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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6 -- Fucking Vietnam Lullaby   Point Blank VA   Late June 1969
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Date: Thu, 10 Mar 2005 03:10:04 -0500
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Fucking Vietnam Lullaby
Journal of Henry Ezra Whitman 
This is the land of Used to be Alive: Weather Reports


Point Bank, VA -- Late June 1969. 
I had just returned from Nam, and I was hungry for 
more than sanity.  I wanted more than the ordinary 
round eye sex. Remembering the Point Black fuck motel 
from college before Nam, I pushed my life in that 
direction and before I knew it I was halfway down the 
Jersey Turnpike passing exit 9 going too fast and 
wondering if I ever would stop racing towards that
wall where it might all end. 

Something about the Jersey Turnpike and its unusual 
scenery that made me feel right at home. Back in those 
easy days, one of my high school buddies had attended 
UVA, and I would shoot down there from Columbia.

Once there we would run his wheels down a country road 
looking for action. We were just college boys with 
a buck in our pants, if you can believe that shit.

When I found Paradise Cove trailer fell in love with 
its mixture of trash and dirty history. My buddy Richard
saw nothing there, and we left, after both of us 
dipped our peckers. I returned the following weekend 
without him. 

Cindy Huston's trailer court kept me sane, but I 
was not sure how, until I remembered her life and my 
own sad skin in Vietnam.

After I left Cindy, spending almost a week, I had vowed 
to return not for the sex exactly, but the unusual 
mixture of visual beauty juxtaposed with all the 
American trash you can handle. If you can imagine 
eating five to ten White Castle Murder burgers and
three fries and a chocolate shake. No mayonnaise. 

Passing through the Baltimore Tunnel, six years later, 
I was tickled to be alone. I needed to breathe that fetid 
American air and gaze on worn down beauty of mountains
and hills of tits and ass. I wanted pure sex without any
pretense of love and affection. I just wanted cunt without
any excuse you can name. 

After fourteen months of Hopalong Cassidy or MASH in 
slicks (helicopters) in Nam, I was ready to get lost 
not just in America but in her vital muddle of cheap 
sex, fast food, monster movies and women with an 
attitude you could really nail. I wanted truth really, 
but who knows about truth. I certainly was just a kid 
back then, and after real life war movies (I 
remembered Audie Murphy played himself in WWII) I 
sensed that death and sex were easy companions. 
Murphy never had any, and in NAM real and imaginary
sex is all that I wanted in my mind or my mouth.

PARADISE COVE FUCK MOTEL:

When you rode past the Gas Station and Motel signs 
that led you inside Point Blank, you imagined you 
were in the old south riding on horseback down a
dirt rode to a dark cabin where you might get a place
to sleep, some burnt steaks, and beer.

If you were lucky, you might find a cheap woman 
to wash your back in a steamy bath made up with hot 
with kettles of boiling water carried through the room 
to an old iron tub.  The woman would be sassy, hard to 
understand, and have tough hands and worn skin. Some 
times in Nam, fantasy reached where the core never rested,
and you are opened too soft, and left to dry out without
any tenderness. I know I love to imagine such 
intricate bullshit and make into a mantra for a sore 
dick and swollen balls.

At first when you rode into the falling trees, the 
white washed mansion hung back from the roadway and 
was hard to see in detail. Believing the ads I had
expected grand vistas and a toy model of the 
Appomattox Park Court House, east of Lynchburg, 
where Ulysses S. Grant surrendered to Robert E. Lee in 
1865. You have seen the picture in history books.

Riding down the VA trail, I had expected lyrical
graciousness and the dry painted mouth of a too young
matron reclined in her pout, wanting to be served
rather than a servant. I wanted that mouth to take
my cock in layers like I would suck her cunt finding
the inside of the vulva without sucking the outside
just a casual exploration of the rings of her ass
and when she moved on my lap I knew it was living.

Riding up the blind gray skyline, up the hills, my
car pushing grease, I entered the time lock of another 
daylight soap opera where sex was the morning page 
of a national fuck you paper like Screw or some silly 
tabloid with the fake of head of an infant attached to
a goat with electric dildoes suspended from its ears. 

"On my right," I could hear the tour guide say 
"is the almost West Virginia trailer park, Paradise Cove, 
owned by Cindy Huston, as it rises along the ridge 
line where State Highway #311 and Craig County Road 
#18 cross."

As I heard the voice of the imaginary fucking tour 
guide trail off into what passed for rock music, I 
knew the motel was still there. All my days in Nam I 
recalled it, and the silken shaved cunny of Cindy. 
I needed to know that my life-sustaining dream in Nam 
existed. I had to tell her she saved my life.

Cindy had written me two letters when I was in 
country. In the first, she told me how sorry she had 
been to hear that I was going to Vietnam and how brave 
I must be, and in the second months later, received just 
after my R&R, when I almost lost it and ran too far 
away.

When I opened that second letter, I knew she had led 
me alive again. In that letter, Cindy told me how she
had hoped I would come again to dwell as she put it
inside my hospitality. That letter seemed more an
advertisement from a high-class whorehouse and not a
broken down mansion in the middle of nowhere Virginia.
What the fuck did I care. It was a love letter from 
home that didn't cost me an allotment or empty promises. 

I remember telling one of the guys in my squad how I 
looked forward to breaking down the walls with fucking
when I got there back in the world. I screamed at this
deep dark wonderful black soldier as we were advised to 
call them, not that I needed that advice, that I 
intended to fuck myself into kingdom come without 
dying. I told him how I would fuck that whore so hard 
the earth collapsed underneath the building. 

I remember the Sgt. who over heard what I had said 
respond. "Fuck, son, you'd be lucky to get out of 
tomorrow the way this shit sticks to our ass."

Back in the world, all I thought about was getting me 
some, but now as I travel in this 5&10 American 
paradise cove the garish street front of a racetrack 
car parking lot brought me back to the sink hole 
brothels of Thailand. 

Back mid-tour, I wondered how I would live, or how I 
could die. I played the Stones as my car headed 
inside under the broken sign marked the motel. I 
remembered being drunk with two slope bitches and I 
seriously thought of getting drunker and then fucking 
them dead just before I blew my own brains out with 
the .45 I always strapped against my ankle when I was 
wearing the usual civilian dress of too loud shirt, 
slacks and comfortable shoes on leave.

I am not sure why or how I made such a connection.
The war in Vietnam should have nothing to do with this 
sleaze bag motel and it curved driveway leading up to 
a hill that descended on the other side to an open 
clearing about half the size of a football field. 


FAST FOOD MOTHER FUCKER

There, sitting astride two greasy chicken and rib fast 
food station, Cindy Huston's trailer park had two 
large neon lights flashing, blowing over the halo, 
shaking the TV lights set up I imagined to mark the 
first Presidential speech ever given by a dwarf while 
he sank deep to the elbows in the largest twat ever 
known. OK, so I like to exaggerate.

Almost hidden by more than fallen tree arms, vines and 
thick briars, the trailer park was closed in and off 
by heavy, ancient brown bark maple and some water oak; 
without cars and trailers, it could have once had the 
appearance of country estates with wide open drive and 
a large iron gate that had tumbled down like those old 
great haunted Hollywood movie monuments to the 
Northern free the slaves tyrants who with Sherman on 
his march politically had lost the great southern war. 

Just as toys at night seem to have many textures from 
gray to sometimes grief, my map of one fuck motel sat 
within the clutter of small plastic fences, and 
cannibalized stock cars. I still called it mythical 
knowing the perfect memory always has some flaws.

Perhaps, it was my malaise and the fake joy I felt 
sloshing away in the worn out cunt of some twenty-
five-year-old hooker who had been selling her worn 
pubic lips for ten years six years ago. 

Down the dirt road, where half naked colored children 
danced easily as an anachronism, a tin roof train 
station leaned far to the river side of the road way, 
marking its aged white doors, as heaven open and 
automobiles and motorcycles stopped your eyes as you 
reached up towards the black face of the sky before a 
storm.

The dead train station stood in the fast lane without 
tracks or equipment. More than a relic or a statue, it 
marked the place where last summer in 1869 or was it 
1870 Jake Wells shot himself to death while attempting 
to murder his wife's female lover, Anne Short. Anne 
was smart. Anne turned that gun back on the man, bending
the steel pipe as a great Wrestler might break the ropes
falling to his death beside the bald headed woman he 
brought with him to the match. She screamed so loud 
when the half nelson broke his wrist, and the bleach 
blond with the speckled tits tumbled off the canvas 
into the mud bath while the men and ladies cheered 
drinking bourbon and salt. 

Yes, Driving down death in NAM I played with History 
and her mighty come quick schemes. I thought anything 
to stay alive. In my mind as I rode those ten yards
towards Cindy's open door in good old 1969 I thought,
oh God prepares me for thy heaven oh Lord. Show me how
to open my pants and preach the last words before I fall 
to my death out of sight of Jesus, my dick numb and my
lips fully engaged in sucking pussy. 

Just like I imagined that historical Anne, hands raised 
above my head in chorus with all the other sinners, as 
the tender man died with his brains baked and refried 
at the lunch house later that night and his wife 
beating his ass home, his pants down over his ankles, 
tripping him up as she beats his back.

Same man said he was hungry; the man lied to his wife. 
Creating this tall tale, he told his wife that the 
women simply fed him some soup and just by accident a 
tit popped out. Can't help that now, can I darling?"

As I imagined the man trying to suck soup through a 
tit, or a straw, the scream INCOMING hit dark black night.
I thought rather than what happened. 

They fed the poor hen pecked sap brains, Henry 
imagined. They must have lost the last chapter of the 
book when some new broad (in full color) crept over 
the hedge exposing her fur pie, open legged, darker, 
and then losing the echo of her voice as some visual 
signal, she followed the notes like Daisy duck did to 
Donald as they danced down some fucked up white lane 
to nowhere town. Inside the fantasy of the fake dream, 
in Nam or back in the world I heard an ancient voice 
clamor for my skin as if the devil was my eyes.

Cindy appearing as her self in some big star 
production with cast and director in place startled 
the sinners by masturbating in the front pew while 
some Pastor who looked like the Captain joined the 
Hallelujah chorus as the great rock band from 
Alexandria, now that's hard to believe, sang all night 
before the bar maid came out and personally gave blow 
jobs to each grunt/band member behind a screen set up 
just for that purpose. She did it well, licking the tips
after each grunt came. Making sure she swallowed it all
showing them the shine on her teeth, and making sure
every man got kissed with every soldiers leavings.
I saw it all, Henry imagined, waiting again for the light
and return to the place where he lost consciousness.

Back in another more mundane reality, riding into the 
Cove courtyard, before getting out, I flashed back to 
a bar girl I had met in Saigon just before DEROS. She 
called herself Paradise, and when I tried to fuck her 
I found she was closed up with active clap. That is 
what life is like when filled with disappointment. I
knew better than to rape her fulsome cunt although
some horny Joe might have tried.

Back In Paradise, behind what appeared to be a working 
well (stink of chlorine), beside the gray gas pumps
long dry, and the necessary clutter I felt 
all the sad mistakes of my life. I traveled back to 
the women I used, the women who had used me, and in 
every empty gas tank, in every sun-baked car, we like 
all of there were parked in fourteen directions. 
Blocking this way in or out. Just like blocking 
pleasure with pain, or for some, pain with pleasure.

These walls, these symbols that lead to that trailer 
park temple where Cindy Huston sucked and fucked for 
fun and profit had their own vocabulary. Crudely 
painted on almost every truck door panel that faced 
the street one subtle message: colored not wanted. Go 
another way. Odd because Cindy had a black lover, and
two of her kids were tan not pink. 

Everywhere you rode, up and down the on the skyline, 
foul words prayed for cheap sex and dirty books, 
dancing parlors and blowjob halls. Beneath this holy 
canopy, two elderly white women argued, not too 
softly, about Jesus. Would Jesus save us all from Hell 
if we allowed the coloreds to mix and walk wit us 
without a by your leave. 

Paradise Court trailer park named by some randy fool 
who later lost his dick in a freak accident that had 
the whole town talking for weeks. Seems the gentleman, 
if you care to call him that, drunk out of his mind 
fell down between the screen door and the front door 
of the main house. As his dick was flapping out of his 
pant, when he fell he caught it between the hinge and 
the spring. The bitch that he chased, not liking the 
fuck much, instead of helping him free himself, 
slammed the door hard on his cock. By the time the 
cops got there he had nearly bled to death. "I wasn't 
going to touch his thing, no way," the bitch said, 
"not after the way he beat the shit out of me last 
week. I wanted the motherfucker to die. Too bad he 
lived. Left a piece of his dick in the door. He won't 
miss it. Who wants to fuck the old coot anyway."
How did it get the name Paradise? Good question.
It seems when the old fuck was shaking and crying
he begged for paradise. Some old black hooker stuck
her head out the door, and said, that me hon., but
I ain't gonna do anything for that bloody stump,
no fucking way. Everybody starting calling the camp
Paradise after that old coot. Cindy loved to make
things fancy added the word COVE said it stood for
cunt. Of course it did and didn't.

Yea, I heard the old bastard had a son who died on the 
Battleship NJ on December 7, 1941. We all have our 
prayers and our ways of being paid back for sex and 
sin or both. Poor toothless cuss never knew one grand 
kid except his nephew by marriage. He fucked him over 
for his social security check each month.

Meet Cindy Huston. Welcome to her world. She is just 
an honest whore, working out of a trailer who believed 
and rightly so that she was God's chosen oral instrument. 

Cindy's perfect gams walked her backwards and forward 
down the path to a red brick house they say she earned 
by fucking some old rascal fifty years ago. Soon after 
he died, they say she took up God's word, and never 
kept company with any man or woman. A righteous sister 
the Baptist called her. A motherfucker, some of the 
more sage black men sang when she sauntered by the 
downtown store. Most believed she communed with Jesus. 
Cindy did, and she avoided the bitch whenever 
possible. That was her classic reply.

All the tales we could spin within this fierce land. 
We could forget sex and the ordinary cat calls silly 
now when we mark them down, long after the anger or 
the stench of Nam and its shitters. We could keep 
track of it as a scroll of this ancient space, but
the trailer park with its honest cold light held CH
to her simple complaint, just give me a hard man who
will fuck my heart out, holy mother of Jesus, please pray 
for me, my hands can stop my wandering lost in the 
million cocks and come pots placed underneath my 
dripping ass and cunt. Let us gather in the sheaves. 

What an odd mixture I thought as I opened the car door
from the inside of my own pleasure, and there in the on 
coming headlights or the flare shifting down from the 
back of the slick, I felt my easy opening for the 
darker lights that shone whenever Cindy danced, 
parading her ass for an assortment of gents and 
girlfriends who like to drink, fuck, smoke dope,
and get generally get it off each night.

Danger spoke as I watched from inside my invisible 
fancy this handsome, long legged man walked through 
the lanes, carrying a large canvas roll strung over 
his shoulder. The open and closed ends were undressed, 
and if you knew that a sleeping woman was bound at the 
center, you understood how each step seemed a struggle 
even as the man walked shouldering the weight easy, 
without any pain or distance.

At that moment all you had seen before transformed, 
and the trailer park opened like a pale dried flower
bud shriveled from summer minding the stiff humid air
closed around Cindy Huston as she prepared to walk
three steps up the easy metallic stairs to the interior
of the three room almost new trailer she won playing 
hearts and flowers with some funky slut who prayed for 
a pussy licking party and got cock in its place.

Cindy was tall, with easy laughing eyes, and a darker 
wall, and nothing to stop her, but a closed hand that 
struck at her legs covering her, and settling what she 
did as she covered her legs with lotion listening on 
the telephone to some fucked up Yankee mother fucker 
banging her brain with his come while he lead her from 
the top of the trail to the bottom as she spoke louder 
than the first time, covering her orgasm, as the boy, 
Henry, who came down the road, laughing at her antics, 
sad, as the least sinner, she came down to the other 
side of the street, one tit free, and the other open, 
sleazy, like some easy mother, her nineteen year old 
daughter still sucking, flicking the milk from the 
free tit across the room at some Jack jerking it off 
while she watched nursing her baby man, so she says 
she imagined, feeling the let down, as the orgasm, 
nipple struck, and the toothless mouth pulled, 
grinned, easy like a man finding his mother separate 
from death playing with her fingers while she nursed, 
easily swallowed the milk, wondering why her mother's 
belly shook rattled as she groaned giving off the fast 
furious blood letting curdle of crawl, as her old man, 
come on hand, stood up, walking drunk and silly back 
to Cindy, and pushing her down, took hold of her mouth 
and fucked his still stiff cock deep into her spoils 
where she swallowed letting his prick stuck by too 
good joy and pleasure, at the end it hurt, or seemed 
as if he could only die, as the come raised from the 
dead cock leaked from his fish across Cindy's tit 
hitting his daughter on her cheek, and stunned, the 
woman, knowing the orgy had just begun, feeling the 
seed from more candy or other junk, shook it free, as 
Cindy put the full grown woman down, picked up her 
infant, and normally nursed the child showing that 
infant all respect due. When she finished, and infant
was sleeping safe and protected, putting nipple back
inside from under her shirt, Cindy spoke without a pause,
letting the mumble of the ear and the electricity found
in the soon to be soft, strike up the great hardon tale,
and easy Cindy pumping up her tits, fell down, kissed
the ground where her ass had held the great cock as statues 
from long ago making me come with anticipation as the 
fantasy dissolved in the grime of dirty boots and rubbers
let loose in every frame.

Henry walked outside the porch watching the story 
imagined he had blown in Cindy's ear softly cradled 
her head, turning her hair and the room was bright and 
open. She had light hair and a darker smile hidden by 
the loose curls cascaded down shoulders covering her 
huge breasts closed open when she pushed her arms 
together, bending over, exposing almost the whole face 
of the nipple, spreading the pace of pear, as an orbit 
colored with an ancient flesh paint. 

Henry, mesmerized, nineteen, reached for whatever she 
wanted. Reaching up, down, anything was easy too for 
the Lad, as Cindy called him, and careful, for 
whenever the young woman (not really much older than 
Henry in years) laughed, and the refreshment showed 
deeply, as the ample skin, and mouth, at least as dark 
as the morning when nothing was closed. 

Cindy had a strong chin, and angular jaw. Her eyes 
were round, open, fraudulent and innocent turned on 
herself, with a speck of violet and green. Just to 
show I'm a liar, she said, about her eyes, staring 
into a hand held mirror, as she turned quickly, 
placing the mirror face down on her dresser. I can't 
stand you too, she spoke to herself about herself, 
really smiling, convinced, and then pulling off tee 
shirt, stripping him of his, and putting it on.

"You magical slut," Henry said, pulling Cindy back, 
gently twisting her arm, like he had seen Gable do, 
not to hurt, but direct, assert, and then throwing 
Cindy on the bed in one motion.

"Don't fucking play," Cindy's bald and black old man
warned Cindy, fuck the boy. He paid.

Do it now, and no back talk, here, opening Cindy's robe,
ripping off her underpants, the black duded finger fucking
Cindy two wide fingers, pressing down and up, making her 
face tighten and scowl. Nothing else was said as the man
brought Cindy to her knees for the boy. Hard the boy
fucked her solid while Cindy's man laughed.

"I lie too easily," Cindy said, and she reached down, 
turned and the curve of her hip pointed, as her legs 
open, falling on her back, allowing muscular boy/man 
to fuck her openly, in front of anyone, not caring if 
after he finished another fuck slapped his prick into 
her too loose quiff. He came leaking. Cindy wiped it 
away, and another lover watched peeping while she let 
it spill out sitting over the commode, the nineteen-
year-old boy Henry had his face plastered against her 
pussy as Cindy peed. She was too drunk and fucked up 
to care, At the end the boy stretched his finger into 
her stream, as she stopped, he stopped it, the urine 
running down his forearm. He pushed at the folds 
letting her soft parts glisten while Henry pushed past 
the ribs to the other pelvis pushing his head back 
inside his mother-fucking vulva. Cindy held him on his 
return to mother and life. She watched while he licked 
and sucked at the swarm of sex making her pussy squeal 
with fifty blasts of orgasm drawn down beneath the 
belly and another five drawn down the spine to the 
toes and upward to her breasts and the circular drift 
through her milky teats and back down as lifted up her 
own tit to suck her own nipple clean off, coming 
through her teeth by God. She had the most wonderful 
face at that moment Henry was born a second time. 

"I like to watch men live," Cindy laughed. 

Paradise Motel trailer court, marvelous game. 
Wonderful. Everyone was involved. Skin was clean and 
the night had its peculiar strength as Cindy cupped 
his chest, struck off the dead man's mouth, and placed 
the infant back where the she child rightfully sucked 
her mother dry first emptying milk, then blood, and 
finally the come Cindy had sucked since her fourteenth 
year of her first great yes as permission. At twenty-
nine, Cindy was almost old, worn down, but Henry 
didn't care. Six kids fuck up any one's figure. Henry
was alive. That is all he knew. When the slick 
picked him up shivering, suffering from heat 
prostration, and hungry, fucked up with two rounds in 
the meat of his side, both passing through, Henry knew 
that fantasy, mirage had saved him. Perhaps it was a 
dream, but first chance back in the world he would 
find Cindy and tell her how out of the black hole of
Nam she was the guardian angel. She sucked death away
and I came waiting for the bird to sway hovering over
the landscape carried by buddies up and home.

Knocking at Cindy's door Henry found nothing. No one was 
there. A passing man asked Henry his business as he 
walked back to his car. He told Henry that Cindy ran 
off with a trucker last year. He told Henry that he 
heard that the trucker kicked her ass so much she 
finally took her own life. The passing man said he was 
sorry, and Henry kicking up some dust ran his car
faster back down the road from Paradise Cove, and
laughing said to him self, well at least I knew life
once upon a time. How many grunts can say they were
born again from the cunt of a whore. Sure, they say
it, but they don't really mean it. Henry did.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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