Intro: At the start of the year I started writing something that I termed 'body-horror erotica', that stuff is yet to be shown to anyone as I am not hugely confident about it and frankly It isn't easy reading for the average person and its extremely sexually violent (as indeed are a lot of the things I've written), although I don't care about things getting taken the wrong way - I don't have the energy to defend myself should I feel the need, plus I'm not very confident with ANY of my writing.
What came from these writings were more personal things that turned into a real outlet for me, the writing was abandoned when I didn't know what to do with it and became overly concerned with the nonsense of worrying about people thinking worse of me... something I've NEVER worried about before. Recently I decided to buy a nice moleskine notebook and re-write the best of the personal stuff and see what I can do with it, what I've posted below is a tiny part of a re-written, re-worked project, mistakes and all. for the time being at least, the moleskine project is under the blanket name 'Catherine'
let me know what you think.
Small intense bursts of affection, almost as shocking as the violence between us keeps the drama alive, like a snake I feed, I despise it - as I adore my medicine, she feeds on the flux, it keeps her blood flowing. I take notes on when its her time of the month, when volatility becomes beyond her control, I can't walk away even then, I'd like to but something so intense could burn out before my eyes and I need her. She kisses the bruise on my throat, temporarily ashamed and shocked at what she'd done, its forgotten to her as soon as she turns her head. I could and have been violent with her, she tells me its 'comforting' when I am, righteousness lets me believe I'm nothing like the men that made her this way even with my body weight pushing her head into the mattress, pounding between her buttocks - no. The pills play enough in my sex life that if I wasn't on them maybe I'd admit that I was so awful and 'force' my way with her? shallow breathing or not - maybe they keep me in check.
I was grateful for the effect vodka had on her, Methamphetamines too (although neither were my drug of choice nor ever have been). She could have lorded her intelligence over me, never once did she - an understanding of the human condition that was so multi faceted, so deep and ingrained in her that she could reduce people to tears with what might seem as casual assumption about them, my friends didn't like her - I knew why, fuck them. The Vodka relaxed her first, what would seem like an unlikely exclamation from her for anyone that saw her as studious and intense was as frequent as her vodka binges, "I'm Horny" she said, sternly - black eyes looking dead into mine over the dark lipstick stained glass. With my head between her thighs, time didn't matter, Always my unashamed 'happy place', I lapped and fingered the soft baby pink skin without tiring. I squeezed her hand when she came, she dug her claws into my head, bandy but shapely legs rubbing my back, clawed toes twitching in the air, disappointed when she could take no more and I was made to stop, I loved to hear her come and with any skill, I love that I'm genuinely very good at it.
She would sleep until early afternoon but the chemicals in me pushed my adrenaline to wake me up as early as 5 am, it felt good to sit in bed with her, chewing Oxycontin, listening to music on headphones and reading, always reading, I could even sneak a conventional 'hug' out of her if I was feeling brave, by late morning I was so numb that I would go back to sleep to awake when she did. She was as delirious as ever when she awoke, she'd bite me, she'd draw blood and memories of whatever had happened the night before were held in contempt, disgusted by as little as a kiss when the night before we had such aggressive sex that my prick was sore to the touch and red raw. I ached to tell her I loved her, something conventional but it was a loose cannon move, no matter my motivations.. she wanted to hurt me and she was going to, I just wanted her to do her worst and get it over with, If only it were that simple - suffering was as much a part of this as emotional disconnection, I chewed my pills and passed her bra to her, as much as I wanted to look at her perky little bust, I wanted to win a brownie point or two.
We hadn't argued, I don't argue, in fact I rarely raise my voice but we laid back to back in bed and regardless of a copious amount of vodka being drunk, the mood on her part was bad. Love was not going to be made tonight, not that there ever seemed to be that much 'love' in our sex anyway, the physical side of things was so extreme at times that it felt animalistic but at the same time so strangely cerebral, it was no sex that I was familiar with. I dearly loved her, I ached for the day I could find a romantic gesture that I wouldn't be scolded for or emotionally destroyed for trying, she was perfect. I had taken over 800mg of Oxycontin since my fruit breakfast and for the time being at least there wasn't a lot of life happening in the buzzing mass of jelly where my sex organs are. She had upset me by making a remark about my mother (who was sick at the time) and on top of that, a very well to do friend of hers had put me in the mind that she was too good for me, too high brow, certainly too intelligent and although I considered myself cultured... that she was MORE so. This of course was in my head, an inferiority complex if ever there was one but to look at her, she was so far out of my league it was insane, I couldn't be with this girl that can't be fixed. I reached my right arm back to her thigh and the other thigh gently pressed down on top of it, I traced my way to her knickers and without the scolding I expected I ran my middle finger in figure eight's on the expensive fabric, soon she was warm, sticky and breathing out slowly, hard. She slid off her knickers and still back to back I slid the tip of my mid finger shallowly between the slippery lips. She arched her back so as to be able push onto my fingers as she wanted, she was on autopilot and it felt perfect, the fact that at this moment I am merely a hand to her just aids the disconnection she craved surely. Her breathing became almost arhythmic as she ground herself onto me and it struck me that despite all of the aforementioned gripes, high society, high brow... If I had a problem with that then surely it would be a coup for me to have this perfect girl in a bed that has not been changed or cleaned in living memory, riding my fingers as if her very being depends on it. She adds her fingers during the final moments and I switch from a shallow fingering and slide two fingers into her with my thumb to massage, the final frantic moments. she yelps and the gentle sideways bouncing turns to judders as she draws her knees up to her chest. She sobs and doesn't stop (although it gets quieter), It hurts me not to comfort her but that's not how she works, I don't even glance at her to assure her with a smile, I lick my fingers and before long I'm dreaming of pylons and electrical wires buzzing overhead.
playlist for the day:
Aphex Twin - 26 Mixes for Cash
Iannis Xennakis - Musica Viva 006
Slayer - South of Heaven
John Coltrane - The Olatunji Concert
Chain of Strength - the one thing that still holds true
Funkadelic - cosmic slop
Hail Mary - all aboard the sinking ship
SWANS - live in nuremberg
Dr John - gris-gris
Kayo Dot - choirs of the eye
Ink & Dagger, The Icarus Line, Harvest, Haarp, Foetus, Gay For Johnny Depp....
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