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Subject: {ASSM} from TxM6 Forced Dream Journal IV
Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000 16:10:11 -0400
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From TxM6 Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com/ (updated August 13, 2000)
TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher
1081XdreamJournal1035X
Laurie Fallon:
Free Association
In the painting of my skull muscles flex, and early
eyes look to the left over a painting of my hand that
I extend into an infinite rain.
My hand and finger nails are blue, a wet blue over
silk: not a painted fabric, but a soft, as early in
the first frontier as I imagine I am on some distant
star finding the new world on a composition of maps
that are unlike any anticipated. That is what sex
feels.
Here in that torture of forced sex and pretending to
be made to do what I desired. I did. I am not lying.
I do all of this willingly, but for Abel not he wants
the fake because he feels my pain again.
I have discovery the world, Abel said when he heard
the guide lines of maps form conscience in the parts
where the imaginary lined crossed. Latitude and
longitude on a map are fake but not imaginary lines.
Fielding that grid out of distant space, language
turns arrivals and departures over and over on the
high rising sea speeding cold sea within delicate
arms and hazy brown skin. Why do I love blue orchids
I ask my dream tasting it open like ripe melons when
I arrived, bulging, held my pregnant self back, when
I felt my involuntary orgasm, forced by electric
vibrator, I was bound, blindfolded, mute, deaf, and
the collapse inside, as fingers, mouths, tongues,
toes, scraped at my open bound door, and then I
lifted up my ass, naked beneath her gown, carefully,
button by button, some hand opening my crease from
the bottom, allowing dark eyes to peer outward, as
his fist allowed just one brief exploration casually
entered and then quietly stopped while I was forced
to squat, lowering my ass, allowing his entire hand
to break through the resistant wall and then drown. I
resisted, and pushed back, refusing, and then at the
wall between release for release's sake, I swallowed
myself, and just when it happened, I felt warm
fluids, more than semen flood my tits, I would have
broke down the sky scrapper, and yet I endured the
tease, and fragrant, oil, and then I knew, blood when
some dripped inside my lips, mine, I thought, no, a
pint extracted from your children, the voice echoes,
and my ears, out of shape, remnant, a curious
vestibule as my features are absorbed, dissolve.
Nothing is here. Dream is blank. Unopened.
Nothing. My face blank. I saw the skull lose fat and
skin and then baked, it whitened, and picked apart,
rewired, the jaw opened and closed, and blood ran
freely down my belly, and entering, drowning it
seemed, a cock, or dildo was forced inside my cunt,
to the hilt, and expanding I absorbed it, the skull,
enemy, within, not as human specters but more a force
controlled by the direction of the flood, wind, even
the footsteps, and the paths you choose, as some
book, the doom leads keeps going, as a fit.
"What wonderful literary conceit, Laurie, Henry said,
watching Laurie pee, absorbing the account of her
dream, as one would a political speech, and not
knowing what went down squatting behind the bare
garage wall: "Nothing. Art cannot be spent, Henry
would say interviewed on the WFAN by Mike Lupica
after the report of my murder, by the Frankenstein
killer, Abel. Art must be had," I answered, angry,
distracted from the confessions, realizing
accomplishment and success presume another shift,
back inside silence and when I felt the detached
prick, real he said, enter, stiffened by a wooden
mantle, I became the earth, and let my self return,
the dream swallowed my lips and the girl inside, more
open, shifted, and the slut, although victim, exposed
my rape when self propelled on knees, splitting the
pole, entered, slow, making the surge shift the speed
increased, and when the raw walls of my cunt burned
for hours the next day, I felt him there, holding the
skull, and I made myself come again, then again, each
last gasp more splendid, as it anticipated my death,
blending a figure from my childhood dream when Billy
riding some teenage fuck, lifting up, showing the red
head, then plunging, I knew when he let go, and the
girl pushed up, running down her leg, a skull grew
from the slippery belly, and holding it up, the girl
became Laurie, Sherry, Angela, all women I have kept.
Billy was not my father, and when I reached the girl,
pushing her, or attempting, the girl slapped my
hands, and Billy, threw her down, made her grovel,
and I saw myself, older, there with a strange man,
many years older, who held my belly, and the sucked
the words from my mouth. When I woke, Henry slept,
years earlier, I was nine, and the poet holding a
funnel, stuffed my throat, cunt, ass with that pained
Christ face, the image, you imagine, before
communion, or just after, when you felt presence, and
then, at the cave, the stone pushed back, I entered,
and was kept alive, my infant, protected, abused, and
helpless, aroused, I stopped the dream, and knew
death would be easier than the exigent relief that
alluded the Man Called Abel as he fucked dry my ass,
and my infant struck out, revived, stiff, her body
paused, then release as the lake between my thighs
grew marvelous moss and snails, salt and steam. Awake
after birth, the blood pooled. The infant worked the
nipple as the heart empty, silent, revised, became
the stony wall inside my cunt. I lived. Will live but
who will know or accept the terror I endured.
Silently, I need one step more. Be Laurie, so I can
be Sheila. Be anyone. I will unclasp myself from my
name. Henry has such beautiful hands, and I will
remember them always and there is tenderness at one
end. No, the theater will not close yet. "Cuddle with
me Laurie your heart beats faster."
More American Adventures in erotica and other works by Sean Farragher:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sean_Farragher/
Sean Farragher
Poetry Site: http://www.farragher.com (updated 8/13/2000)
TxM6 Sites:
http://www.taximurders.com
http://www.taximurders.com/enfer
http://www.taximurders.com/lcfallon
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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