David Owain Hughes

The Tongue Bandit

Pussy hunting. No, not hunting, snaring. Yes, snaring. Pussy snaring. That’s what I’m good at. Was, good at, he thought, lying in bed, his coffee machine beginning to percolate. But I couldn’t tell my career advisor that, now could I?! Or that I’m retired. Mind you, I’d step out of pussy snaring retirement for her… Nah, I don’t need to, no matter how sexy she is. What was her name again? Oh yeah, Miss Frost. Lauren? Yeah, Lauren Frost. 

He rolled over in bed, onto his back, his morning wood pulsating, pushing at the duvet. “Now look at what you’ve done, Lauren,” he said, smiling, pulling the covers back, revealing his lean, athletic body. 

“And what would you like me to do with that, Mr Asham?” he imagined her saying. “Or may I call you Daniel?”

“Daniel, please,” he said, wrapping his hand around his fat prick, giving it a few gentle strokes, his bell-end moist, tacky. “Fuck. Feels good.”

Yeah, you can’t beat the old-fashioned way, he thought, a chuckle escaping him, his mind filling with Lauren, sitting behind her desk at the job centre, her legs, clad in tights, on display to the thigh, her skirt rucked up; a hint of pink knickers showing. 

Fucking tease. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing, he continued to muse, rubbing his dick. She’s probably seen the posts about me all over social media, too. Yeah, so maybe I should have spoken to her about my sexploits, which got me fired from teaching. 

“And why was I canned? Because of that old, dried-up spinster twat in HR,” Daniel said between gritted teeth, removing his hand from off his knob and getting out of bed. “The hag was sore because I crushed her advances.”

“It’s such a shame you won’t use that magic tongue on my pussy, Daniel,” Vera said, cornering him outside the men’s room at work. “I can make things very uncomfortable for you around here.” 

“I’m a changed man.”

Pft, men like you never change. Come on, it can be our little secret,” she winked. 

A shiver racked his body, his cock wavered, as he envisioned the hairy, witch-like wart at the end of her nose. Almost enough to put me off my morning wank, let alone my coffee, he thought. Maybe it wasn’t so much as the rejection, but how I laughed in her face? Fuck sake, the woman stank worse than wet dog. And would it hurt her to wear a bra? Christ.

Daniel tried to push the thoughts of her aside, but couldn’t, her voice coming again. 

“Go ahead, laugh,” she said, her face taking on a stern, cloudy look. “But I know all about the posts online, regarding you. How you give women multiple orgasms with your tongue, making them pass out, sending them into spasms… Please, Daniel. Just once,” she tried again, putting a hand to his shoulder. 

“No!” he said, removing her chubby paw. 

“No need to attack me,” she said, storming off. 

Before he could retaliate, she’d gone, stomping off down the corridor, her huge, pendulous arse swinging wild like cow’s ears flapping in the wind. 

Didn’t take long, did it? he thought, before the hierarchy had their claws in me. The vultures circled, waiting to shred flesh with their finely manicured talons; their pristine grins dripping poison. Their acidic tongues ready to strike.

“We hate to do this to you Daniel,” the dean said, his generals at his heels, “because you’re a fantastic professor, but we can’t have such perversion and negativity around the university, so, we’re letting you go.”

Wankers, he thought, going to the percolator, his soft dick swaying, his hand balling into a fist, as he thought about Denton, his boss, turning his laptop around to show Daniel the Tongue Bandit posts Vera had brought to his attention. They showed photos of Daniel, along with huge rants from jilted lovers, labelling him the Tongue Bandit.  

At least the anonymous posters used handsome photos of me, he thought, sniggering, filling a mug with coffee.  

Daniel arched his back, raising his arms into the air, and yawned. His bones cracked and creaked as he rotated his head, working the sleep cramp and stiffness out of his neck. “Better,” he said, throwing the bedroom curtains open, allowing sunlight to pour in, drenching his nude form in a warm, basking embrace.

“Mmm,” he said, ruffling his hair, grabbing his mug of coffee, taking a mouthful before settling back down on his bed to think about Lauren. About her legs and tight blouse, and how the outline of her bra had revealed itself to him. His dick grew. 

The Tongue Bandit has retired, he thought, but I can never be a one woman man, so staying out of the fairer sexes way will be for the best. No more crushing hearts, fucking up already unstable ladies (even though the crazy ones are the best fuck), and leading them on. Time to concentrate on me.

When his cock was at its hardest, Daniel opened the drawer to his bedside cabinet and removed the Fleshlight 6000. It was the latest model on the market, unavailable to purchase in the UK. However, through dodgy black markets and online fences, he’d tracked one down. 

“If you’re looking to remove the ladies from your life, painstaking dates and/or internet porn, then this is the tool for you, sir,” the online sales rep pitched him, when purchasing the cock-pleaser. 

“Why’s it banned in the UK?” he asked. 

“Because it hasn’t been fully approved by the British health and safety board, but rest assured, it’ll be the best purchase of your life. Or, your money back!”

The salesperson hadn’t been wrong, either, Daniel thought, looking at the fleshlight, which had a realistic pussy at its base, complete with g-spot that could be licked, sucked and nibbled on. Hell, the thing even reacted to being fucked and stimulated, by releasing moans of pleasure through a tiny speaker and pussy juices from a slit.

Daniel turned the expensive device over in his hand, admiring its sleek black curves and array of multi-function buttons, from speed to massage settings. This thing could do it all, apart from make you coffee. 

“I think I’ve finally got a name for you, baby,” he smiled. “Lauren.” 

Daniel switched the device on, its soft hum making his prick twitch. Before slipping the hood of the device over his hard-on, easing into Laurean’s soft, pink fleshy bit, he put his mouth to the device’s g-spot and let his tongue work its witchcraft. His mind wondered, selecting certain head-swelling comments from the various posts about him online.

“He’ll make you fall in love with him through his sexpertise, before casting you aside for another,” one had read.

“Best fuck I’ve ever had. Typical love rat,” another said.

“I’ve never come so many times. Bastard,” a third had put.

A smile split Daniel’s face, as he licked and sucked at Lauren’s clit, making the fleshlight  moan and squirt, hitting a 10 plus on its pleasure meter. 

“The Tongue Bandit strikes again,” a fourth lady had posted 

“How apt, should that quote come to mind,” Daniel thought, smiling, as he eased the sex toy away from his mouth, pulling strings of pussy juice mixed with saliva from his lips. “Mm, you taste great this morning, Miss Frost,” he said, his cock bobbing. “I think he wants you…”

At that moment, his phone buzzed, but he ignored it. However, his mobile persisted, breaking his concentration. 

“Christ,” Daniel said, setting his toy to one side, picking his phone up and illuminating its screen. “A bloody email,” he uttered, about to replace his mobile, when he saw the mail had been sent by an L. Frost. “Is she psychic?” 

With a chuckle, he opened the message. 

What a time for her to send me a job alert, he thought. 

‘Hiya Daniel, I was wondering if I could see you this morning or later today, maybe a house call? I might have something of interest to you. If so, give me a call on the number below. It’s my private line. Lauren. X’ 

“Shit, she signed off with a kiss,” he said. “Must have been a mistake. A slip of the finger.”

Had it been anyone else, about anything, even an emergency at this moment in time, with his cock raging, he would have ignored it. But that kiss, even though he was convinced it was an error, got his fingers moving and dialling her number, as he slipped the fleshlight over his cock. 

I’ll probably nut at the sound of her voice, he thought. Shit. She wants a house visit! I didn’t think career advisors did that… 

She answered on the second ring. 

“Miss Frost?” he said. 

“Speaking.”

“Oh, hey, it’s Daniel. You asked me to call?” he said, trying to play it smooth, the tremble in his voice betraying him, as the vibrator lethargically massaged the tip of his prick. He bit his lip.

“I’m glad you’ve called,” she hesitated. “I trust you can be discreet?”

His guts dropped, his load almost shooting out of him. Jesus, the kiss may not have been a mistake after all. “Of course,” he said.

“I’ve seen the stories about you, the, erm—”

“The Tongue Bandit stuff?” he said, sniggering. 

“Yes,” she said, which was nothing more than a whisper, and Daniel could almost feel her blushes through the phone, her heat radiating, “which might be a barrier for you when it comes to interviews or references.”

“Why don’t you come over, as suggested, so we can discuss it face-to-face,” he said, smiling, easing the vibrator up and down his shaft. “What do you say?”

“I can come right now?” she said. “I just need to gather a few things first.”

Oh, you’ll be coming alright, he thought. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Great,” she said. “Can’t wait.”

After hanging up, Daniel sent her his details and replaced his fleshlight to the drawer. Well, I did say I’d step out of retirement for her, he thought, smiling. And they say word of mouth’s dead? A fit of laughter escaped him. 

An hour later, there was a knock at his front door. Forgoing clothes, even underwear, Daniel rushed downstairs and opened up, which was the last thing he remembered, as something hard and heavy struck him in the face. His world turned black.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a woman said. 

“Wha—” Daniel said, blinking, failing to shake the fog from his vision. When he tried to move, he couldn’t, his wrists and ankles lashed to the bed. “The fuck?!”

 “Are these your trophies?” a woman asked.   

When he looked up, a pile of knickers in all shapes, styles, sizes and colours smacked him in the face, with most landing on his lap. 

“Dirty bastard,” she said. “Still, you shot me down, didn’t you! Not good enough? Young enough? Sexy enough?”

Vera!” Danial said. “What? How?” he stuttered, unable to form thoughts and sentences. 

She smiled. “Oh, how the tables have turned, eh?” she smiled. “You never were very good at attention to detail, were you?” 

The perplexed look splashed across his face told her that she needed to spell it out for him. “Too busy thinking about whose pussy you were going to entertain next, I suppose, to realise what was going on around you. Frost. Vera Frost. Lauren’s my sister,” she said, pulling her dress up, removing her knickers. One more pair for your collection, Danial. Your final pair, I dare say.”

Now it was her turn to laugh, as he fought against his restraints.

“She told me all about this handsome man at the job centre, who couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and when I heard your name. Well, I’m sure you’re smart enough to put the rest together yourself. Now, open wide,” Vera said, walking towards him, her thunder thighs chafing, shedding skin like a cheese grater. 

“God, no. Please,” he said, watching her climb onto the bed, her huge frame towering over him. 

“It’s been a long time since my kitty was fed, Daniel,” she said, lowering her hairy, dripping cunt onto his face, that had bits of toilet paper stuck in it. “Now, be a good boy, and use that epic appendage of yours, and you might just live to tell the tale,” Vera laughed, grinding her moistness against his mouth, his nose rubbing her clit. “God, that’s it,” she began to moan, arching her back, running her hands through her long, greasy and tangled hair. “Right there…Oooh, don’t stop.”

As she rode his face, her belly fat jiggling and crashing against him, she came, and came again, as he thrashed beneath her

Ugh…” he moaned. “I can’t breathe…” With a gasp, Daniel’s body started to spasm. 

“Yes, oh God, yes! Keep going,” Vera squealed. “Let’s see if you can get me there once more, Tongue Bandit, before you tap out for good, and I take that wagging organ of yours with me as my trophy,” she said, his death throes making her gush.

The Doom Hippies III: A Great Variety of Monsters

272 pages
Horror Sleaze Trash

Alex S. Johnson has been hailed as a “mad, genre-defying genius” (Terry M. West), “shocking, perverse…funny as hell” (Lucy Taylor), “the Baudelaire of our time” (John Shirley) and “without competition” (Lemmy Kilmister). The author of such cult classics as Jason X: Death Moon, written with Hugo Award-winner Pat Cadigan, Johnson’s work is collected at Harvard University’s Widener Library and is Recommended Reading from the Horror Writers Association. The Doom Hippies III: A Great Variety of Monsters collects his very latest dark satire tales, featuring such fan favorite characters as Reynaldo, the World’s Smolest Circus Bear and Kandy Fontaine, Slutty Detective. Find out why Bram Stoker Award-winner Brian Keene declared Johnson to be “one of our essential writers of Bizarro Fiction.” With a Foreword by Weird Fiction master Jeffrey Thomas. For Immature Adult Readers only.

BUY A COPY HERE

Damon Hubbs

Rapture

O Hannah 
you spell your name with two of everything. 
It’s the summer of the comet. 
I want to vibrate like an angel 
and you’re reading a book 
that isn’t a gift 
for anyone over thirty.  
Everything tends towards a conclusion that doesn’t occur. 
I have no defense for poesy. 
Does anyone know how to get to the Bop House? 
The whole shit is breaking down 
and my refrigerator isn’t ready for riot season.
John Maus has a new single called I Hate Antichrist. 
What do we talk about when we talk about luxury? 
You’re reading A Poem for Vipers when lifeguards
pull a dead swimmer 
from the water off Hampton Beach. 
The weather is beautiful.
I eat aspirin for dinner and drink Rolling Rock.
Karen Reed is framed like a Nantucket sunset. 
O Hannah 
we lost two of everything. 
On the rooftop 
of an apartment on Ashworth Ave 
we watch a cumshot 
dance on the tip 
of a 
telescope. 

Travis Flatt

My Wife Won’t Believe I Played in a “Real” Band

But, that’s because of the stories I’ve told her. Sleeping on the marble floor of an abandoned old Baltimore church where the crustie punks squatted. Attempting to sleep, anyway, with rats running over my feet. In West Philadelphia, I chased a pitbull who escaped from the bathroom where the house boys kept it locked up during the blasting and screaming; the dog made a break for the front door, squirted out between a drunk couple of kids who’d stopped to make out in the doorway, me happening to see all this on my way to the truck for beer. The dog ran for blocks before I managed to catch it and carry it back. The looks on peoples faces when I asked for help hauling this forty five pound dog with my arms covered in cigarette burns from some drunken, 2am contest between screamo bands a few nights before. The feel of pressing my forehead to the forehead of a boy in a Milwaukee basement, him shouting words to a song I wrote, us sharing my microphone while beer rained from the ceiling, everyone in their underwear.  Waking up at noon to coked up kids in Charleston insisting we record a live show for an apartment suddenly full of college students wanting to watch us play, and then driving to the next city with a cassette of our new “live album,” making flip phone calls on the drive, looking for someone to help record copies to sell. A show falls through in Chicago. We can’t find another venue and end up in some field with a gas generator to power our amps. Having to break into our truck with a coat hanger on a sidewalk in Manhattan. We averaged ten dollars a show. We lost money on “tours.” Spinning like a top during guitar solos, running my fingers through sweaty heads of hair, kissing strangers, them kissing me, all one big squeeze. Hugging straightedge skins—not Nazis, just big friendly guys who gave big friendly hugs. We ran the Nazi scene punks out of Knoxville. Most of them. Our last show in a trailer lit by Christmas lights, glass shards in the carpet, me running a 103 degree fever. I knew I’d never see most of those people again, of course, including a couple of the guys who filled in on guitar or drums. I don’t, with complete certainty, remember the name of a single venue we played. If it wasn’t for that cassette, which captures us playing way, way too fast, the drums banging too loud to hear the guitars half the time, it’d be like none of it happened. And all these cigarette burn scars on my arms.

Daniel de Culla

Divine Substance

Gumersinda and me, Sisebuto
Loved hiding in stables and corrals
To kiss and touch each other
When we played with other boys and girls
To “Three ships at sea, and three more are searching.”
Gumersinda, I dare say
Was already, at the age of seven, very clever.
She told me she sucked her little brother’s cock 
And that she saw, from time to time
Her parents having great, wonderful sex
Although her father would come out exhausted
And her mother would be overjoyed
For she would exclaim:
“Thank goodness I got rid of your father Aldovrando’s 
Excited panting like a giant animal against my ass.”
She would ask her mother Ambrosia:
-But, Mother, how do you do that? 
The mother would respond:
-My daughter, if I don’t let the male penetrate me
He’ll go whoring and he can fuck and beat me
I’ll get any kind of ass disease.
Besides, men, like males
They go to the mob with the females
Like donkeys with the she donkeys
Turned into demons who only seek
The food of our cunts.
Sometimes, Gumersinda and me, on this or that day
We would separate from the group of friends
And we would go to the shepherd’s hut
Which is located in the furthest part of the Eras de la Carraleja
And, there, she would lift up her dress and show me
Her honey-colored colt with a few hairs like a mussel
Instantly opening my fly
Taking out the little bird along with the eggs
Putting this one in the heaven of her palate.
I would lean on her and say:
-No, not Gumersinda.
Let’s play the same old game.
She answered me like she was sucking on a candy:
-Wait until I swallow the divine substance
That inspired so many women with beautiful love poems.
Then we played the same game we both played:
You put little pearls of love in my pussy
From those fishing beads you took from your father
And I’ll light a match, placed
In the little hole of your glans, without fear
So that it may illuminate my love and open for you
Like that flower of Eve that Adam fell in love with
In the Garden of Love
Which, without a doubt, so displeased our God
Just as we displease, now, Bacchus’s donkey, the shepherd
Who sends us to flight caused by the braying 
Of the two of them.
What sons of bitches!

Tony Dawson

From the Enemy with Love

Wherever there’s been conflict,
warriors have directed humorous 
barbs at their foes by scrawling
‘dedications’ on ammunition
aimed at those being attacked
even though the dedicatees
would never be able to read them.

Bombs and shells that rain
down on Russia and Ukraine
will have “up yours Putin”
or “swallow that Zelenskyy”
or similar phrases on them.
Second World War Photos 
in museums show sailors
chalking “take that Tirpitz” 
on torpedoes, and airmen scribbling 
“Happy Easter Adolph” on bombs.

Archaeology has confirmed
humans really haven’t evolved 
at all in this respect in the last
three thousand years. About
eighty sling stones were found
at the site of the 41-40 BCE siege
of Perugia where Octavian’s army
had opposed the forces of Mark 
Antony’s brother, Lucius Antonius.
Each sling stone, termed a glans,
was made of lead or clay and inscribed
with a pointed, often salacious, message
by the brutal and licentious soldiery:
“I’m searching for Octavian’s arse”
“Bald Lucius Antonius and Fulvia
prepare your arses”, as well as
“I’m aiming for Fulvia’s clitoris”,
each suggestively playing 
with the double meaning of glans 
and so, its intended targets.
Some are simply inscribed
“Take this, Octavian”; others:
“Greetings Octavian, cocksucker”,
deriding his sexual proclivities.

Alan Brickman

Fictional Characters 

Humbert Humbert was sitting at a window table, nursing a gin and tonic, and staring at the elementary school playground across the street. The young girls were so beautiful, he thought, so fresh and unspoiled, so perfect. He felt that old stirring in his loins, yes his loins, even though he hated that word. Should he turn away, so as not to fall prey to the old compulsions? Hogwash! Why deny himself the beauty the world had to offer. If God, in his great and infinite wisdom, had not meant us to lust, yes “lust” was a word he was not too proud to use, to lust after these embodiments of pure beauty, why then would he have made them so delicious, so tempting, so absolute and impeccable. Bugger off, he thought, to the naysayers, to every philistine who abhorred beauty, who was shamed by love, who hated life itself. I will stare if I wish, and damn the world’s prudery, I will do so without embarrassment or self-loathing. And I say to hell with Nabokov the betrayer, the liar, the scoundrel and his horrid little book.

He sipped his drink and sighed. The young girls across the street were playing double-dutch, praise be to our Lord and Savior, jumping up and down and up again, often revealing a hint of white or pink cotton between their thighs, and oh how it made him sigh with a happiness that warmed and chilled him in each moment. As he craned his neck for a better view, he felt a sharp slap across the back of his head, and an English gentleman, dressed elegantly in Saville Row but also somehow rough and crude, dropped himself into a seat at Humbert’s table and said, “Humbert, you pig! Have you learned nothing?!”

“I say, my good man, and who might you be?”

“I’m your conscience, you pervert. Put your tongue back in your mouth and get your mind out of those little girls’ panties.”  The man motioned to a waitress passing the table. He said, “Hey there gorgeous! A vodka martini, if you would be so kind.” 

The waitress appeared to know him. “The usual, Mr. Bond? Shaken, not stirred?” She let out a hearty laugh. “I go to the cinema all the time, and it just tickles my funny bone when you say that.”

James patted her on the bum and said, “Maybe we can tickle a few more things in my hotel room when you get off.” She laughed again, leaned in and wrote her phone number on a napkin, then fluttered off.   

“You see, Humbert?” Bond said as he folded the napkin and put it in his jacket pocket. “This bird’s twice as sexy as your kindergarteners, and she’s legal!” He let out a full-throated laugh that devolved into a cough. He cleared his throat and said, “You know the old saying, ‘Sixteen will get you twenty.’ And if you’re anything like your reputation, you like ’em half that!”

“No,” Humbert said firmly. “I do not know that old saying, and I do not think it is in the least bit funny. But I must say that you’ve got it all wrong.” He took a sizeable gulp of gin. “And by the way, I realize now who you are, Mr. Bond. James Bond, Her Majesty’s Secret Service, double-oh-seven and all that. The great cocksman of the Home Office. The woman you seem so smitten by,” he tilted his head in the direction of the waitress, “is but a common barmaid. She has a history, so much unseemly baggage. She has been despoiled, broken by her disappointments, by her shattered dreams, by the knowledge that life takes everything and leaves you bereft. Taking a woman like that to bed is inviting malaise, or worse, despair. The little ones, they have so much promise. They glow magnificently with the promise and hopefulness that has yet to be stolen from them.”

“Humbert, for all your big words, you are an imbecile,” said Bond. “It is exactly that experience, that ‘baggage’ as you would have it, that makes the sex so extraordinary! Real women know things, they understand things, and because they’ve been around, they are formidable! You couldn’t handle this hot little barmaid, you ponce. Either your head or your unremarkable little willy would explode.”

A man at the next table could keep quiet no longer. He tapped his knuckles on his table and said, “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I couldn’t help overhearing.” Bond and Humbert turned to engage the man, each curious, but with a hint of annoyance. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Nathan Zuckerman, from America. And let me say what a pleasure it is to actually meet you both. You’re quite famous you know.”

“We know,” Humbert and Bond said in unison, then looked at each other and smiled, more than a little pleased with themselves. 

Zuckerman went on, “First off, you’re both perverts. And I know, I’ve been chronicling the subject for decades. And Bond, setting aside what is legal and what is not, you’re as much of a pedophile as our friend here. You continue to sleep with twenty-year-olds, and you’re what now, sixty? Older? As American boys say on the playground, ‘Why don’t you pick on someone your own size!’ Or rather, your own age! It’s as if you learned it from him.” He pointed with his thumb at Humbert.

Humbert scowled, but Bond was nonplussed. “But I do get my knob polished, don’t I, Nathan old boy. How long has it been since you could say that, what with your prostate issues and all?” He smiled in triumph. “I read too, you know.” 

“Touché,” said Zuckerman. “If you’ll allow me, gentlemen, the next round is on me.” He pulled his chair over to join them.

Francesca Miele

Fuck Haikus V

Mechanics tune me
Oily fingers probe my cunt
Rainfall slicks the roads

The cop’s cock is long
I suck it through the window
A deer leaps ahead.

Cum glows on my face
Dew glistens in the tall grass
My tongue licks my lips

I suck to climax
Dawn is breaking the dark clouds
My throat sings with joy

My neighbor is rough
His weedy lawn needs mowing
His cock rams my ass

My boss promotes me
Sunlight kisses his bellly
He straddles my face

I love big truckers
Hauling goods in sun and rain
My cunt craves their loads

Their spunk’s hot and thick 
Lifeguards in the summer pool
They surround their bitch

Daniel de Culla

A Pike in Flanders

Naked, and with an erect prick
As Nature brought me into the world
Before the mirror of the bedroom closet
Where I sleep alone
And I lick my cock like a donkey
I soon learned that I was a legendary hero
One of those who founded towns, villages, and cities
Monasteries and convents
And that I was worthy of a peculiar adventure
Like that of “putting a pike in Flanders”
Or like that of fucking and raping indigenous people or slaves
Indians or mestizos
Like those discoverers of America
Who didn’t disappoint the donkeys
Doing everything possible
To surpass the quadrupeds.
A moth landed on my glans, saying:
-You’re going to earn the greatest appreciation of men
With your shearwater-hunting crossbow.
March to Europe and the Channel Islands
Not to America, Africa, Asia, or Oceania
To catechize indigenous people with the prick
For it is useful, fitting, and just
That you be part of the praise of men, and their Nobel Prize.
Then, I marched to Europe
Taking, at Atocha Station, Madrid
A train called Puerta del Sol
Which dropped me off in Irún to transfer
On an Express train to Paris.
But I made a mistake, taking a freight train
Which was packed, in its carriages, with Moorish emigrants
And Spanish emigrants.
In Paris, I took a train that took me to Amsterdam, Holland
Where I was to place my pick in Flanders
Touching the sublime matter of the braying orgasm
Snatching from the great lips
Of the whores’ cunts in the Red Light District
Passages and historical news
Of great fuckers who had passed through here. 
What was my displeasure that
When I found myself forced
To ask my current whore, in French:
-Que penses-tu de ma bite ?
-What do you think of my prick?
She, without hesitation, answered me:
-Comme eux tous.
-Like all of them.
How upsetting, my goodness¡
The glorious ideas of the hero of the Discovery of America
Of the Ass Crusades, in Jerusalem
Of Spanish Independence against Napoleon
Of the Silk Road
Fell to the ground.
And worst of all
What made me most unhappy
Is that she showed no interest
In me making anal love to her
Which is better and more effective in making known
True Love that enters through the ass
A subject only known theoretically
To our misfortune
Although she falsely told me, as she opened her legs
Totally naked:
-Here you have a vast field to spread out
From the ears to the tailbone.
Everything is at your disposal.
Now you can put that pike in Flanders!
Upon arriving at the Rembrandt Hotel
Where I was staying
I went to the bathroom mirror
Contemplating my prick
Which, at that moment
Was brimming with erudition
Protesting its beautiful qualities
Its honor and its glory
Which, in a couple of days
It would show in the Channel Islands:
In Guernsey, where Victor Hugo
Revealed the value of a Bray of Love
And in Jersey, where, in its banks, kings and rich people
Stash the money earned from slavery
Prostitution and drugs.