
"Oh, no, not at all. It's very good."
Mark smiled. Then made his way back to the duffel bag. He stood over it, staring down at its zipper.
"You gonna get out the sleeping bags?" asked Bette, as she lowered her book bag to the floor.
"Actually," said Mark, "I have something for you."
"Oh, Mark-"
"No, no-"
"No, no to you. You didn't have to-"
"Yes, I did." And he picked up the bag once more and set it in Bette's lap. "Go ahead, look inside."
Bette unzipped the bag and spread it open, her long, chestnut hair catching in the zipper for a second. She giggled, then reached inside and pulled out a giant ball of tissue wrapping paper. "Wow, it's heavy."
"Go on, open it-"
With all the care in her tiny fingers, Bette leafed apart the thin folds and pulled them back, finally unmasking her nephew's face. The rotting, scent-less head dropped onto the floor without a bounce, as she let out a scream so loud that no one could hear it but Mark and Dick, who walked up behind Mark, a gallon of gas in one hand, his other hand falling lightly on Mark's shoulder. As Bette's wailing turned into shaking sobs, Mark turned and pecked Dick on the lips. "Perfect timing," he said.
"You told me to come in when she screamed-"
Mark turned and backhanded Dick across the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up, you dumbass-"
"Oh-"
They turned to Bette, who pushed the duffel bag and the rest of her dead nephew onto the floor beneath her. Mark kicked it to the side, then grabbed her book bag and rifled through it until he found the book he'd given her. He thumbed its pages. "You haven't even read a page of this, have you?" he said. When he got no response from the blubbering woman, he snapped a quick punch to her throat, her head whiplashing into the wall behind. "Have you?"
Bette shook her head, swallowing hard. As she regained breath, her body ceased to shake, her limbs steeled themselves, veins rising on her forearms. She shook her hair out of her wet eyes, which she steadied on Mark. "That book fucking sucks, you little-dicked moron," she gasped. "It's not literature, it's not Art, you fucking little twerp. You little kid."
"Life is Art. And everything in it's Art," said Mark. He shook his head, grinning. "Why couldn't you just be honest with me?"
"Fuck you-"
"And why did you make your classes read those shitty books? I mean, really, fucking young adult novels about black kids written by some fucking foreign white guy? Really?"
"I make-"
"Made. Past tense, Bette. You know, you really are a shitty English teacher." Mark giggled. "And not a very good fuck."
"You can't fuck a needle-"
A couple seconds and Mark had the rope in his pocket around Bette's neck, twisting it from behind. His dick hardened as he listened to her moist yelps and felt the force of her kicking legs reverberate through the knotting rope. He slackened his grip when she fell limp and wrapped the rope several times around the large nail in the wall behind her.
"Is she dead?" said Dick. "Because I ain't fucking no dead chick-"
"They're the best, though," said Mark. He laughed at Dick's wide eyes. "No, she's not fucking dead. Jesus Christ, give me some credit."
Dick laughed. Then put down the gas can and jumped out of his clothes as Mark stripped himself and Bette. His semi-hard penis slapped against against his knee, wetting it with pre-cum, as he walked towards Bette's vagina - and Mark, who straddled her stomach and held her legs up and apart.
"You're gonna need to get harder than that," said Mark. At which he hopped down, Bette's feet slamming the ground, and got to his knees. A few deep-throats and what seemed to be a gallon of pre-cum later and Dick was inside Bette up to the hilt, her ankles chafing at his collarbone. As he pumped harder and harder, Bette's eyes slowly opened, then quickly widened. Her mouth opened, the jaws pistoning, but nothing escaped save for a tiny spurt of rasps and a few drops of white spit that pooled on her lips.
Mark walked up from behind Dick and stood beside Bette's rocking body, his rusty razor in one hand, his other grasping the corroded face and scalp of her nephew. "Is that big enough?" he said. He watched Dick's slimy cock go in and out a few more times as he stroked his cock with the fleshy mask. As his chode tightened, he raised up on his tip toes and released his wad across Bette's red, swollen, tear-streaked face. "You know," he said, "you always said you and your nephew looked alike. Well, you're really going to look like each other now." And he stretched the skin of the little boy's head over his aunt's face until he was sure it wouldn't slip off, a chunk tearing off in his hand. He licked the square of leathery flesh, then reached down and fingered it between Bette's clit and Dick's jackhammering cock until it disappeared inside her for good.
As Dick grunted and finally came inside Bette, Mark went through her bag once more, pulling out a copy of Gangbangaz. He sucked out the last of Dick's semen after the latter pulled out, then soaked the book in gasoline, reaching up and wiping the excess that smeared his hand onto Bette's thick cunt, which throbbed open and shut and spit out Dick's come in short bursts. Standing up, he opened the book and ripped out the pages one by one, crumpling then inserting them into Bette's vagina until he couldn't fit any more, at which he laid the book on her belly.
Dick finished pouring the gasoline around the rest of the shack, then he and Mark dressed quickly. Mark stood between Bette's legs, which were turning blue and varicose as they hung off the shelf. "Matches," he said.
"Oh, I got a lighter-"
"Jesus Christ, dude, I said matches! What the fuck? I don't want to catch myself on fire. Duh. Plus, we could've played darts with them-"
"Sorry-"
Mark flicked the lighter and held it at arm's length. As the pages hanging out Bette's cunt caught fire and her legs jutted into the air, her body twisting almost silently on the little shelf, Mark grabbed his copy of The Sluts and headed out the door, Dick on his heels. He squatted at the entrance and put the lighter to the gasoline on the threshold, throwing the lighter into the inferno as he and Dick walked away.
"Here," said Mark. He handed the book to Dick. "An anniversary present for you. I think it's been about two months."
"Thanks, man." Dick turned the book over, trying to read its back cover in the fading light of the setting sun through the trees. "So are you my boyfriend?"
"I better be-"
Dick sighed. "Do you think we'll get caught?"
"We better not-" And Mark slapped his boyfriend upside his head.
"No," said Mark. He laughed. "It's been here forever. I used to come here and play by myself as a little boy."
"Weren't you scared?"
Mark shook his head. "I'm not scared of anything." He walked the fifteen or so feet to the door of the shack and dropped the duffel bag that hung from his shoulder onto the floor against the wall. "Though I guess I'm still a little boy. Or at least hung like one." He looked at Bette.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Stop it! Right now! You're an adult male. And I told you that doesn't matter at all. It's how you use it."
"Really? Do you really believe that?"
Bette looked away, her color changing from a slight beige to a slighter crimson. "Yes, of course, I believe that. Ask any woman."
"I'm asking you-"
Before Bette could get up, Mark jumped over to her, put his arms around her and squeezed. "I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
He let go and leaned against the waist-high table lining the wall. "Did you bring The Sluts?"
"Yep-"
"How do you like it so far?"
Bette's eyes rolled up into her eyelids, searching her brain.
"Huh?"
"Oh, it's good." She nodded, without looking at Mark. "The writing's really good. But it's..."
"What?"
"A bit extreme. I'll just be honest. It's a fine book, but I've had to put it down a few times."
"Does it lack literary merit, do you think?"
"Oh, no, not at all. It's very good."
Mark smiled. Then made his way back to the duffel bag. He stood over it, staring down at its zipper.
"You gonna get out the sleeping bags?" asked Bette, as she lowered her book bag to the floor.
"Actually," said Mark, "I have something for you."
"Oh, Mark-"
"No, no-"
"No, no to you. You didn't have to-"
"Yes, I did." And he picked up the bag once more and set it in Bette's lap. "Go ahead, look inside."
Bette unzipped the bag and spread it open, her long, chestnut hair catching in the zipper for a second. She giggled, then reached inside and pulled out a giant ball of tissue wrapping paper. "Wow, it's heavy."
"Go on, open it-"
With all the care in her tiny fingers, Bette leafed apart the thin folds and pulled them back, finally unmasking her nephew's face. The rotting, scent-less head dropped onto the floor without a bounce, as she let out a scream so loud that no one could hear it but Mark and Dick, who walked up behind Mark, a gallon of gas in one hand, his other hand falling lightly on Mark's shoulder. As Bette's wailing turned into shaking sobs, Mark turned and pecked Dick on the lips. "Perfect timing," he said.
"You told me to come in when she screamed-"
Mark turned and backhanded Dick across the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up, you dumbass-"
"Oh-"
They turned to Bette, who pushed the duffel bag and the rest of her dead nephew onto the floor beneath her. Mark kicked it to the side, then grabbed her book bag and rifled through it until he found the book he'd given her. He thumbed its pages. "You haven't even read a page of this, have you?" he said. When he got no response from the blubbering woman, he snapped a quick punch to her throat, her head whiplashing into the wall behind. "Have you?"
Bette shook her head, swallowing hard. As she regained breath, her body ceased to shake, her limbs steeled themselves, veins rising on her forearms. She shook her hair out of her wet eyes, which she steadied on Mark. "That book fucking sucks, you little-dicked moron," she gasped. "It's not literature, it's not Art, you fucking little twerp. You little kid."
"Life is Art. And everything in it's Art," said Mark. He shook his head, grinning. "Why couldn't you just be honest with me?"
"Fuck you-"
"And why did you make your classes read those shitty books? I mean, really, fucking young adult novels about black kids written by some fucking foreign white guy? Really?"
"I make-"
"Made. Past tense, Bette. You know, you really are a shitty English teacher." Mark giggled. "And not a very good fuck."
"You can't fuck a needle-"
A couple seconds and Mark had the rope in his pocket around Bette's neck, twisting it from behind. His dick hardened as he listened to her moist yelps and felt the force of her kicking legs reverberate through the knotting rope. He slackened his grip when she fell limp and wrapped the rope several times around the large nail in the wall behind her.
"Is she dead?" said Dick. "Because I ain't fucking no dead chick-"
"They're the best, though," said Mark. He laughed at Dick's wide eyes. "No, she's not fucking dead. Jesus Christ, give me some credit."
Dick laughed. Then put down the gas can and jumped out of his clothes as Mark stripped himself and Bette. His semi-hard penis slapped against against his knee, wetting it with pre-cum, as he walked towards Bette's vagina - and Mark, who straddled her stomach and held her legs up and apart.
"You're gonna need to get harder than that," said Mark. At which he hopped down, Bette's feet slamming the ground, and got to his knees. A few deep-throats and what seemed to be a gallon of pre-cum later and Dick was inside Bette up to the hilt, her ankles chafing at his collarbone. As he pumped harder and harder, Bette's eyes slowly opened, then quickly widened. Her mouth opened, the jaws pistoning, but nothing escaped save for a tiny spurt of rasps and a few drops of white spit that pooled on her lips.
Mark walked up from behind Dick and stood beside Bette's rocking body, his rusty razor in one hand, his other grasping the corroded face and scalp of her nephew. "Is that big enough?" he said. He watched Dick's slimy cock go in and out a few more times as he stroked his cock with the fleshy mask. As his chode tightened, he raised up on his tip toes and released his wad across Bette's red, swollen, tear-streaked face. "You know," he said, "you always said you and your nephew looked alike. Well, you're really going to look like each other now." And he stretched the skin of the little boy's head over his aunt's face until he was sure it wouldn't slip off, a chunk tearing off in his hand. He licked the square of leathery flesh, then reached down and fingered it between Bette's clit and Dick's jackhammering cock until it disappeared inside her for good.
As Dick grunted and finally came inside Bette, Mark went through her bag once more, pulling out a copy of Gangbangaz. He sucked out the last of Dick's semen after the latter pulled out, then soaked the book in gasoline, reaching up and wiping the excess that smeared his hand onto Bette's thick cunt, which throbbed open and shut and spit out Dick's come in short bursts. Standing up, he opened the book and ripped out the pages one by one, crumpling then inserting them into Bette's vagina until he couldn't fit any more, at which he laid the book on her belly.
Dick finished pouring the gasoline around the rest of the shack, then he and Mark dressed quickly. Mark stood between Bette's legs, which were turning blue and varicose as they hung off the shelf. "Matches," he said.
"Oh, I got a lighter-"
"Jesus Christ, dude, I said matches! What the fuck? I don't want to catch myself on fire. Duh. Plus, we could've played darts with them-"
"Sorry-"
Mark flicked the lighter and held it at arm's length. As the pages hanging out Bette's cunt caught fire and her legs jutted into the air, her body twisting almost silently on the little shelf, Mark grabbed his copy of The Sluts and headed out the door, Dick on his heels. He squatted at the entrance and put the lighter to the gasoline on the threshold, throwing the lighter into the inferno as he and Dick walked away.
"Here," said Mark. He handed the book to Dick. "An anniversary present for you. I think it's been about two months."
"Thanks, man." Dick turned the book over, trying to read its back cover in the fading light of the setting sun through the trees. "So are you my boyfriend?"
"I better be-"
Dick sighed. "Do you think we'll get caught?"
"We better not-" And Mark slapped his boyfriend upside his head.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Jerkin'
Mark unscrewed the shower head from the extension and snuck the end of the rubber tube an inch up his ass, the warm water pouring slowly into his intestines until he could no longer stand the pressure against his bladder. He flipped off the water, popped the tube out of his asshole and stepped out wet and cold onto the bathroom rug. Then sat on the toilet, his ass cheeks spread so far apart he thought he was going to rip in half, and forced, through an amazing act of willed peristalsis, the contents of his guts into the toilet.
Several wipes and two flushes and he tiptoed naked across the hall to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He grabbed the Astroglide, squirted too much into his hand, then thoroughly lubed the 12 X 8-inch dildo suctioned onto his wooden chair, as well as his puckering hole. Turning around, he grabbed the slippery dildo behind him and backed up until it was snugly between his cheeks. With a deep breath, he impaled himself an inch at a time, only stopping because the chair wouldn't let him go any farther. He rocked back and forth, alternating this with wide circles of his hips, as he watched the pre-cum drip from his tiny cock in waves. He grabbed it and began to stroke, his head thrown back as his brain pulsed images to his tight, leathery chode
and he splattered 9 or 10 - or was it 20? - thick ropes of semen across his small room, the first 3 kissing his New York Giants curtain. Then fell forward off the dildo with a echoing plop. He lay there soaking in his cum, panting and giggling, ready for another go at the dildo whose slick, lubed surface reflected the light of his desk lamp into his eyes, either mocking or challenging him.
Several wipes and two flushes and he tiptoed naked across the hall to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He grabbed the Astroglide, squirted too much into his hand, then thoroughly lubed the 12 X 8-inch dildo suctioned onto his wooden chair, as well as his puckering hole. Turning around, he grabbed the slippery dildo behind him and backed up until it was snugly between his cheeks. With a deep breath, he impaled himself an inch at a time, only stopping because the chair wouldn't let him go any farther. He rocked back and forth, alternating this with wide circles of his hips, as he watched the pre-cum drip from his tiny cock in waves. He grabbed it and began to stroke, his head thrown back as his brain pulsed images to his tight, leathery chode
and he splattered 9 or 10 - or was it 20? - thick ropes of semen across his small room, the first 3 kissing his New York Giants curtain. Then fell forward off the dildo with a echoing plop. He lay there soaking in his cum, panting and giggling, ready for another go at the dildo whose slick, lubed surface reflected the light of his desk lamp into his eyes, either mocking or challenging him.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Really? No, wait...Really?!
newhazeleyedWOMAN
I'm an open-minded, free spirit looking for a STRONG but sensitive man
Active within 24 hours
* 29-year-old woman
* Cedarville, Maryland
* seeking men 30-50
* within 100 miles of Cedarville, Maryland, United States
Relationships: Never Married
Have kids: No
Want kids: Definitely
Ethnicity:
* White / Caucasian
Body type: Svelte
Height: 5'2" (157cms)
Religion: Christian / Other
Smoke: No
Drink: No Answer
About my life and what I'm looking for
I'm looking for someone with similar interests. I’m a college professor who enjoys the good things in life – good books, movies, art, the outdoors, quiet nights at home, expensive dinners, cute pets, etc. I want a man who can keep up with me and provide a strongly independent woman like myself with the life that I deserve. I think my man should be strong and unafraid of getting his hands dirty. But at the same time, he should know how to hold me without crushing me. And not to be mean or come off as rude, but anyone under 30, take a hike! I’ve found that men that young are just way too immature and juvenile. Really, I can’t stand them. And one other thing: shorties – in every respect, if you know what I mean, hehe – need not apply. I like BIG men – in more ways than one, if you catch my drift.
I love quirky comedies like Two and a Half Men and The Wedding Singer. I like wine and beer and cornbread. I have a great sense of humor (some friends think I should do stand-up!), and I like others who are not afraid to be funny. But funny in a wholesome way. Scatological jokes are not funny. Jokes about rape and incest and murder are not funny, either. Dogs are cute.
I participate in the Louis Armstrong OutLoud Challenge 5K run every month to support fundraising for those with damaged vocal chords. This cause is very personal, as my mother damaged her voice box years ago in a terrible kitchen accident and hasn’t sounded right since.
I'm a Washington Redskins fan (sorry Giants fans! (you losers!)) since I grew up in MD. I'm not into watching sports, but I don’t mind watching them if you’re into them, as long as you don’t mind a great movie like Armageddon later in the evening. I love watching movies, but I stay away from the scary stuff. I almost died and couldn’t sleep in the dark for months after watching The Dentist.
About me
Hair: Dark brown
Eyes: Hazel
Sports and exercise:
* Dancing
* Running
* Swimming
* Walking / Hiking
* Yoga
Exercise habits: Exercise 6-7 times per week
Interests:
* Camping
* Coffee and conversation
* Cooking
* Dining out
* Exploring new areas
* Kayaking
* Movies/Videos
* Museums and art
* Music and concerts
* Nightclubs/Dancing
* Performing arts
* Travel/Sightseeing
* Volunteering
* Wine tasting
Education: PhD
Occupation: Teaching
Income: $30,001 to $49,000
Languages:
* English
Politics: Very Liberal
Sign: Sagittarius
Pets I have:
* None
Pets I like:
* Dogs
About my date
Hair: Dark (Brown or Black)
Eyes: Dark
Height: 6'0" (183cms) to 7'0" (213cms)
Body type:
* Stocky
Languages:
* English
Ethnicity: No Answer
Faith:
* Christian / Other
Education:
* College Graduate
Job: Yes
Income: $150,001 to $10,000,000
Smoke: No Way!
Drink: Social Drinker
Relationships:
* No Answer
Have kids:
* No Answer
Want kids:
* Definitely
In my own words
for fun:
I enjoy kayaking, reading, watching movies, fancy dinners, cute doggies, and walks on the beach…
my education:
I went to Cedarville Community College in MD and got my BA, Masters, and PhD in English.
favorite hot spots:
I love the beach, especially Ocean City, MD. I also enjoy going into the city to tour museums, restaurants, clothes stores, and my favorite store, Spencer’s. But I’d much prefer to be at home with my honey, spending some ‘special time’ together with some items from Spencer’s, if you know what I mean.
favorite things:
I mostly listen to soft rock. The only music I don't really like is heavy metal, rap, emo, goth, new wave, ‘80s, Britpop, grunge, classic rock, and hard rock. I don't watch much TV, but Two and a Half Men is my favorite; it’s so deep. Some movies I love are The Wedding Singer, Armageddon, Beethoven and Beethoven II, and the Ernest movies. As you can tell, I love comedies with an ‘edge.’
last read:
Reading is something I’m very passionate about. I was an English major in college, so I've read a wide variety of genres. My favorites are the classics, especially the modern classics, like Gangbangaz, Niggaz and Wiggaz, and Crack Pipez for Homey. And let me state this here for all to see: PORNOGRAPHY IS NOT LITERATURE! Graphic sex and violence don’t make a book ‘literary.’ It is sickening and disgusting and does nothing more than harm minorities, children, and women. People who like books like that are sick, small-minded, and have lots of screws loose. I know because I’m an English professor!
my pets:
Spiders, frogs, and dogs are my favorite animals. A funny story: I used to have two frogs and 8 spiders, but since I didn’t know much about keeping them at first, the frogs ate all the spiders, then turned on each other. I ended up with only one frog – he was so cute, I used to pick him up and kiss him every day, hoping he’d turn into my Prince – who died eventually from all the toxins he’d swallowed from eating all the spiders and the other frog. Who knew? So never again. I’ll just look at pictures of them. But I do want a dog. They’re cute and furry and yap a lot.
****************************************
Mark looked down to Dick's gigantic, clown-sized feet, then up into his eyes. They smirked at each other. "So tell me," said Mark, "why the fuck do you have a profile on there too?"
I'm an open-minded, free spirit looking for a STRONG but sensitive man
Active within 24 hours
* 29-year-old woman
* Cedarville, Maryland
* seeking men 30-50
* within 100 miles of Cedarville, Maryland, United States
Relationships: Never Married
Have kids: No
Want kids: Definitely
Ethnicity:
* White / Caucasian
Body type: Svelte
Height: 5'2" (157cms)
Religion: Christian / Other
Smoke: No
Drink: No Answer
About my life and what I'm looking for
I'm looking for someone with similar interests. I’m a college professor who enjoys the good things in life – good books, movies, art, the outdoors, quiet nights at home, expensive dinners, cute pets, etc. I want a man who can keep up with me and provide a strongly independent woman like myself with the life that I deserve. I think my man should be strong and unafraid of getting his hands dirty. But at the same time, he should know how to hold me without crushing me. And not to be mean or come off as rude, but anyone under 30, take a hike! I’ve found that men that young are just way too immature and juvenile. Really, I can’t stand them. And one other thing: shorties – in every respect, if you know what I mean, hehe – need not apply. I like BIG men – in more ways than one, if you catch my drift.
I love quirky comedies like Two and a Half Men and The Wedding Singer. I like wine and beer and cornbread. I have a great sense of humor (some friends think I should do stand-up!), and I like others who are not afraid to be funny. But funny in a wholesome way. Scatological jokes are not funny. Jokes about rape and incest and murder are not funny, either. Dogs are cute.
I participate in the Louis Armstrong OutLoud Challenge 5K run every month to support fundraising for those with damaged vocal chords. This cause is very personal, as my mother damaged her voice box years ago in a terrible kitchen accident and hasn’t sounded right since.
I'm a Washington Redskins fan (sorry Giants fans! (you losers!)) since I grew up in MD. I'm not into watching sports, but I don’t mind watching them if you’re into them, as long as you don’t mind a great movie like Armageddon later in the evening. I love watching movies, but I stay away from the scary stuff. I almost died and couldn’t sleep in the dark for months after watching The Dentist.
About me
Hair: Dark brown
Eyes: Hazel
Sports and exercise:
* Dancing
* Running
* Swimming
* Walking / Hiking
* Yoga
Exercise habits: Exercise 6-7 times per week
Interests:
* Camping
* Coffee and conversation
* Cooking
* Dining out
* Exploring new areas
* Kayaking
* Movies/Videos
* Museums and art
* Music and concerts
* Nightclubs/Dancing
* Performing arts
* Travel/Sightseeing
* Volunteering
* Wine tasting
Education: PhD
Occupation: Teaching
Income: $30,001 to $49,000
Languages:
* English
Politics: Very Liberal
Sign: Sagittarius
Pets I have:
* None
Pets I like:
* Dogs
About my date
Hair: Dark (Brown or Black)
Eyes: Dark
Height: 6'0" (183cms) to 7'0" (213cms)
Body type:
* Stocky
Languages:
* English
Ethnicity: No Answer
Faith:
* Christian / Other
Education:
* College Graduate
Job: Yes
Income: $150,001 to $10,000,000
Smoke: No Way!
Drink: Social Drinker
Relationships:
* No Answer
Have kids:
* No Answer
Want kids:
* Definitely
In my own words
for fun:
I enjoy kayaking, reading, watching movies, fancy dinners, cute doggies, and walks on the beach…
my education:
I went to Cedarville Community College in MD and got my BA, Masters, and PhD in English.
favorite hot spots:
I love the beach, especially Ocean City, MD. I also enjoy going into the city to tour museums, restaurants, clothes stores, and my favorite store, Spencer’s. But I’d much prefer to be at home with my honey, spending some ‘special time’ together with some items from Spencer’s, if you know what I mean.
favorite things:
I mostly listen to soft rock. The only music I don't really like is heavy metal, rap, emo, goth, new wave, ‘80s, Britpop, grunge, classic rock, and hard rock. I don't watch much TV, but Two and a Half Men is my favorite; it’s so deep. Some movies I love are The Wedding Singer, Armageddon, Beethoven and Beethoven II, and the Ernest movies. As you can tell, I love comedies with an ‘edge.’
last read:
Reading is something I’m very passionate about. I was an English major in college, so I've read a wide variety of genres. My favorites are the classics, especially the modern classics, like Gangbangaz, Niggaz and Wiggaz, and Crack Pipez for Homey. And let me state this here for all to see: PORNOGRAPHY IS NOT LITERATURE! Graphic sex and violence don’t make a book ‘literary.’ It is sickening and disgusting and does nothing more than harm minorities, children, and women. People who like books like that are sick, small-minded, and have lots of screws loose. I know because I’m an English professor!
my pets:
Spiders, frogs, and dogs are my favorite animals. A funny story: I used to have two frogs and 8 spiders, but since I didn’t know much about keeping them at first, the frogs ate all the spiders, then turned on each other. I ended up with only one frog – he was so cute, I used to pick him up and kiss him every day, hoping he’d turn into my Prince – who died eventually from all the toxins he’d swallowed from eating all the spiders and the other frog. Who knew? So never again. I’ll just look at pictures of them. But I do want a dog. They’re cute and furry and yap a lot.
****************************************
Mark looked down to Dick's gigantic, clown-sized feet, then up into his eyes. They smirked at each other. "So tell me," said Mark, "why the fuck do you have a profile on there too?"
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Willing Unwilling (or How to Mung Friends and Influence People)
Mark cocked his bored, spikey head and looked from Dick to Dill, sighing through his turned-up nose.
"I'm keeping it," she said.
Dick's eyes remained on the ground, and as he spoke, his head wobbled from side to side. "I'm not ready to be a father-"
"You should've thought of that when you fucked me without a rubber-"
"You should've thought of that when you told me you were on the pill-"
"I was!"
"Yeah, right-"
"It's only ninety-nine percent effective-"
"You sucking my chode is only ninety-nine percent effective-"
"Oh, you son of a bitch-"
"Fucking boogit-"
Dill sat down on the bed and let out a short yelp. "You are so fucking frustrating-"
"Moi?"
"Yes, yoi. And why the fuck do you say boogit all the time?"
"Because it's fucking awesome, that's why-"
Dill looked over to Mark.
Mark nodded. "It is pretty awesome-"
"You fucking guys are all alike-"
Dick finally looked up. And looked Dill in the eyes. "I can give you the money to take care of it-"
"You damn will give me the money to take care of it. Every fucking week-"
"No, to take care of it now-"
"Fuck that-"
"No, fuck that-"
Dill sighed. "Look, I've always wanted a baby. And I want this one. I'm keeping it."
Dick looked over at Mark. "I don't know what to do-"
"Mung," said Mark.
"What?"
"What?"
Mark laughed. "Nothing." And he laughed some more, crossing his arms and rubbing his hands over his taut triceps. "Anybody want a drink? Dill?"
"Yeah, a Coke. I can't drink alcohol while I'm pregnant-"
"Nick?"
"Dude, it's Dick, for the last time-"
Mark giggled. "Sorry. I just like calling people by other names. Shit, I call myself Mike half the time. What do you want?"
"A Coke too-"
Mark winked at Dick and rose. The plastic covering the floor creaked under his bare feet as he made his way to the bedroom door. In the kitchen, he poured Coke into three glasses, slipping two tiny, white pills into the third. After it dissolved completely, he stirred it with a spoon and took the stairs two at a time, the three glasses tight in his two hands. He opened the bedroom door and almost dropped the drinks as he walked into the middle of a deep kiss between Dill and Dick. "You fucking sluts," he said, giggling. "Isn't this how all this started?"
As they separated, Dill leaning back onto the bed and Dick sitting back into Mark's desk chair, Mark handed them their drinks. Dick gulped his and sat it on the desk, next to Mark's keyboard; Dill finished hers in a swig and placed the empty glass on the windowsill next to Mark's. Mark climbed up in the bed next to Dill, their legs pressing together. He looked to Dick and raised his eyebrows. Then leaned over and grabbed Dill's mouth with his own, his tongue barreling between her teeth.
As he came up for air, Mark looked back at Dick, who was already naked and hard, then turned back to Dill, his hands working fast at her clothes and his own. Completely disrobed, they rolled onto the plastic-covered floor, panting and moaning like zombies out of a B-movie, Dill on her back, Dick at her obese pussy, and Mark straddling her face, his pinprick of an asshole staring Dick in the eye familiarly.
Mark rubbed his shaved sack against Dill's lips, his cockhole dripping pre-cum onto her nose, until he saw her eyes flutter then roll back into her head. He put a hand over her mouth and nose to make sure she wasn't breathing anymore. Then stood up, turned around, and leaned against the wall. With two steps, he jumped as high as he could, his knees hitting his chest, and stomped his heels into the top of Dill's stomach at a 45 degree-angle with all the power of his legs, his feet tearing through the flesh and fat to the womb below.
Dick fell back against the opposite wall with a loud bang that the empty house couldn't hear, choking and smeared in blood, shit, and amniotic fluid. He picked furiously at his face, pulling from between his lips a small, slimy boomerang of rubber that was his son or daughter. He threw it onto Dill's concave stomach - the skinniest she'd ever been, no doubt - and it bounced onto Mark's left foot. He looked up to Mark, one hand still clawing at his slick face and wide eyes, the other shaking uncontrollably on his side. "Dude, what the fuck?"
"You said you weren't ready to be a father-"
"I'm keeping it," she said.
Dick's eyes remained on the ground, and as he spoke, his head wobbled from side to side. "I'm not ready to be a father-"
"You should've thought of that when you fucked me without a rubber-"
"You should've thought of that when you told me you were on the pill-"
"I was!"
"Yeah, right-"
"It's only ninety-nine percent effective-"
"You sucking my chode is only ninety-nine percent effective-"
"Oh, you son of a bitch-"
"Fucking boogit-"
Dill sat down on the bed and let out a short yelp. "You are so fucking frustrating-"
"Moi?"
"Yes, yoi. And why the fuck do you say boogit all the time?"
"Because it's fucking awesome, that's why-"
Dill looked over to Mark.
Mark nodded. "It is pretty awesome-"
"You fucking guys are all alike-"
Dick finally looked up. And looked Dill in the eyes. "I can give you the money to take care of it-"
"You damn will give me the money to take care of it. Every fucking week-"
"No, to take care of it now-"
"Fuck that-"
"No, fuck that-"
Dill sighed. "Look, I've always wanted a baby. And I want this one. I'm keeping it."
Dick looked over at Mark. "I don't know what to do-"
"Mung," said Mark.
"What?"
"What?"
Mark laughed. "Nothing." And he laughed some more, crossing his arms and rubbing his hands over his taut triceps. "Anybody want a drink? Dill?"
"Yeah, a Coke. I can't drink alcohol while I'm pregnant-"
"Nick?"
"Dude, it's Dick, for the last time-"
Mark giggled. "Sorry. I just like calling people by other names. Shit, I call myself Mike half the time. What do you want?"
"A Coke too-"
Mark winked at Dick and rose. The plastic covering the floor creaked under his bare feet as he made his way to the bedroom door. In the kitchen, he poured Coke into three glasses, slipping two tiny, white pills into the third. After it dissolved completely, he stirred it with a spoon and took the stairs two at a time, the three glasses tight in his two hands. He opened the bedroom door and almost dropped the drinks as he walked into the middle of a deep kiss between Dill and Dick. "You fucking sluts," he said, giggling. "Isn't this how all this started?"
As they separated, Dill leaning back onto the bed and Dick sitting back into Mark's desk chair, Mark handed them their drinks. Dick gulped his and sat it on the desk, next to Mark's keyboard; Dill finished hers in a swig and placed the empty glass on the windowsill next to Mark's. Mark climbed up in the bed next to Dill, their legs pressing together. He looked to Dick and raised his eyebrows. Then leaned over and grabbed Dill's mouth with his own, his tongue barreling between her teeth.
As he came up for air, Mark looked back at Dick, who was already naked and hard, then turned back to Dill, his hands working fast at her clothes and his own. Completely disrobed, they rolled onto the plastic-covered floor, panting and moaning like zombies out of a B-movie, Dill on her back, Dick at her obese pussy, and Mark straddling her face, his pinprick of an asshole staring Dick in the eye familiarly.
Mark rubbed his shaved sack against Dill's lips, his cockhole dripping pre-cum onto her nose, until he saw her eyes flutter then roll back into her head. He put a hand over her mouth and nose to make sure she wasn't breathing anymore. Then stood up, turned around, and leaned against the wall. With two steps, he jumped as high as he could, his knees hitting his chest, and stomped his heels into the top of Dill's stomach at a 45 degree-angle with all the power of his legs, his feet tearing through the flesh and fat to the womb below.
Dick fell back against the opposite wall with a loud bang that the empty house couldn't hear, choking and smeared in blood, shit, and amniotic fluid. He picked furiously at his face, pulling from between his lips a small, slimy boomerang of rubber that was his son or daughter. He threw it onto Dill's concave stomach - the skinniest she'd ever been, no doubt - and it bounced onto Mark's left foot. He looked up to Mark, one hand still clawing at his slick face and wide eyes, the other shaking uncontrollably on his side. "Dude, what the fuck?"
"You said you weren't ready to be a father-"
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Art for Bette's Sake
"What? I'm just looking at it-"
"I know it's small-"
"No, it's not small. It's...cute-"
"Whatever. I don't care. I just make do with what God gave me-"
"So you believe in God?"
"No-"
"But then why-"
"It's just a phrase, a figure of speech-"
"What do you believe in?"
"Nothing-"
"Nothing?"
Mark craned his head and looked at his wrinkled inch or two of penis in Bette's hand. "Hmm. I believe in me. In you. In Art."
"Really? That's it?"
"Yep." Mark sat up on his elbows. "I don't care if it's the smallest thing you've ever seen-"
"It isn't the smallest thing I've ever seen-"
Mark's eyes opened wide. "Really?"
"Really-"
"What about Jacob-"
"Oh-"
"I'm sorry. Touchy subject-"
"No, no, it isn't. Not about that. But to be honest, he was really big-"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah-"
"How big?"
"I don't know, 8 or 9-"
"Wow. Lucky bastard." He flipped his legs over the side of his bed, his cock from Bette's hand. Christ, violence just wasn't any fun without sex and vice versa. "Speaking of Art," he said, "I've got something for you." He walked to his desk, deftly wiping the pre-cum oozing from his cock hole with a quick flick of his finger, which he jabbed in and out of his mouth so rapidly Bette never saw it. "It's just a sort of late birthday present-"
"Awww-"
He returned to the bed holding out a book to Bette. She grabbed it and analyzed its cover without blinking. She frowned. "The Sluts?" she said.
"Yeah, it's a favorite of mine. I thought you might like to try something different. Or maybe have something for your contemporary lit class-"
She turned the book over and her eyes jigsawed back and forth over the blurbs and book summary. She took in a deep breath. "I don't know, Mark, this book sounds pretty intense. A little too...racy? for a class-"
Mark flopped next to her on the bed. "What? For adults? Are you insane? This book is excellent for exploring the themes of identity in the internet age and the whole concept of perception versus reality-"
She leaned over him and slipped the book into her bag. "I don't know. I'll give it a chance. We'll see." She put an arm over him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for my gift-"
The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice" blared from her bag. She leaned back over him and grabbed her cell phone, looking at the display with a wrinkled brow. "Hello?" she answered. After a minute, during which her eyes widened so much that it seemed they may fall off the sides of her head, she finally spoke: "Jesus Christ! Yes, yes, I'll be right over!" She jumped over Mark's semi, her tits bouncing, and grabbed her clothes off the floor. She jammed her bra and panties into her bag, then took all of 5 seconds to throw on her blouse, jeans, and flip flops. As she slid her feet into the latter, she looked up at Mark, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"What?!"
Between chokes, she said: "My nephew. He's been missing since last night. Nobody's seen him. Not my sister. Or his friends. Or his friends' parents. I've gotta go over to Jenny's right now. She's about to die."
Mark stood up naked and faced her. "Oh, my God, Bette. Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, no, you stay here. I'll call you when I get there." Quickly, she hugged him and threw another peck on his cheek. She grabbed her bag and glided out the door like a ghost.
When Mark heard the front door shut, he bent over and pulled up the bed skirt, exposing his duffel bag. "You aren't missing, are you?"
"I know it's small-"
"No, it's not small. It's...cute-"
"Whatever. I don't care. I just make do with what God gave me-"
"So you believe in God?"
"No-"
"But then why-"
"It's just a phrase, a figure of speech-"
"What do you believe in?"
"Nothing-"
"Nothing?"
Mark craned his head and looked at his wrinkled inch or two of penis in Bette's hand. "Hmm. I believe in me. In you. In Art."
"Really? That's it?"
"Yep." Mark sat up on his elbows. "I don't care if it's the smallest thing you've ever seen-"
"It isn't the smallest thing I've ever seen-"
Mark's eyes opened wide. "Really?"
"Really-"
"What about Jacob-"
"Oh-"
"I'm sorry. Touchy subject-"
"No, no, it isn't. Not about that. But to be honest, he was really big-"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah-"
"How big?"
"I don't know, 8 or 9-"
"Wow. Lucky bastard." He flipped his legs over the side of his bed, his cock from Bette's hand. Christ, violence just wasn't any fun without sex and vice versa. "Speaking of Art," he said, "I've got something for you." He walked to his desk, deftly wiping the pre-cum oozing from his cock hole with a quick flick of his finger, which he jabbed in and out of his mouth so rapidly Bette never saw it. "It's just a sort of late birthday present-"
"Awww-"
He returned to the bed holding out a book to Bette. She grabbed it and analyzed its cover without blinking. She frowned. "The Sluts?" she said.
"Yeah, it's a favorite of mine. I thought you might like to try something different. Or maybe have something for your contemporary lit class-"
She turned the book over and her eyes jigsawed back and forth over the blurbs and book summary. She took in a deep breath. "I don't know, Mark, this book sounds pretty intense. A little too...racy? for a class-"
Mark flopped next to her on the bed. "What? For adults? Are you insane? This book is excellent for exploring the themes of identity in the internet age and the whole concept of perception versus reality-"
She leaned over him and slipped the book into her bag. "I don't know. I'll give it a chance. We'll see." She put an arm over him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for my gift-"
The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice" blared from her bag. She leaned back over him and grabbed her cell phone, looking at the display with a wrinkled brow. "Hello?" she answered. After a minute, during which her eyes widened so much that it seemed they may fall off the sides of her head, she finally spoke: "Jesus Christ! Yes, yes, I'll be right over!" She jumped over Mark's semi, her tits bouncing, and grabbed her clothes off the floor. She jammed her bra and panties into her bag, then took all of 5 seconds to throw on her blouse, jeans, and flip flops. As she slid her feet into the latter, she looked up at Mark, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"What?!"
Between chokes, she said: "My nephew. He's been missing since last night. Nobody's seen him. Not my sister. Or his friends. Or his friends' parents. I've gotta go over to Jenny's right now. She's about to die."
Mark stood up naked and faced her. "Oh, my God, Bette. Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, no, you stay here. I'll call you when I get there." Quickly, she hugged him and threw another peck on his cheek. She grabbed her bag and glided out the door like a ghost.
When Mark heard the front door shut, he bent over and pulled up the bed skirt, exposing his duffel bag. "You aren't missing, are you?"
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Nephew
The little boy who was helping him find his dog lay chloroformed on the thick plastic that covered the New York Giants bed-sheet and half of the tiny bedroom, his knees tied tightly to his elbows with thick rope, his lips sealed together with the duct-tape that circled his head in several clean loops. Mark checked the lock on his door again, threw the half-empty enema bottle in the trash can, then dropped his boxers to his feet. Side-stepping one of the several stacks of books on the floor - textbooks, novels, chapbooks of poetry, comic books, graphic novels, porno mags - he slid onto the bed on his knees, his hard, little dick hovering above the boy's tiny, wrinkled sack of balls.
He put a jagged fingernail to the boy's anus and scratched up and down. He watched the boy's face for a reaction but received none. It was amazing how much he looked like her even though he was just a nephew - same hair color, wide eyes, turned up nose, and mousey lips. Leaning forward, he kissed the boy on the lips as he dug harder at his asshole. Then bit a hole through the boy's left cheek. At which the child's eyes stammered open and a vague scream tried to escape through the several layers of duct tape, as if the kid was yelling to his mother from the depths of a black hole.
Mark grinned and spit the flesh onto the boy's smooth chest, right between his nipples, which seemed much too close to each other, and licked the blood that tasted like everyone else's blood from his lips. He thought about removing the duct tape, but no, Sarah would definitely be at the door after the next howl. So he squeezed the boy's nostrils together until his body stopped squirming, his eyes began to shine with stillness, his unsuccessful yelps abated - at which he let go and watched, grinning and bug-eyed, as the boy regained consciousness and began to cry once again, the tears from his left eye running over his temple and diluting the blood that pooled under his ear.
He dipped his finger into the hole in the boy's cheek and lubed his diminutive dick, which may have been bigger and harder than it had ever been, with it and the pre-cum that had smeared the boy's genitals. Scooting closer, he touched the glans to the boy's asshole for a second, then fell forward with a pump of his hips until he was all the way inside. Five pumps and he delivered a load of semen into the boy's rectum, his eyes fluttering, his ass tensed as the boy's head swiveled from side to side.
Without pulling out, he grabbed the scalpel he'd stolen from the medical supply store from his nightstand and sat up, thinking briefly of Irwin Cook and the man's pathetic screams. His dick hardened again - Jesus Christ, was it even harder than a minute ago? - as he put the scalpel to the boy's sternum and drew an invisible line to the base of the boy's floppy inch of cock - a line - no, a piece of art! - that took a minute to open with all the force of the boy's pulsating innards and spewing blood.
He watched the boy's eyes and nostrils, the former blinking rapidly, the latter swelled so large that he could have fucked them and not felt a thing. Then began to pump the tightest asshole he'd ever had around his dick again, slithering his fingers into the crevice of the boy's abdomen until he thought he could feel his spine. He dug down and through the slimy coils of intestines, towards the movement of his pistoning cock, until at last his slender fingers were around it and he could feel it throbbing through the boy's colon.
He squeezed hard and pumped harder, sure that his cock would explode if he didn't come soon. He watched what had been 5 or 6 years of life expire in the boy's light-brown eyes, at which he finally came - he swore he could feel the cum hit the palm of his hand - and removed his cock and his hand at the same time. His cock looked as it always did and his hand looked as it had so many times in the past. He wiped the latter clean on the boy's legs, then cut the rope around the boy's knees and elbows with the scalpel, which he lay in the boy's open abdomen, unsurprised when the legs and arms didn't fall onto bed but just remained crooked in the air.
Mark jerked off once more to the images he'd just witnessed - nay, created - ate the cum in his hand, then sat on the edge of the bed. He laughed as his breathing resumed normalcy. And thought of Bette and all the things he wanted to do to her. And of Dill and the thing he wanted to do to her. And of Nick and the things he wanted him to do with him.
After a final kiss, he carefully wrapped the boy's beautiful corpse in the plastic, securing it with the last of the duct tape. Then shoved it into the duffel bag he'd bought at the Army-Navy surplus store a month earlier. He pushed it under his bed and looked around his room. He took quick piss in the bathroom across the hall, pulled his boxers back on, grabbed a comic book from one of his stacks, jumped into bed, and began thumbing through the latest adventures of that pussy Superman.
He put a jagged fingernail to the boy's anus and scratched up and down. He watched the boy's face for a reaction but received none. It was amazing how much he looked like her even though he was just a nephew - same hair color, wide eyes, turned up nose, and mousey lips. Leaning forward, he kissed the boy on the lips as he dug harder at his asshole. Then bit a hole through the boy's left cheek. At which the child's eyes stammered open and a vague scream tried to escape through the several layers of duct tape, as if the kid was yelling to his mother from the depths of a black hole.
Mark grinned and spit the flesh onto the boy's smooth chest, right between his nipples, which seemed much too close to each other, and licked the blood that tasted like everyone else's blood from his lips. He thought about removing the duct tape, but no, Sarah would definitely be at the door after the next howl. So he squeezed the boy's nostrils together until his body stopped squirming, his eyes began to shine with stillness, his unsuccessful yelps abated - at which he let go and watched, grinning and bug-eyed, as the boy regained consciousness and began to cry once again, the tears from his left eye running over his temple and diluting the blood that pooled under his ear.
He dipped his finger into the hole in the boy's cheek and lubed his diminutive dick, which may have been bigger and harder than it had ever been, with it and the pre-cum that had smeared the boy's genitals. Scooting closer, he touched the glans to the boy's asshole for a second, then fell forward with a pump of his hips until he was all the way inside. Five pumps and he delivered a load of semen into the boy's rectum, his eyes fluttering, his ass tensed as the boy's head swiveled from side to side.
Without pulling out, he grabbed the scalpel he'd stolen from the medical supply store from his nightstand and sat up, thinking briefly of Irwin Cook and the man's pathetic screams. His dick hardened again - Jesus Christ, was it even harder than a minute ago? - as he put the scalpel to the boy's sternum and drew an invisible line to the base of the boy's floppy inch of cock - a line - no, a piece of art! - that took a minute to open with all the force of the boy's pulsating innards and spewing blood.
He watched the boy's eyes and nostrils, the former blinking rapidly, the latter swelled so large that he could have fucked them and not felt a thing. Then began to pump the tightest asshole he'd ever had around his dick again, slithering his fingers into the crevice of the boy's abdomen until he thought he could feel his spine. He dug down and through the slimy coils of intestines, towards the movement of his pistoning cock, until at last his slender fingers were around it and he could feel it throbbing through the boy's colon.
He squeezed hard and pumped harder, sure that his cock would explode if he didn't come soon. He watched what had been 5 or 6 years of life expire in the boy's light-brown eyes, at which he finally came - he swore he could feel the cum hit the palm of his hand - and removed his cock and his hand at the same time. His cock looked as it always did and his hand looked as it had so many times in the past. He wiped the latter clean on the boy's legs, then cut the rope around the boy's knees and elbows with the scalpel, which he lay in the boy's open abdomen, unsurprised when the legs and arms didn't fall onto bed but just remained crooked in the air.
Mark jerked off once more to the images he'd just witnessed - nay, created - ate the cum in his hand, then sat on the edge of the bed. He laughed as his breathing resumed normalcy. And thought of Bette and all the things he wanted to do to her. And of Dill and the thing he wanted to do to her. And of Nick and the things he wanted him to do with him.
After a final kiss, he carefully wrapped the boy's beautiful corpse in the plastic, securing it with the last of the duct tape. Then shoved it into the duffel bag he'd bought at the Army-Navy surplus store a month earlier. He pushed it under his bed and looked around his room. He took quick piss in the bathroom across the hall, pulled his boxers back on, grabbed a comic book from one of his stacks, jumped into bed, and began thumbing through the latest adventures of that pussy Superman.
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