Tuesday, October 31, 2006

John Frankenstein Revisited

"All I suh-suh-suh, all I see are fluh-flaws. All I am is a cuh-collection of mistakes."
"All you are is a part of me, John. All you are is everything to me."

The night exploded generously, giving itself to the lonely and the frightened. Its darkness makes home with strangers, feet rested on coffee table, kicked aside cups. Those alone and meek, those familiar with the sound of keys, those with square eyes and erect cocks, all of those with empty chests and beat-up hearts know this hour and thrive on it. They wish it luck with enthusiasm and thrill at its company, pirouette with grace with a kettle on rolling boil. Their need for this time replaces every need for warm touch, for terrifying love and for steamy breath. Their hands feel able only in one another's grasp. Their feet, left on over-turned right, will never mingle with pedicured nails and scrubbed heels. Their eyes have only the screen and the naked jewels within.
A monster and a woman for $29.99. The difference between your cock and this price is that the price is unbeatable. Nurse Nightingale and the beast. She takes care of his needs and he takes care of hers .. with nine inches of solid meat.

An arm rested on the shoulder, a hand caressing the chest, a great effort still for the woman a few feet shorter. In front of the mirror, the difference is awful to him. He can just look away to rid it of his mind but the fact remains.
"I can feel the beating of your heart. Almost bruising my hand."
Around the buckled waist, under the freckled ribs, over the bulging crotch, a familiar hand.
"Can't you relax, for once, for me?"
A year in the day, that day, and it manifests the same. Gunshots pop outside, ratatatat, unreal. Missiles scream above. He can hear his children scream, so far away. A sinner, a victim, loved and aggrieved, John is inside himself, living the reality of his own perception. Her touch slices him, a knife every day, an irrational misunderstanding, it destroys his soul and makes shit of his mind. He can only console himself with grasped sink and wicked headaches. He can only understand that her bare nipples are penance for his sins, for his abnormal body and backwards mind, that her wetness is the absolving tears of an angel, guiding him through to heaven and to fulfilment. Just a glance from his reflection is enough to take him to destruction and back and he can only count the times he has collapsed to his knees, asking for .. demanding resolution to his life, to this bedevilment.
"I can huh-hear them tonight, asking my help. They call my name, muh-my name."
Her hand sees his cheeks and his eyelid; her fingers comb his long hair. She knows his wounds intimately and her love is nothing if not tense heart muscles and utter willingness to comfort John.
"Nobody calls your name, love. No one but me. Undo your belt John. For me."
Her hands react as his, squeezing flesh, threading buckle, massaging love and wiping spit. She can recite his entire frame with her hands. Alone, she can enter herself as him, as he would, and her scream would be as honest and true as if his soul was there, to see her all the way.
She grows bigger behind him, her control deepening. He lessens himself, his jeans slipping to his ankles. She tries her best to be everything she can to everyone behind the mirror. A nurse, a lover, a woman and a whore. She concedes herself to his penis but remains in control. She remembers to kiss his lips with passion, to lock eyes, to remind him with a pinch that she would do this in the dark, behind a curtain. She would love him in a vacuum, without a camera concealed for his modesty. She would say no to the world for his smile. But she can just bite his back, she can only wrap his penis in her fist and she can finish it quickly. For him.

"I want to save you, Cynda Moore. To be love to you. To exist for, within, around you. I want to cocoon you from your past and present to you your future. Cynda. I am human. I can be normal for you. I can comb your hair and let you sleep in late. We won't need to fuck, but we will want to. Cynda Moore, I will release you from your pimp. I will kill him for you. Oh Cynda. I will suck your tits better than that freak and more. I will have you cum seven different ways. You'll be pulling your fucking hair out. Hmmm, Cynda, bitch. I have more to give than $29.99. Eurgh, that bathroom sucks. Oh. I have a nicer bathroom than that monster.. wider dick. Yeah.. Big fucking dick... Huh-efff-huh.. split you in two Cynda. Oh fuck. That monster should be shot for you. AH! Right.. oh.. right there.. Jesus, um.. fuck this .. this shit. How can a woman screw such an abnormality? God-damn. Such an ogre."


  1. $29.99.

    That's quite cheap.

    Or is it?

    It would seem not. More than currency was lost here when themoney changed hands.

  2. You know, as our only reader, I need to commend you for being... our... only reader.
    I mean, how many people would risk the task. I wouldn't. Fuck no. And I write this shit.
    If you want something particular written or some something done. Just ask.
    I'll do what I can but can't gaurantee results.

  3. Your writings are interesting and original. Sometimes, I don't understabnd them at all, yet I am still intrigued. That's a rarity in these parts.

    Write me an equation for predicting the future, please.

    I expect it by monday.

  4. Fucker.
    An equation. Shit.
    You'll have your equation. By Monday. And a bag of my teeth.

  5. What the fuck, Meehan! This is scary shit...I actually know who you are writing about...Fuck.