I bumped into an old mate today, someone I haven’t seen in years. He told me that Old Gay John had died. Old Gay John was one of the guys that used to hang around on the corner, way back when I first moved here. He wasn’t gay, we just called him that because he hated it so much. He wasn’t old either or called John.
when i taste your flesh,
i want it all sticky.
when i kiss your breasts,
i want them all sweaty.
when you fuck my face,
i want you to stink.
when i lick your arse,
i want you to reek.
when i kiss your tits,
i want to taste your cunt,
and when i lick your lips,
i want to taste my cum.
i had to go to the doctor’s today – i hate it, the depression of the waiting room, the risk of catching a cold, all the posters reminding me of all the horrible diseases and afflictions, i could, and probably will end up getting. most of all, i hate the wait. i know they’re busy and the service is stretched, but to be surrounded by miserable looking fuckers, coughing and sneezing over me is just a shitty way to spend the best part of a morning – thank fuck i’ve got minecraft on my phone, at least.
eventually, i get to see my doctor. she is a hot young asian woman, and, thanks to the recent mild weather, is displaying a cleavage that i could happily spend six months in. this makes discussing personal matters rather awkward, and after several minutes watching her staring, uncomfortably, at her computer display, she turns to me and breaks the news. “i’m very sorry mr mew, but you are going to have to stop masturbating.” i’m flabbergasted.
“what?” i exclaim, “why?” my world collapsing around me, “forever?”
“no, not forever, mr mew,” she sighs, almost scowling, “just while i finish examining you.”
You won’t believe what happened to me on the way to work
I bent down to tie my laces, and a crazy woman attacks me!
Yeah! She starts slapping my ass, and when i turn to confront her, she pushes me onto my knees and shoves my face between her legs! Then, when I turn to pick up my case, she tries to bum me!
Oh my god! What did you do?
I had a hard-on for the rest of the day.
they’re a bunch of fucking natives, and they spout all this hippie shit about self-discovery and journeys into my soul and what-not. i nod politely and agree, but just so as to be polite. i don’t want to offend them, but its all a load of crap as far as i’m concerned. i’m here for the trip of my life. i’ve heard about these mushrooms, ever since i started taking drugs. the most powerful hallucinogenic on the planet. the trip of a lifetime. they are legendary and until now, i wasn’t even sure they existed at all.
i look at the pile of goo the old woman spits onto the plate. i understand why she has to chew the mushrooms first. she has been doing this for years, and there are enzymes in her saliva that will break down the mushrooms and prevent me from vomiting too much. novices have died, choking on their own puke, from not understanding this. i have travelled thousands of miles for this trip. i have done acid and psilocybin and peyote until i could go to work tripping on all three. i need more. i need the ultimate trip and, if what i have heard is right, this is it.
i hold my disgust at bay and swallow the muck on the plate. the actual flavour revolts me, and its not her spit, its just the ‘shrooms, they taste like the bitter flavour of hell. they all smile and mutter some dumb native prayer. within minutes the nausea hits me like a tsunami hits a beach hut. they have to hold me up over a large bowl as what looks and feels like everything i ever ate explodes through my mouth and nose. my head erupts and my body shakes and i vomit with such force that i am barely able to hear their stupid prayers. suddenly it stops, as violently as it had started, and almost immediately the hallucinations begin. they are like acid hallucinations at first, shapes forming from random patterns. i see dragons and belly dancers form and disappear from the smoke bellowing from the old man’s pipe. i see a forests grow and die in the plaids of the old woman’s hair, and then the hallucinations take over my vision completely.
i am no longer in their disgusting mud hut but in a large ballroom in a great mansion. expensive and beautiful things glisten all around me. i can still hear the old man’s voice, and he is asking me, with some urgency where i am. i tell him i am in a house. “what kind of house?” he asks.
“a huge house.” i hear my disembodied voice tell him, “a fucking castle.”
“you are both lucky and unlucky.” he tells me, “this is your soul. some people’s souls are tiny little apartments and their subconscious, nothing more than a damp basement, but castles have dungeons, not cellars. you need to go down there.”
‘whatever.’ i think, i’m here to get off my tits, and across the room from me are ten of the sexiest women i have ever seen. they are barely dressed and are dancing and beckoning me to join them. my cock throbs with anticipation. i knew this was gonna be good and i hope that i don’t wake to find that i have wanked off in front of the silly old natives. fuck my subconscience!
“you won’t be able to hear me for much longer,” the old man’s fading voice rattles in my head, “you need to go downstairs. you need to enter the dungeon of your mind. you need to face your demons. you won’t get another chance.” there is something in the urgency of his voice that makes me hesitate.
‘maybe a quick peek’ i think. what harm can it do? these girls will still be here when i get back.
the door is locked with a large padlock. it crumbles at my touch and i imagine that i think i hear him say
“that is all i can do for you.” the door swings open and i am hit with the darkness and the stench. it smells of fear and hate and anger and ugliness. i step into the cold dark horror. almost immediately, terror grabs me by the throat and threatens to choke me. i turn back, but the door is no more. panic smacks me in the face like a cricket bat, and i realise that i have no choice but to descend.
the stairs are rickety and feel like they want to throw me into the unknown abyss below me. i find a candle and light it but its almost like the stink of fear prevents it illuminating anything other than the next few steps. its like fear itself has blinded me. as i descend and explore, doors creak and some slam, inexplicably behind me. i am too consumed with fear to even look back in case those doors too have disappeared. i curse the old man. i scream “you cunt!” at the top of my voice. the echoes ring in my ears for minutes, until I believe the words are for me, and far below me i hear the snarl of a hungry demon that i fear i have woken.
i work my way down the stairs, at times treading on and crushing things that feel horribly human. i dare not look down to see. then i tread on something that squeals in pain and i start. i fall backwards and plummet, god knows how far, and land with a soul-shaking thump on what feels like bones. the candle is gone. pitch blackness, and terror surrounds me and closes in on me like a gang of satan’s hungry children. the howls of desperate rage and pain from the demon become my only direction, and as i crawl away in an attempt to cower, i feel my knees cut open. there are shards of glass all over the floor. i pick a particularly long and sharp one and attempt to regain my courage.
i edge my way, blind, around the wall until i find its door. i piss myself literally as i swing it open.
it is huge and has its back to me but i can see it is horrific. it spins and snarls, and if there was anything left in my bladder it would have fled my body in an attempt to flee. i see the demon is chained but as it turns and faces me, the rage in its eyes has such fury that it breaks its bonds without a single thought.
it knows me, and i know it. trembling, i hold my pathetic shard of glass in my hand. knowing full well that i can never kill such a monster. our eyes meet and we see each other. tears stream from the demons eyes and its chest heaves with decades of non-stop sobbing. i see that despite how horrific this beast has become, that it is me. a forgotten me, a neglected me. an innocent, child me that has been hidden from even my view. giant, grotesque and locked away. growing more ugly by the day.
i drop the weapon, not from fear but from pity. this monster doesn’t need slaying, it needs to be hugged, and nurtured and freed from his prison of lies and hurt.
i wake to find myself still in the hut. the wise old folk absorbed by breaking bad. they hear my sobbing, and without turning, they smile.
you ride me. rising and falling with growing passion and vigour, feeling me drive deeper and harder into you, feeling your lust growing with every thrust
Stop it Kyle! I’ve got ppl here!
your pussy glows with a wet, hungry heat
I fucking mean it. Stop! I can’t touch myself right now!!!
but you will … your thighs tremble and your whole body tingles with delight as you reach down and tighten my collar by a single notch
you see the fear in my eyes and drink it in like strong liquor – your power magnifying your pleasure a hundred-fold – you stare deep into my soul and lap up the helplessness you find there, and you tighten the collar by another notch
I kinda hate you right now!
as my panic rises, you ram yourself harder and and faster onto me, my cock bulging like my eyes, your pussy so wet and hot, it burns. you know you shouldn’t, but you tighten my collar further still. your control over me, so thrilling that you cannot help but scream with such primitive and animal delight that it sets off several car alarms
I told you! I CAN’T touch myself right now!!!
but i know you are
the terror in my eyes is so intoxicating, it sends your mind to a whole new place. and as your orgasm crashes into you like a 100 mile an hour juggernaut into a brick wall, you know you will not let go until you are spent, no matter what.
I fucking hate you! Asshole!!!
did you come?
You know i fucking did!
so who really has the power?
I love you.
So, the rooms we live in are provided by the charity we work for, the rent is very reasonable. they do keep nagging us though. about smoking pot in them. “please smoke your joints outside?” they keep asking, “that’s our property and we are legally liable”. of course, they have a good point, and of course, we ignore them and keep puffing away like octogenarian grannies on a the 25th mile of a marathon. thing is, the job is stressful, all that bum-wiping, and lifting, and bed-sores, and feeding, and death, and boredom and stair climbing, and caring. you need an outlet and weed was ours. well, that and e, and acid, and ska, and football hooliganism, and speed and uk surf: a genre of music that has sadly not survived.
eventually the bosses do what they got to and call the fuzz. i’m watching the box in the communal area and supping on a pint of shepherd neame, when i see four burly looking blokes and a german sheppard stop outside my room. i know instantly what has happened, and rather than panic, i get up and walk calmly into my fate of being a homeless and jobless criminal. i even manage a smile.
i lead them into my room and just point to the weed on the table next to the bong. they say “all very well and good sir,” all of them staring at my sorry little bag of grass, “but we will need you to strip.” so, i go through the humiliation of a strip-search (wishing that there had been at least one wpc there, to see my dong), and then they let the dog have a good sniff around. she is well trained and loves me, or at least how i smell. there is no other puff in my room and the only point that grabs her attention is my laundry basket. there are socks in there that, if you threw them at the wall, would stick to it, and the cops ask if i have anything in there.
“not that i know of.” i lie, knowing that the cop will have to rummage, very thoroughly through them all.
As they take me to the cop shop i think of doug.
doug and i have rooms next to each other, we smoke a lot of weed together. we score from the same geezer, every thursday, on payday. just like we did today. only difference between us is that i cycle and he walks or grabs a bus. i always get home quicker. he was just arriving, as i was leaving, which means… he’s like half an hour away. he ain’t back yet. there may well be a chance for him to avoid getting busted, if only i can get hold of him before he gets home.
the cops aren’t rough with me or anything, after all, they have what they want, and we almost have a laugh together. all the time i’m thinking of doug. “am i allowed a phone call?” i ask.
“sure.” they smile, “who do you want to call?” i tell them it’s my mate doug. “come with us.” they beckon, and i follow, assuming they are taking me to a telephone. all i wanna say to him is
‘get out of the fucking house man! the pigs are coming!’ they lead me into a room where i see doug, sat, being interviewed by two other cops.
“here is is”, says one cop, “what do you want to say to him?”
“get out of the fucking house man!” i say, “the pigs are coming!”
i long for your rewards,
i fear your punishment.
your control is total
and obedience guaranteed.
but what will you ask?
how much of me
will you demand?
will you push me to my limits?
will you test your own?
i do not know.
how dark is your imagination?
or how far you will go?
i just know,
i want you to take me there.