Alex S. Johnson 

Kandy Fontaine, Slutty Detective vs. Doctor Flesh

Detective Kandy Fontaine bit her cherry-burst red lip until the good krovy oozed. She felt something throb in her fire engine red 70s porno bush crotch that reminded her of the first time she’d been properly dominated; or was it the first time she’d masturbated to David Bowie doing the Jean Genie. At any rate there was something downright Baudelaire about the disgusting, grotesque, splayed open corpse that she and Detective Joe Orouboros were both dissecting with their eyes, the young blonde homicide victim whose blue eyes were fast fading out, while the corpse’s still-erect cock became permanently ensconced in her head-canon of necrophiliac fantasies. 

Detective Joe was meanwhile contemplating the words of Soren Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling.

“Is it true, do you think…” he began, “that a, there is a universal such that the universal is ethical, is in fact the ethical, and as humans we are naturally bound to follow the ethical, to disclose ourselves to ourselves as the ethical qua qua qua…”

Kandy backhanded him across the choppers. “You’re harshing muh vibe, dickless. Now are you going to fuck me sideways into this here corpse while I get muh OG boombox here playing Bauhaus, solo Tara Vanflower, a bit of the old David J. Haskins solo, Jarboe, a bit of…”

“So that’s a masturbatory auto-fictional reference to Alex S. Johnson, isn’t it? His anthologies with all those hot Goth chicks in them. He’s been obsessed with hot Goths since he discovered Poppy Z. Brite in the early 90s. Kind of sad that he’s still popping one off to those back issues of Carpe Noctem…”

“Who said that?”

The two detectives found themselves mildly spooked by the sudden non-fleshly insertion of a voice from outside…delirious acid flashbacks to a vanilla ice cream sundae with lots of hot fudge…Johnson suddenly recalled that it was in fact Kandy who inserted her hot Johnson into the narrative…strapon autofiction overdrive…she pounds Detective Oroboros in the ass with a narrative dildo. He grunts from behind the ball-gag as she pushes his enormous erection into the corpse’s gushing asshole…

The scene shifts to the secret underground lab of Viola Flesh, who’s turned FBI informant after the events detailed in the full-length novel version of Doctor Flesh. Pandora’s boxes slopping over with fuckery erupt in her dark eyes. Her gender confirming surgery performed by herself with a little help from the revolutionary skin care product she’s designed that also flashmorphs bodies into forms suggested by their voluptuous masturbation fantasies. Is she Jean Genet writing herself beneath the stiff, fetid prison sheets into Divine, and thus Candy Darling? Only time will tell. She drops into Facebook video message mode with Kandy Fontaine who has now assumed the position, ass in the air, the one now wearing the firmly-secured ball gag which cuts cruelly between her Fuck Me Red lipsticked lips….which re-opens the lip wound a tad and there’s a momentary question of her choking on the bloody drool and phlegm as Orobourus reams her out, his full length plunging lubeless into her asshole and slamming her, still endowed with the strap-on, into the corpse…the corpse begins to twitch and perhaps switch-bitch feedback loops back into the couple making the beast with two backs…as Detective Orobouros still contemplates the works of the melancholy father of Existentialism, aroused beyond the measurable by seismograph sweet ache of his cock as he feels his load coming on…he’s seeping…deliberately stops, cools off, makes her beg for it behind the gag…Agent Johnson wonders if he’s gone too far this time…writing his reports in code…prey for rock and roll…undead, undead, undead…he rallies, feeling the pinch as nobody knows from one day to the next when, where and how they’ll all be shuttled into concentration camps…but therein lay material for further fetishistic voyages of the damned…slowly and with infinite skill he forces himself to a dead stop. She’s literally weeping tears of frustration now. “Hrrr crd yr drrrrr ths trrrr mmmmmmmm…” He’s so turned on that he needs to not be turned on by any means necessary, and obviously they’ve gone quite beyond the pale.

What did Kierkegaard mean by revisiting the story of Abraham and Isaac in dialectical terms? But he knew that when he’d picked up Fear and Trembling with intent this time, the intent to meet Kierkegaard on his own terms, there was no turning back…he’d have to do what he had to do, and if that meant going beyond transgression to the point that transgression itself became the eponymous worm orobouros around which the still world turned…twisting the night away…Doctor Flesh’s digits worked her surgically fabricated clit faster and faster and faster…she was oozing like a fountain…like a lake…panting furiously…”Bitch, are you just Jean Geneting my ass into your spank bank?” moaned Detective Fontaine softly in her ear…Dr. Flesh turned around and saw that Slutty Detective Kandy Fontaine had her surrounded with doppelgangers in cherry red tight-fitting vinyl…she was wearing kittie ears, had a whip and a faint tinge of formaldehyde…she sounded like Marlene Dietrich as she bit a piece of Viola’s ear off and swallowed…”I promise to be cruel, I know you want that more than anything…fuck Kierkegaard. Fuck Kant. Fuck Nietzsche. Fuck Sartre. Fuck ethics. Fuck the universe into a sweet ball of fuckery and let’s drive it past those cemetary gates…yes gratuitous Pantera reference…dreams of hot headlights, up-ended rumps on stained state-manufactured mattresses made by the living dead…the corpse has revived behind the multiple penetrations, turns out someone huffed datura powder into its nostrils…Kenneth Anger’s doppelganger, you’re wanted on the white emergency phone…” 

Kandy’s flashbulb orgasm detonates her into the stratosphere on defiant great chaingangs of Being and Nothingness…her entire body spasms over and over, he toes curl, she pulls at the tittay clamps…the boardroom erupts with cheers as Dr. Flesh concludes the PowerPoint presentation…the last slide flickers away down fractal corridors…a small bear on a unicycle wearing Daddy leather pursues her into the outer darkness…

THE END…OF THE BEGINNING