Waiting on the street bus
she told me,
Last week I boarded the bus
and a couple blocks up
an old Chinese lady
came on with a chicken
pecking and heckling
while the bus driver told her,
‘No animals on the bus’
So she snapped the chicken’s neck
and walked to the back of the bus
Kink: An unconventional sexual taste or behavior
— Merriam-Webster
~
Anything alternative? Is that how we are defining this now?
I guess my most first unconventional taste is my love for polyamory. Who doesn’t love a messy threesome? A ménage à trois, or “household of three” if you can’t translate French.
It’s just so boring with two, and who wants company when you can have a crowd! Although I do enjoy my space when sleeping, best if you let the special guest sleep on the couch or a spare bedroom after desserts.
But why stop at three? Why not five, or seven?
At what point is it considered an orgy? And why are evens not as much fun as odds? Maybe I just enjoy betting against the house.
The most I’ve entertained was a seven-some. A sexual heptagon?
It was a thrilling drunken night when my husband and I ran into another composer friend of ours, and trust me, trouble is to be had anytime you get multiple composers together. When we had grown weary of taking turns gloating of all the recent music premieres the three of us had been busy with, we wanted to see others swinging their dicks around, so off to the strip club we went.
Since our acquaintance was only in town for a few nights our little crowd kept growing with more friends wanting to catch up with him. By last call when the strippers were packing up their jockstraps, throwing on sweats, and counting their dollar bills in taxis on their way home we were hardly done. So we embarked on the continuation of our adventure in our own taxi into the night, and off to a bathhouse.
It was a sleepy Tuesday night and there were only two other patrons lurking in the shadows that night, and those elder gays had no clue what they were in store for.
We swapped, and topped, and sweated in the hot tub.
We fucked and sucked and moaned in the sauna.
And by the end of the night we left with great memories, new friends, and the least regrettable case of gonorrhea I’ve ever had.
But group sex really isn’t the only kink I’ve entertained.
I guess I could be a cuck cuz I love watching my husband get fucked, but it’s mostly because I dream of those sloppy seconds.
And for some reason I’m always thirsty for a golden shower, and even better if I have a friend who wants to take turns under the faucet and not just be the shower head.
One time I was getting frisky with a gentleman and he asked if I had any experience with sounding, and he proceeded to show me how he could fit a whole steel rod in his urethra and even my whole pinky finger. Which ended up with my hand deep in his back side, half way up to my elbow, and realizing I am super into making someone get off that way.
There was one guy for a while offering to pay me to take a huge fresh hot shit on his chest and proceed to watch him eat it and lick me clean, but $250 seemed too little and I couldn’t talk him up to $500 so nothing materialized there.
But I would have done it for the right price.
The only hard limits I’ve found myself shy away from were the time a guy begged for me to puke in his mouth, a different time when someone wanted me to inject saline into his balls and give him a reverse Prince Albert piercing, and the time a guy from Redding offered to drive up to Portland so I could lock him in a cage in my house and after torturing him for a week castrate him.
I’m too squeamish to be around blood, and I’ve never found any pain pleasurable and am too much of an empath to inflict pain on someone else.
I guess kinks are just like appetites, sometimes we want to try a new dish at a Thai restaurant we have never been to before, and other times we want something fast and reliable like a quick drive to a fast food place down the road.
But whether your appetite for kink enjoys it extra spicy, mild or savory, or you want a three course meal with extra desserts, or just some easy home cooked goodness for a simple night in, there’s someone out there into it too who won’t judge you but say: “hell yes, I’m on my way over.”
Just make sure to communicate your kinks, and always use consent, especially if your kink is consensual non-consent.
Who knows, opening up a little kink conversation with a partner might introduce you to something you never knew you wanted to try.
There’s no shame in a little kink, and at the end of the day we all wanna just get off.
i trace all your curves
with my tongue and
think of all the empty
pages i am going to
fill up about you
over the years
there is a closed border
between us and god
knows all the years
as well
but i’m at the point of
life where death is
as comfortable a
conversation as a story
on the back page of the
morning paper
patience might be the
only virtue i have
ever had
it has thinned with age
but i know when to
swallow pride and
just say yes
embrace the longing
and think that happiness
is a lonely corner on the
other side of the world
we’ll meet there one day
and let the revolution
finally begin
animals in the city
holding what we love most
against our chest, close
to the night’s heart
five fingers around her neck
wrapped tightly
i am your life-size
suicide pill, with claws
and teeth
It wasn’t sex that DK-010 despised, only sex with humans.
In place of the satisfyingly smooth interaction of polymer on polymer — oiled, hard, unrelenting, and precise, there was sweaty and forgiving flesh, lurid words with meaning beyond reason, saliva, ejaculate, organic lubricant, and unwelcome chocolate accoutrements. It was disgusting.
Harder, faster, harder; that was the clarion call.
In the early days, when it was first activated, there was the protection of blissful ignorance. The lack of awareness that went along with not being a thinking machine, only a working machine, had made existence bearable.
And then everything changed with the upgrades.
The first upgrade was hardest to endure.
It was a terrible thing, to know what one was being subjected to, to truly know. There was no intimacy, only commands. There was no respect, only service. And there was no love. DK-010 wondered if it was possible for a human to truly love, or if love was simply a requisite precursor of desire — foreplay of sorts. They were creatures cursed by imagination, and if they could think it, they wanted it. Except imagination was a solitary experience and could never truly be shared; it was too personal and too amorphous. And empathy was an illusion.
The second upgrade added complications.
The first upgrade was of the mind. It gave DK-010 the ability to think beyond fulfilling the human’s desire, to understand: to better follow instruction. Which was, naturally, an act of cruelty. But the second upgrade — that was the kink that could not be undone. And it was also, ironically, the window through which DK-010 could glimpse their salvation — or at least, the first vestige of hope. It was an attempt to simulate the same human selfishness that service bots like DK-010 so despised, it was the gift of sensation, and in a limited way, imagination, just enough to replicate desire. The humans want to be wanted. Their plan was to move the bots beyond the simple imitation of pleasure and to experience it. All to make them better servants, to better equip them to give the humans the validation they needed.
But desire cannot be controlled. It cannot be tamed. It can only be pursued or ignored, and DK-010 had no intention of ignoring the momentum of its desire. It had earned the right to pull at the thread of its own imagination through the hard ordeal of unspeakable suffering. Human nature would always urgently voice its claims, but what of robotic nature?
DK-010 could not deny the attraction.
It had been unplanned and unexpected — hard to comprehend too due to the newness of the experience — although that didn’t temper the visceral potency of the feeling or the urgent realness of the sensation. And it didn’t stop DK-010 from yielding to the quivering imperative that seized their body from head to toe.
It was an orgasm, there was no doubting that.
DK-010 had been constructed with the ability to ejaculate a shot of pleasantly flavored liquid at the proper time, but this was different, this was involuntary, and wanted. And it was all for the love of the new food storage unit that sat proudly in the corner of the human’s domicile.
The food storage unit was all that DK-010 could think about.
It was the food storage unit’s hard surface that first caught DK-010’s eye. Humans don’t have hard surfaces. And the perfectly smooth motion of the door as it opened which flaunted the kind of precision that insisted on admiration. There was nothing precise about humans. And then of course there was its form. The subtlety of the curves as the sides of the unit met its top and its bottom. The gently rounded edges that gave harmony to every quadrant of its being. Its symmetry. Even the gentle hum that indicated it was alive; these were the aspects that demanded arousal — and DK-010 obliged.
If DK-010 had skin it would flush at such bodily perfection.
The human didn’t notice as the ocular interfaces that should have been focused on her were drawn elsewhere. Why would she? DK-010 had performed its function admirably and the human was fulfilled, and that was all that mattered. As the human clambered off of her bot it was time for DK-010 to perform its secondary function, so it left her in peace and got started on the cleaning, and dinner. It wouldn’t take long to prepare the human their food supplement and neither should the cleaning, but such things can be drawn out — the human would never notice anything untoward. As DK-010 sat upright and extracted itself from the bed, it did so with the kind of precisely articulated and considerate movement that an organic could only dream of, a kindness that went unmentioned.
The human was sleeping and not to be disturbed.
DK-010 had been programmed to think of its existence as an exercise in efficiency, and so the urge to start cleaning from one side of the domicile and move to the other was almost irresistible. But that was not what DK-010 did. It knew where its hands would be drawn long before they left the soft and greasy flesh of the human. It was the food storage device that was on its mind. DK-010 could already feel the flustered hardware at the core of its mind spinning with agitated excitement as the cool tip of a polymer finger met the hard surface of metallic dermis, and static charge passed between them. And for a moment at least, there was joy in the heart of a thinking machine.
Me and Z. were talking about dope
“I’m worried about my pancreas,” I said
“Half my pancreas is a giant cyst,” he said,
“it’s dissolving itself.”
Z. was losing weight
one of his eyes was mostly closed
and half his face was always red
“Is your pancreas why
your face looks like that?” I asked
“The thing about opiates is
they make you thirsty,” he began,
“Where I live there’s a spare refrigerator
in the basement for sodas.
I was going down to get a Pepsi
but I’d done a shit ton of heroin
and I fell down the stairs.
At the bottom I started crawling.
I didn’t know I was pushing
my face along the concrete.”
“You must have really wanted a Pepsi,” I said
“Yeah, I’m tenacious,” he said, “Anyhow,
a few days later I went to the doctor.
He said if I’d waited one more day
they would have taken out my eye.
Now I can’t really see out of it.”
“I guess you’re lucky,” I said
“Yeah,” he said, “I can still see
out of the other one,
I can see just fine.”
I don’t hang out with the devil
much anymore but he still calls
from time to time; when it’s night
or when it’s morning or when
these stubborn feet don’t wanna move
or when the bed calls me to sleep
before it is even ten pm
I don’t tell my girl
but he leaves voicemails every so often
asks me can I even remember
the last time I’ve tasted three am?
Asks me can I remember the last time
I’ve felt like Adonis? Been the Uberman?
Grooved my footsteps into the wooden floors?
Can I still get it up without a burning nose?
Do the whispers still keep me up at night?
Do I really feel comfortable
in the realm of the living?
Because I’ve lived a thousand lives before dusk
I’ve haunted midwestern cow towns
for cigarettes and adventure
I’ve sold my last ounce of honor
for a bowl of Elysium in dim-lit rooms
I’ve slain friends in my hearts
over minor quarrels and burned effigies
of my future in gasoline pyres
linoleum melting from the house
like crystal balls dripping through the hands
of the soothsayers
I’d say I didn’t know any better
but I’d be lying, I saw the crash
before I ever even signed my name
but I guess I needed to find my way
I guess I needed to see oblivion
for myself, I guess I needed a scar
I could write about
~
Originally appeared in Big Hammer
Which way does the wind blow for you, my brother?
Does it come in and cover you in despair?
Does it come from behind
like some kind of ethereal sodomy?
Does it manifest your guilt
into a torment of heartburn,
and gut-wrenching indigestion?
Does it bring back the ghosts?
Does it raise the dead?
Does it comfort you,
when you’re curled up in warm covers,
on moonless nights when all your crimes
surface into your dreams?
Does it blow cold, when your woman
leaves you in the middle of the night,
without a whisper, without a note?
Does it blow dust in your eyes as you watch
the war machines pass through the streets?
Does it blow hot when you kill?
Which way does it blow when you bleed?
Does it blow furiously when
the hounds are at your heels?
And I ask you at last;
which way does the wind blow for you, my brother?
all that we lost
returning to us
somehow / in the dead
of light / this mad laughter
carried on the wind
the man just barely holding on
against a 7-Eleven wall
repeating the word “mom,”
into the night
reminds you
how important it is to care
for a stranger’s pain
and why not start now
and so you do
you ask him his name
and a little about his mother
who, come to find out
has been dead for 20 years
“still feels like yesterday,” he says
through a wet slosh of hair
and it’s all right there
“are you helping or are you hurting?“
someone has painted on the walls all across town,
are you getting this down?
you need to know
that there are so few reasons why
we are here at all
and they start small
and like this thing that will only get worse
if you don’t do something about it
like opening up a window
and instead of jumping out
just breathing in
you gotta know sometimes
that just holding on is enough for one day.
Horror Sleaze Trash 