Solely I cannot imagine that I reshaped his honkey-ass life; though inevitably I had to like Roy - a crazy lone bird, a motherfucker I’d say who had a boner for his gun rack of shot guns, pistols, and this one 45 that he just got on a hotass day he would go, “of course it aint loaded, ya dipshit. Watch!” then click-bang! went incredible in its silences as the thing rammed against my temple \ destroyed the piss near out of me.

I am here figuring out just how awry accuracy goes when unknown into wherever Roy’s turn for heroism shouldered me, or should I say, nudged, then turned things around, bumped fate like I knew the fucker in the way I did, but not like I liked him too much and his weird shit he always thought clever; like this gayass crap he pulled. Yet ridiculous and jealous, “why didn’t you get ahold of some pussie Carlos? You know I’d hang all night up in some. All you got to do is call em. I aint had shit else to do out here but work on the goddamn Z….” this one night when Roy would blast off this six shooter, unannounced and absently into my shitbrains and maybe had pulled the thing out of the darkness and sheer oblivion to unveil in his Camaro; not from the busted sucks of the glovebox, but with all the past so safely unchangeable and falling into place instantly behind them congruent forms we ripped apart as the future only knows immediately down country roads; oh how far and how long at last but he looked at me with his hair like Lynyrd Skynyrd’s, Roy gawked from in the speeding ride and untucked the thing from his jeans like it was a giant cock the way they do in them fuck movies we’d always sit around and watch like it was Wheel of Fortune or some dumbass sit-com re-run; yea, from beyond places his hand smelled like and then he leveled the thing squarely at me with this grin and asked, "What you think peckerhead? Wanna know what feels like luck?."

 I can't even tell you how many times I have said that to myself upon realizing some shitty way I've been acting for, I dunno, forever. How is it that humans can go day after fucking day just being so goddamn oblivious to everything around them? Fuck me, man, I'm such an asshole. The chemical-slippery hot water is pouring down over my face and making it impossible to distinguish my tears. It feels weird to sob and not feel my tears fall, but I don't want anybody to hear me having a fucking mental breakdown for no reason, so I'm hiding in the shower. It's already hard enough to deal with my shit without the guilt I fucking spread around like HPV. Mental illness makes it so hard for me to not see myself as an illness. Daily, I have to make the choice whether to be the cunt or the cockroach. Do I convince myself I deserve all the earthy trappings that the shitlords of the United Fucking States of Goddamn America garner through sheer dumb fucking luck (and bloodshed and oppression) so that I can scratch out some semblance of happiness in this shitshow Disneyland? Do I cower and tell myself that I don't deserve any of these things because I did not earn them with my own two hands and I cannot provide for others with my own two hands? Am I a piece of shit for trying so goddamn hard every day to function and missing the mark almost every day? I carry my guilt like a cross, but it doesn't make me Christ-like, does it? Goddammit, I have no fucking idea. 

The town where I live is a shit hole. It's somewhere that the trashy Bastards come to die. It doesn't matter if we dissappear from here. Nobody will miss you if you're from Brindville.

There's a whore that lives on traight Street and she's missing her front two teeth. People say it's from sucking old man dick and getting the cheese lost between her teeth. But we really know it's the smack that got her. 

Billy Dowl is the boy that wants to marry me. His dad is a right nasty prick and he likes to bruise up his Mrs when he's giving her a good stuffin. 

His older brother Jason Dowl is in nick. People lie about why he's there. Some say he killed a man cuz he touched his sister, but we all know his sister is like the 24 hours market. Open all hours. She's got a cunt that we can call a bucket and know we're not lying. 

Some say it was a drug deal gone wrong. Which is quite believable round here. Every dickhead has got a secret to hide. Somebodys grandma will be on the game.

I know the truth coz Billy told me. 

I know Jason likes the Queens. You know, fags, trannies gay boys. Or if you're all proper you might say homosexuals. 

But the one he liked, didn't like him back so he kidnapped the boy, took him to a warehouse tied him up and shoved a massive metal pole up his arse. Ripped him up from the inside out.

You have to go to clink for stuff like that. Not like you can wander the streets sticking poles up people. 

So here in Brindville we got pimps, whores, smack heads, rapists and allsorts. You learn to watch your back. Carry a weapon and make friends with the nutters.

I suppose Billy is alright. 

A bit of a ponce. Like, kinda boring...

He never stabbed no fucker. But he comes from a big family. 

I suppose I'll say yes. 

My granny's been selling her rat since war for a loaf. And my mam only nicks from other people so she can chug a bottle of V. 

Billy will do fine.

Guess I'll let him shove his fingers up my twat soon. Then he'll buy me a ring. 

Filled with green bills and coins,

the curse jar greedily waits

for someone to fuck up and swear

"Goddammit" Cha-ching

"Can you shut the fuck up?!" Pay up

"Shit! You scared the fuck out of me." 50 cents~

"Asshole" Make that 75~

"Fuck you" Ooo, now you've upgraded to paper

"You son of a bitch." Wow, you're on a roll

I press my lips in a tight line with a low growl

and learn to censor myself in the kingdom of the Curse Jar

But once out of earshot

I'm like a sailor, mouth so filthy

it's like I haven't brushed my teeth in a bloody year.

Manners Cost

you Say,

So Let Us Begin.

A Tale That Is Both

Humorous

&

Dark;

Cock Weasel,

Prose,

&

Word Count.

Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel,

Prose,

Word Count.

Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel,

How you Are

a Cock Weasel.

Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel,

Should Have

Known It

From The Start.

Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel,

Now Is

That

Not Art.

Did I Mention

Cock Weasel,

Or

Prose,

How About

Word Count.

Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel, Cock Weasel,

Fucking

Cock Weasel

#B27321

Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!  I absolutely cannot believe this shit. The bitch has gone and done it again. Put her face between my legs, acted like she was going to suck me dry, but like a fucking tease, left me hanging yet again, just on the verge of cumming so hard it would knock a hole in the back of her pristine little skull. Let's just see what the cock-tease has to say when I bend her ass over the countertop in the kitchen and shove a wooden spoon into her little brown starfish. And if she bleeds, all the better. She needs to fucking pay for the multiple cases of blue balls she's left me with repeatedly. The stupid cunt isn't even smart enough to realize that I could really hurt her; hurt her in ways that she could never imagine. Once I've gotten the little whore exactly where I want her, I'll spill my seed all over her repugnant face and kick her out of the house. As long as she doesn't give me a little bastard to have to suck out of her snatch, I can be done with her and move on to the next conquest. But if the bitch ever got caught...we'll, let's just say there's more than one way to skin a fuckin' cat. I doubt the pussy is that good anyway. It never is.

His hands explored her body, their warmth and roughness so intense that it felt as if he were holding a naked flame to her skin. She felt hot, so hot. A sigh escaped her parted lips as her hair fell in her face. She had wanted this so badly and for so long. Just to feel alive again! To lose herself completely in the moment while getting a good bang for her box. She hadn’t anticipated any of this happening—not running into Liam, her former student, during “Mommy’s Night Out,” not having him profess a drunken admiration, not feeling shocked and flattered that anyone on the planet would pay attention to her. She accepted his shots of tequila, his invitations to dance, and a night of his advances.

He was a little older than the average college student, a rakish dirty blond with scruffy stubble. He sat in the back row for the entire semester she taught him, so he never really stood out to her as more than a huddled heap of winter clothes. They had a few exchanges that left the impression that as a second-semester senior, her required Intro to Writing course was bullshit to him, pretty much something he left until the very last minute to complete. She understood his stance, but still found it a bit disrespectful of him to let her know it. But whatever. She could give a shit less. He was just another faceless kid in one of her six classes, probably never see him again in life.

Until she did. She walked down the night-lit city street to Skin, a chic bar and lounge with another mommy, Miranda. May and Miranda were the same age, but Miranda acted more like a persnickety old auntie than the hot blonde number she resembled. Her voluptuous frame was clad in clothes that only rich women can afford, a hundred dollar Marc Jacobs tee shirt and skintight jeans that probably cost over $300. Her shirt barely concealed the soft, protruding breasts that were on full display. “A night away from Jayden makes them so big!” She had confided earlier about her swelling bosom. The longer she stayed away tonight, Miranda worried, the bigger they would get! Personally, May couldn’t wait to see when they arrived at near bursting. They already looked like two of the softest pillows of flesh she had ever seen. Miranda made May promise to help her pump milk in the ladies room later in the evening. She tapped her designer bag and revealed that there was a travel milk pump in there with batteries, bottles, and even a small cooler bag to keep the milk fresh. May promised to be there for her.

Miranda was a popular girl with lots of mommy friends. She had bedroom eyes, but a cold, hard line for a mouth. She and Vicco had been married now for eleven years. May couldn’t help wondering if that was what made her cold. They had two kids and an enviable life, but Miranda seemed like she used to be an adventurous party girl; now she was more of a stick in the mud. Still, everyone loved her, even May. She was just a really nice person.

She had agreed to pick May up so she would get to drink her fill and really cut loose without having to worry about a DUI. They pulled her Audi into a space and walked a block to Skin. It was a warm, early summer night. The kids were at home with daddy. Now it was mommy’s time. She had been wanting this for so long! She loved her family, but she missed feeling sexy, flirting, feeling sexual tension, feeling desire. ’I just want to get my groove back tonight,” she told herself as she sauntered up to the velvet rope in gorgeous black stilettos. She was dressed to kill tonight; well, as much as she could be wearing the few sexy clothes left in her wardrobe to choose from, and having to put on her makeup while simultaneously reading her son a story as he went potty. But she worked with what she had and she felt at least passable. Her skirt clung to her ass at the top, then flowed forgivingly in a swirl of fabric that accentuated her long, tan legs. Her top had suggestive buttons, and she had left the first four undone. Then, feeling too exposed, she covered the whole ensemble with a light, form-fitting blazer. There had been a time when May knew without uncertainty that she was the baddest bitch on the block, but those days were long gone. Her confidence in herself was lost sometime after kid number two.

Standing by the door, smoking a cigarette, was a familiar face. May couldn’t place him at first, so she stared a little too long.

“Dr. Robinson!” He exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. “Hey, I used to love your class.”

May felt a hint of disappointment. The presence of someone who knew her from the professional world would force her to exhibit some self-restraint tonight. So much for letting go, she thought. And besides that, this guy was cute! Clad in low slung jeans and a crisp tee, he looked every bit the college stud. So that’s what was hidden beneath all those winter layers, May thought to herself. Under all those winter coats was apparently a rock hard body.

“So you loved class? You?” She joked with him, giving him a playful punch on the arm. He chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder in a familiar gesture. Too familiar, May thought, but she let it go. He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper something in her ear.

“Are you kidding me? I loved that class. I used to come just to look at you. I loved watching you shimmy your little ass around the room. And when you sit on your desk? So hot!” May blushed at his brazen confession, pulling away from his eager embrace. He’s flirting! She thought, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Liam kept his arm around her and guided May and Miranda into the packed club. May felt a bit out of place, older and not so club-worthy as the unfamiliar song blasted over the din of the crowd. Liam’s hand slid down to the small of her back as he ushered her through the crowd. She saw Miranda’s friends sitting at a table and waved to them. Giving Liam a curt smile, she dashed toward the table of women.

Most of them were wilted flowers, past their prime. It was hard to believe that these women were the same age as May. They just looked so old. May squeezed into the booth next to Estelle, a mom she had met once before and said hello.

“Who was that guy? What a cutie!” Estelle gushed as May removed her light jacket.

“An old student. I think I got rid of him…” May explained.

“Uh, I don’t think so…” Estelle said as she nudged May’s side. Liam was approaching with a tray of glasses.

“Shots, ladies?” His voice hung in the air over the table- a dare. All of the mommies glanced around at each other, then gladly opened their gullets to allow the golden Patron to glide down

And then shit really started. May found herself on the dancefloor with Liam. His jerky dance moves were unimpressive, but kind of cute. She liked how his hands kept finding her body and pulling it close, rubbing, caressing, occasionally blatantly groping. She would lock her big brown eyes with his big blue ones and give him a stern but playful glance. Without missing a beat of music, she would reach her hand back onto her butt and pull his roving fingers back up to neutral territory. Fast forward an hour, two drinks, one shot, and three dances later, and May’s hand was a little slower to reprimand. In fact, the room had a distinct spinniness to it that was starting to distract her.

Usher’s voice rung out above the packed dance floor. Beat was hot, a slow, dirty groove. Liam pulled her close, and this time she gave no resistance. His body was sweaty and solid, cut and rock hard beneath only a few articles of clothing. She gripped his hips and noticed her drunken pelvis finding his. They set a sensual, locked groove. She could feel him rising from their proximity. He smelled so fucking good, like cologne and sweat and alcohol and cigarettes and sex yet to be had. His eyes found hers. The colored lights bounced wildly off his intense gaze. He smiled a crooked grin and pushed his mouth close to her ear. “So you wanna?”

“Wanna what?” May cocked her head to the side, bewildered. His eyes flashed danger, green then red then gold.

“Make love in this club. That’s what the songs says.” His words felt like his tongue already in her ear. Wait, maybe his tongue was already in her ear. With the lights and the insistent chorus, and now the intensifying whirl of the room and his tongue sending shocks straight down there, it was all too much for her untouched body to handle.

She was used to the gloomy, glowering, depressed drunk that lived in her basement. He gave her exactly four kisses a day. Good morning. Goodbye. Hello. Goodnight. They were dry, pursed-lipped kisses, appropriate for anyone but inappropriate between husband and wife. But what could she do? He had retreated over the years into his safe space, she into hers. His was frequented, she assumed, by underage black porn. “I can be a lot of things,” she had told him early on, her golden hand on his, “but I can’t be underage, and I can’t be black.”

And now there she was, two drinks and three shots into something that already had her dripping wet.

Fuck, she thought.

It was all too much. The drinks, the music, the sick proximity of his sweaty skin, hot from working up against her drunken form. She felt too tipsy to resist, and she didn’t really want to. But the room was spinning a little too much for her to make her move.He just smelled so good and she just wanted it so bad. Just once, to get fucked by some completely new, unfamiliar cock. To feel hands touch her with wild interest, to be brought to the very edge of existence and explode into somebody. It had been a long time since she had experienced fireworks. She used to be a banshee in bed, until her husband tamed her. He would never let her bring her full sexual self to him. It was too much for him to handle. She was left constantly yearning for something more. She had been in heat for years, so sexually frustrated that she was really down for whatever. She had watched so much twisted porn during her solo sexual career that she didn’t even know what normal sex was anymore. She’d gone through an anal phase, a dp phase, a face fucking phase, a tranny phase, a bbw phase, a bbc phase, a bondage phase, an asian phase, a gang bang phase, a squirting phase and even a fisting phase. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how much more fucked up her viewing habits could get before she just gave up completely. Sometimes her husband didn’t touch her for months. She just wanted to feel something, anything at this point. Whatever.

Buzzkill: Liam dipped her, and May threw up in her own mouth. She stumbled and fell into him as her eyes tried to focus.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, “are you okay?” She lurched off the dancefloor, following a blurry sign that surely indicated the bathroom. Liam followed, trying to steady May’s steps with a protective arm around her waist. She had swallowed the vomit, which really only tasted like alcohol.

“I got you, baby. You’re okay.” He promised her as he opened the door to the ladies room for her. She meant to say thank you, but she wasn’t sure it came out.

The bathroom was a candlelit study in Zen modernism. The mirrored sitting area held a white leather couch that stood out against a granite wall. Pendulum lights hung from the ceiling; the stark walls glowed with recessed lighting. The floor was a cement runway dividing a sea of onyx pebbles. Even the sink was made to resemble a fountain. May splashed her face and immediately felt better. She dried it on a fluffy black towel and threw it in an urn that she thought she had seen once at the Pottery Barn. There was mouthwash and other toiletries, so she hastily freshened up, grateful for a chance to pull herself together.

A gentle knock on the door was followed by a head poking in. His gorgeous eyes, followed by that crooked grin. “You okay?” He asked, cocking his head to one side. He looked around to see if there was anyone else in the ladies room, then stepped inside. He had an exaggerated look of caution on his face that made May giggle.

He locked the door behind him and rushed over. Pushing her lithe body up against the cold granite almost made her come on the spot. His tongue immediately found hers as their bodies met. His hands were rough as they pushed themselves up her top to grab her breasts. After nursing two kids, she was shocked to find out that when touched by a stranger, she was aroused into a frenzy. She wanted to fuck him right there and then. But first she wanted to do some of the stuff she saw in the millions of movies…

She got down on her knees in front of him and looked up with doe eyes.

“Can you fuck my face please?” she asked him innocently. His eyes widened and his lips parted slightly as he eagerly undid the button on his jeans and pulled his python out of his pants. She cowered below what had to be at least eleven if not twelve of the most delicious inches of manhood she had ever witnessed. Not only was he long, but he was thick- probably as thick as her forearm. Bring it, she thought, as she ducked her head under his cock. From there she ran her nose along the length of his shaft, taking in its musky odor. It was so fucking erotic to smell his sweaty cock, knowing that soon he might plunge it into any number of places on her body. Bring it. Bring it. Bring it. She chanted internally.

As she fellated the tip, she looked up into his eyes. Dumbfoundment and awe glowed with his youth. She felt the benefit of her age, manipulating his thick manhood with expert attention. Oh she knew how to suck a dick. And she hadn’t sucked one in so long. It tasted as good as it smelled, as her tongue lapped it up like ice cream on a scorcher of a summer day. She smacked her lips and spit on his dick, using her saliva to lubricate her hand, which she ran up and down the length while her mouth made sensual magic with the tip. Her mind was racing with thoughts of what it would feel like to have that monster up inside her hard. Part of her felt like begging.

Liam stood with his pelvis thrust out and his hands on his hips. She put her hands on his and gently guided them to either side of her head. She opened her mouth and her throat as wide as she could and gently moved her head back and forth along the luxurious length of his cock. He moaned with pleasure and started to move his hips. She pulled him out of her mouth and looked up at him. He gazed back, confused. She smiled, then spit on his cock almost in disdain. A challenge. His eyes widened. So did hers. Would he accept?

He dove so far down her throat she thought she would puke again. Except this time it made her feel like coming. She tried to open the back of her throat as he thrust himself hard into her face. Is this a promise, she wondered. Will he fuck me hard like this? She touched herself through her soaked panties in anticipation. Liam developed a rhythm, pumping his hips as she slurped the vast majority of his thick dick down her throat. She could feel his precum watering the back of her throat. Her own mouth watered. Her eyes watered from the strain. Her body was pretty close to trembling at this point, almost collapsing from the thrill of it all.

In a flash, he pulled her off, flipped her over, and put her on all fours on the white leather bench. They could both see themselves and each other in the mirrors that lined the walls. Their bodies glowed with near perfect lighting. She didn’t look forty, and she sure as hell didn’t feel forty up on her haunches like that with her little Pilates ass waving in the air like a target. Her heels pointed out on either side of his warm, hairy legs. He pulled her thong to the side and rubbed his dick against her naked snatch. She was hairless- thanks to a Christmas present from her husband for laser hair removal, and she had recently pierced her clit, for no apparent reason, except the ever present urge to feel something, anything again. His raging cock pushed up against the her lips, trying to wiggle its way into heaven. May wanted so very much to let him in.

Except that what had seemed like an irksome drumming had now turned into a pounding. Someone was knocking on the door. Fuck.

"Hey dickhead, I told you to put all that shit away and throw out the boxes."

"You said put all the meats away. Cheese isn't a meat"

"Holy fuck, are you serious?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you retarded? Why the fuck would I tell you to organize ALL of that shit EXCEPT for the cheese? Do I have to micromanage you? You're making me micromanage. I'm walking away. Jesus fuck."

"Well should I go organise the cheese too?"

"Well I don't know, smartass. I guess I could do it for you. I guess I could wipe your ass too. I guess I could fucking just do your job for you. Just go ahead and fucking sit down. Take a god damn load off, my man. I got this. I'll just do my fucking job, and then yours. Because that's what I live for. TO DO THE GOD DAMN SHIT I TOLD YOU TO DO AN HOUR AGO."

"..........Ok. So can I eat now then."

*Sigh* "Yea dude just don't take too long it's been pretty busy tonight. We gotta start closing soon."

*37 minutes later*

"Hey man are you seriously only done with half your food?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Why? Because it's been a fucking half hour. What do you mean why? You ask why when your fucking dog gets run over. You ask why when your girlfriend breaks up with you. You don't ask me why I'm irritated that you eat like a god damn sloth when we've got work to do. I've been picking up your fucking slack and shit for this whole time. You know you're not entitled to a break right? Your shift is only five hours long. I COULD WORK YOU LIKE MY RETARDED SLAVE FOR YOUR WHOLE SHIFT. DON'T FUCK WITH ME RIGHT NOW."

"Ok let me just finish my chips."

"OH GOOD YEA, NO, JUST TAKE YOUR FUCKING TIME. I GUESS WE CAN ALL JUST TAKE A BREATHER WHENEVER WE FUCKING WANT. WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT?"

"Ya. You really should have thought of that first. I guess you're the retard."

"I really am."

-An average shift with me and my employees.