I starve myself, deprive myself
So you can’t see me
Out of sight, out of mind
Peek a boo I’m still here
It’s my own failing
And my own damned fault
For letting myself be shoved aside
This time I’m out of care
Humanity is blinded by their own hand
Choosing to look solely at the opaque
Farther down is too far to go
Skin deep is rather shallow and
Eye candy is just empty calories
Certainly not nourishment
Soul food is sustenance for survival
What a sweet treat to find both
Encased in one gilt wrapped gift
Sometimes the true horror lies in the mind refraction
Where no one can escape reality
The bubbles crackle like the fresh falling snow
on the fire burning out of control just across the road and
this she replayed in her mind as she watched the fire dance
sparkle with the shadows on the ceiling of the bathroom
oh the sensation of flying, so sure she is flying
the sensation of pleasure so intense that she bites her hand
he’s gone but his hand is her own as he fucks herself
she writhes against it in abandon shouting his name
– no nothing but the need fulfilled then she cries in silence
at the storm inside because she knows it’s only her mind
and not his hand not him, it can’t be ever again. he’s gone
he’d left her
abandoned in a new definition
she is alone and for always
but she swears she can smell his cologne on her pillow
feel his hands on her hips
lips on her lips
it feels like him and she can’t help but moan in protest
he’s dead she still wears his blood on her hands and her face
he promised she grinds alone in her mind she stutters
paces in places well-worn in her padded visceral cell
but his tongue in her, cobwebs and cunnydust
and his fingers scrabbling like creatures
full and gushing eyes shut tight riding the waves
then a new a fullness, a new warmth, a tsunami but he’s gone and sunk deep in pieces where I left him
while her body dies over and over
she sighs over and over
axe then chainsaw I cut him it’s he him
She smells his blood
sex, earth and hell
oh my god what the – no get off get out it hurts
it hurts but delicious
his movements are vicious and he’s dead but inside of her
the swell and the ocean
she remembers the reason she feels him so close
then she laughs out loud with release
Not bare skinned but bare souled
Darkness embraces a new freedom
In the absence of light I can let go the masque
Forget my scars and lessons
In that lost time between consciousness and careworn
The memory of your warmth reminds me that I exist
The knowledge of your loss
Stabs me suffering life in the cold.
I remember my indoctrination into what was considered by my parental units as horror very well. I was about 10 and my mother wanted me to watch a scary movie. A child on the cusp of cognizance and an understanding of what my dream was to be. The film was Carrie and Mum swore it was terrifying. It was, for her. She kept warning me when it was going to be intense and I was disappointed each and very time. I did and do however still hold sympathy for Carrie White and a deeper knowledge of why.
It wasn’t until the very end of the film, that the comprehension of what I wanted to do with my life became red as bloodsauce. When that hand popped out of the ground and my mother jumped, I knew. I wanted to do that. I had no nightmares but rather a seed was planted and has continued to grow.
That was then. Then I discovered my first love, Freddy Krueger. What girl couldn’t fall in love with a man who invades her dreams? Then I discovered all sorts of wonderful, terrible things.
This is now. All the greats hold admiration in my black heart, and a few even closer to my soul. They are one of the reasons the genre is one I adore. The year is the 2016. I still aim to make people jump out of their skins, scream or feel that rope burn. This year I have greater illusions of bloodsplatter with a soupcon of gore, and, unbelievably, I am sharing my most anticipated list of upcoming films.
Since I began indulging in horror as a sweet treat, only those who have been exposed to the horror fiend I harbor within have been privy to anything I find fascinating enough to want to view. Now granted, my taste is not the same as every other horror freak, and because I tend to view my movies on different facets, my choices may not agree with yours. Once upon a time, I watched for the finished product and the eye candy. And the Bloodsauce. Things change.
The last couple years have afforded me some valuable lessons and some opportunities to learn. I now movie go for completely different reasons than I had before. I want to giggle with my gore and so humour is a hook. Films are also the heartsblood of any wordsmith who chooses to take their imagination and make it real for the rest of the world, and so I watch for their hearts and for what they fear The camera angles fascinate me as well and so my intention is often drawn to that. I also watch for the story, as I have an attention span of a gnat at times, if a film throttles my attention from the start and piques my curiosity, it is sure to be on this list.
I have been lucky enough to view two of these films that have been on my list for a while. Reviews are forthcoming. As I have not ranked these films in my original list, I will share with you the list as is. They are not in any particular order. And now without further ado, my list of most anticipated horror films for 2016.
A supernatural thriller set in the legendary Aokigahara Forest. A young American woman, Sara (Natalie Dormer of “Game of Thrones” and “The Hunger Games”), goes in search of her twin sister, who has mysteriously disappeared. Despite everyone’s warnings to “stay on the path,” Sara enters the forest determined to discover the truth about her sister’s fate. Don’t miss ’The Forest’ In Theaters – January 8, 2016!
Aokigahara (青木ヶ原?) is a real place located in the Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park in Japan. In 2003, 105 bodies were pulled from the forest and in recent years they have stopped publicising the number of attempted suicides and the number of suicides in order to downplay the association.
As you all know this has major release and I had the pleasure to see it on opening day. The synopsis does not do the film justice in my opinion. The concept of such a place fascinates me as does the story. It is not simply a thriller. Based on true events, but which events are true?
Yes. I have seen it. Yes, I chuckled maniacally and genuinely out loud. Yes. The witnesses lived. Bloodmania, an anthology featuring the Godfather of Gore Herschell Gordon Lewis, produced by James Saito, contains so much more than gore. I laughed my ass off, a lot, and enjoyed every bloody second. You will too…I promise. Meanwhile, go look at the trailer and check out the facebook page.
New Film from “Doll Boy” Director Billy “Bloody Bill” Pon via YouTube
A man becomes entangled in a deadly morality game when the circus comes to town and a sadistic clown forces him to examine the things in life he takes for granted in the most horrific ways.
Now let’s be clear. I fucking hate clowns. All of them. But there’s something about Papa Corn that makes me scream for more. Aren’t clowns supposed to be funny too? Starring: Bill Oberst Jr, Parrish Randall & Chanel Ryan and directed by Billy Pon.
From the YouTube channel of Gerald Auger, Star of Bohemian Blood
Bohemian Blood – Some were looking for pleasure, some for company, and some were trying to simply do the right thing, in the hands of an artist there is no right or wrong.
An Indigenous Gothic Horror written and directed by Cam White (Writer/Director) that captured my interest after seeing that it stars the cover model of a friend’s novels, Medicine Man by Beverly Cialone. It’s a rarity to find such an interesting mix and I am quite excited to see it
Introducing BLOOD SOMBRERO! A new action-packed thriller from the mind of Abel Berry! This star-studded film is coming to DVD at every WalMart in the nation as well as all major retailers in spring 2016 and will bring you a heart pounding thrill ride into a dark world of Ruthless Predators! Leather! Guns! Knives! Hardcore Badasses! Psychotically Gorgeous Women! And of course, Blood! War is hell, but hell is home in Blood Sombrero!
Yup Yup this gem is one I can’t wait to get my teeth and eyes into. Starring a tonne of familiar faces including the amazing Billy Blair but the beautiful and talented Amanda Marie. Looks like a real thrill ride!
From what I have managed to glean, Trauma Dolls is an interesting story. Admittedly I am fascinated. A horror movie set in the fields of fashion and neuroscience. Emilie Flory’s story of Bijou has piqued my interest and I am indeed anxiously awaiting a further peek.
Ten-year-old Lucie flees from the isolated warehouse where she has been held prisoner. Deeply traumatized, she is plagued by awful night terrors at the orphanage that takes her in. Her only comfort comes from Anna, a girl her own age. Nearly a decade later and still haunted by demons, Lucie finally tracks down the family that tortured her. As she and Anna move closer to the agonizing truth, they find themselves trapped in a nightmare – if they cannot escape, a martyr’s fate awaits them…
This film is also seeing theater release this year. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is, I keep hoping someone will get it right. The tortures look interesting at the least and that line, “I sacrifice for knowledge,” has that hook. Let’s hope it can show us something to talk about.
Synopsis from YouTube FilmIsNow Horror Movie Channel
Blackburn is set in a small Alaskan ghost-town with a horrifying history. A forest fire and rockslide have trapped five bickering college friends overnight. Seeking refuge inside the abandoned Blackburn Mine they must try to band together as they are mysteriously slaughtered one-by-one
“I’m going to make you pretty. Just like me.” What a delicious line to come across and more hope for this seemingly delightfully bloody story scare the hell out of me!
A few weeks ago I was afforded an opportunity to view an upcoming film at an exclusive test screening that had been flying on my radar for a while. Curiosity murdered the feline, so I agreed to attend and also had the chance to finally meet in person the producer of “Herschell Gordon Lewis’ BloodMania”, James Saito. As a fellow Canadian, and Calgarian, when the chance to interview him was discussed I naturally jumped at the chance. Since then I’ve discovered more about this fellow, his sense of humour, his extensive knowledge of music and film and the insights of a producer and fellow wordsmith.
It’s a rarity to find someone who knows the genre so well and is willing to share, and even rarer to find such a rare gem in one’s own city. James, I am so pleased for this chance and thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule.
How bout them Seahawks?
It is a glorious time to be a Seahawk fan. Bear in mind that they have been my team since they entered the league in 1976. The first 30 or so years of fandom were disappointing, heartbreaking, and filled with ineptitude. It is such a delight now that they are a powerhouse, and can beat anyone on any given Sunday! When they won their first Super Bowl, I remember thinking, “I can die now, they finally did it”.
Now, I’ve never been accused of being meek, so James, I want to get this out of the way. Are you single? Looking? I know a few ladies out there are wondering.
Ha, oh boy. Okay I was expecting almost any question except that. (Pauses) First let me say that I usually avoid questions regarding my normal personal life, but I guess it’s safe to say…I am single, but I’m not available. Though we are no longer together I am very much still in love with someone, one of those, “I found my soul mate, it seems she didn’t” scenarios. Mistakes were made. She has my heart in a box, and unfortunately love has no off switch. So I guess I will love her until I don’t. In the meantime I have nothing to offer anyone else emotionally, so it wouldn’t be fair to get involved with anyone at this point. However having said that shoot me some pictures of these girls who are wondering………..
Who have been your literary influences? Film? Television?
God there are so many, off the top of my head:
Literary: Harlan Ellison, William Goldman, Tom Robbins, and I attribute my dirty, politically incorrect, and sexual sense of humor to the golden era of National Lampoon magazine.
Films: Alfred Hitchcock, Quentin Tarantino, Akira Kurosawa, Peter Sellers, The Marx Bros. W.C. Fields, Ken Russell, David Lynch, Hammer Films, Universal horror films, early Bond films – I could go on for hours.
Television: The Twilight Zone, Deadwood, Boris Karloff’s Chiller, Thunderbirds, and of course Star Trek. (OS, TNG, and DS9, the rest with the exception of the final season of “Enterprise” was utter rubbish. That’s right, suck the snotty end of my fuck stick “Voyager” fans!)
Tell me about what first drew you to the horror genre and how its kept you its prisoner all these years?
This would be hard for a modern kid to understand, but when I was growing up most television was black and white and we had two channels. Sometimes the only thing to watch later at night were Creature Features and such. What young boy doesn’t love monster movies? I would watch all the late night Universal films available, and as time passed Hammer films began showing as well. I found that it was kind of fun to be scared, and that is why I think horror has been around since we sat in caves telling stories by firelight. I believe it is cathartic to hear or see something scary, to experience it vicariously without personal consequence.
You grew up in Lethbridge Alberta. What was life like then for young James? Were you firmly entrenched into horror even then?
Oh yeah, I would scour the TV listings to see what horror films would be on every week. By the time I was eight I was collecting “Famous Monsters of Filmland”, reading “Eerie” and “Creepy”, and building Frankenstein and Wolfman model kits. At ten I wrote a story called, “Operation Werewolf” about a young G.I. who is given an experimental lycanthropy serum so that he could combat Nazis as a werewolf. If anyone steals this idea please at least give me a “based upon a concept by” credit.
What was the first horror film you remember seeing? Why does it stick with you?
I think that would have to be “Mr. Sardonicus” a 1961 film whose details escape me as this was like 50 years ago. I remember this guy wearing a mask and he removed it to reveal this huge, horrible grimace/smile on his face. I seem to recall that this was quite disturbing to a very young me.
Who is one musician/composer or band you would want to meet and why?
Igor Stravinsky – he wrote a mean fugue.
Thank you, try the veal !
Seriously though, having worked in the rock world for many of my formative years allowed me to meet and work for a lot of my musical favorites. I would love to buy a pint for Jimmy Page and Robert Plant and chat. Obviously I would buy a pint for each of them, I wouldn’t make them split one. They deserve that much respect for their body of work, by God!
What keeps you in Calgary when there are other, perhaps more lucrative cities to live in?
You mean Los Angeles or Toronto? Let me paraphrase the great Hunter S. Thompson,
“The film business is a cruel, shallow one filled with con artists, sycophants, wannabes, clinger-ons, and delusional folk who think one should be handed success without regard for paying dues. But, there’s also a negative side.”
That is a fair evaluation. As for California, it is a wonderful place to visit, but I want no business dealings there whatsoever. Allow me to quote Herschell, “Hollywood is a fraternity that I have no interest in joining”. With all due respect, the film environment in Vancouver and Toronto isn’t much better.
Working in Calgary allows me the freedom to create my own little world, and one enters by invitation only. I have been fortunate enough to assemble a core team of industry veterans and we are all compatible. Any success in this industry is a combination of hard work, luck, and fortuitous timing. Should I go on to find any level of success, I will be grateful because of those factors. I stay in Calgary because it is going to be a much busier location for filming in the next five years. We have a major studio opening soon, so that combined with our relatively weak dollar make it desirable and sought after.
I know you’ve seen likely more films than anyone I know. How many film have you seen?
Obviously I don’t count, but if I say around 10,000 it would be fairly accurate. I have a friend in Vancouver who has seen at least twice that, I consider him a true cinephile.
Why specifically zombie film reviews?
I have been a fan of the zombie genre since I saw the original “Dawn of the Dead” in 1978. In the late 80’s a friend and I decided to try to review every zombie film made, of course back then there wasn’t the glut of substandard shit that assaults the viewer on an almost daily basis. I can barely find the time to watch them now, which is probably good as there are maybe 3% that are worth spending precious hours of one’s life watching. I still have around 200 to watch and review, but I have to really space them out otherwise I will simply end up hating a genre that I once had a great deal of affection for.
Let’s discuss BloodMania.
First, let me personally dispel a few misconceptions about BloodMania, and I am sure that James will expound further upon this as we chat. Herschell Gordon Lewis’ BloodMania surprised this girl into giggles more than once during the film. Not horrified giggles but full on guffaws. I actually laughed out loud, though at an entirely inappropriate segment. Several friends of mine are in the film, and I can never see them in the same way again and that is great.
Herschell Gordon Lewis’ BloodMania is simply not your expected gore fest. Oh I’m not saying there is none, just that anyone expecting that this anthology to be only that is in for a bloody surprise. Having stated my opinion, working with the Godfather of Gore must be an interesting experience. What can you tell us about him?
I love Herschell, I mean that literally, not in a Hollywood talk show way. He has become like a second Father to me. It is indeed a privilege to have spent so much time in his company. He is funny, sometimes acerbic, witty, and far more intelligent than I think people give him credit for. He is a truly complex, one of a kind individual who represents a gentleman from another era to my way of thinking. I guess he is literally that. We speak all the time. I have managed to learn so much from his counsel not only in regards to the business, but life and how to conduct it as well.
Diabolique Enterprises will also be publishing the definitive book on Mr. Lewis and his storied career sometime this year. There is also some talk that we may film a documentary entitled “Architect of Destiny”: One on One with Herschell Gordon Lewis”.
How did you come to be able to involved in the project?
The anthology was my brain child, I grew up loving the anthologies produced by Amicus studios like the original “Tales From the Crypt” and “Vault of Horror. I have come to believe that the short horror film is a preferable format, not individually however. Many young film makers will make a short that may or may not receive accolades at festivals and such, which then sit on a shelf. Once they are combined however it provides a variety of ideas to the viewer.
Everything starts with an idea, but sometimes they fall prey to what I refer to as “Saturday Night Live” syndrome. Your premise may work effectively in a 25 page script, but ultimately becomes diluted in a 90 page version; it requires padding and affects pacing in many cases. From a practical business standpoint if you present 3 or 4 well conceived stories the viewer is likely to enjoy a number of them, and will spend money even if he or she doesn’t care for one segment.
Initially Herschell and I wanted to do a feature, but due to a bit of fuckery and circumstance that didn’t prove viable. A few months later we decided on the anthology format and that was that. The project then went through several incarnations, potential directors, writers, and wrap around segments before we were finally satisfied. At times it was like a fucking comedy, one that I will provide details regarding should I ever write my memoirs. I would love to go apeshit on the Blu-Ray commentaries and tell the unadulterated truth with actual names, warts and all. But that would not be politic and undoubtedly actionable. But someday……..
Was it a conscious choice to film locally?
There was never any question that it would be shot anywhere but Calgary. The mission statement of my production company states: “HGB Entertainment Ltd. will endeavor to promote the film and television industry in Calgary Alberta”. I want to give back to a community that has been nothing but good to me.
There are many rumours floating about that speak to whether or not BloodMania is just another gore fest. How does it differ?
Herschell and I decided early on several criteria. The idea being was that first and foremost we wanted the film to entertain the audience, we wanted to put them through the entire spectrum of emotion. If the audience laughs, and gets a little scared and uneasy then we have succeeded. So scripts were the priority, and we went through quite a number of them before deciding upon the ones in the film. We also decided that there had to be a prevalent element of humor as there are many dour films out there. There is no gore for the sake of gore, what is there is organic to the story. I will say that the one segment that contains no humor I was responsible for, it is straight out psychological horror. But then one of the other criteria was that each segment be an entirely different take on horror, a little something for everyone. So in the end we have one that is psychological horror, one that is a comedy of errors, one that is a creature story, and another which is an homage to 80s slasher films. I’m certainly not implying there is a lack of blood, it would not be a Herschell film otherwise. I will say that the effects are 95% practical and we used over 20 gallons of stage blood to implement them.
What can audiences expect from Bloodmania?
I would say the unexpected, go in with an open mind. This film was originally conceived as a bridge between the H.G.L. of the 20th century transitioning into the 21st. Casting was pretty much done by the time Mr. Lewis arrived in Calgary, and he was pleasantly surprised to have actual actors on set. There are also a lot of Easter eggs in the film for Herschell’s hard core fans to keep your eye out for. Watch it and have a good time, and if you say to a friend, “You have to see this” then we have done our job.
Your segment contribution to Bloodmania is much different than the other journeys we take. Truthfully and I’ve mentioned it more than once, all the stories included in Bloodmania have their own flare and style, but the one you wrote is the one segment of the film that has really stuck with me. What inspired the story? What can you tell us about it?
Every once in awhile Raven Banner Entertainment will play a horror film across North America for one night only. On one particular evening I went to see “Nothing Left to Fear” produced by Slash from Guns N’ Roses’. It was preceded by a short film that I recall wasn’t all that good. As I sat in the theater I recall thinking that a person has to be able to do better than that. At that moment the idea for the anthology began taking shape. So enticed was I by the idea, that as I lay in bed that night the entire idea for my segment came to me. I now knew the story, and the more I thought of it, the action sequences came to me. I grabbed my phone and made notes. The next day I hammered out a first draft in one sitting. It changed very little from conception to filming. Any changes that were made were predicated by whatever actress was going to play the central character, and there were three that were associated at various points. Director Melanie Reinboldt made several wonderful suggestions, and I am very happy with how she interpreted the script and brought it to life.
What is upcoming for James Saito in 2016?
That depends on so many factors. I am fortunate to have a number of large distributors wanting the film. I have been blessed by a confluence of circumstances, a legendary cult icon director, affiliation with the Premiere genre horror magazine and their amazing marketing abilities. Once contracts are signed, we begin promoting the release heavily. After that…..I don’t think most people believe me when I say that I could walk away from this deplorable industry anytime and never look back. That is certainly one option. However I believe the future of horror is in television, and there are a couple of non horror scripts and a horror remake that I would like to do. Nothing is etched in stone.
In my personal life I want to devote more time to my volunteer duties at The Calgary Wildlife Rehabilitation Society. I am currently taking my raptor handling training so that I can take owls and hawks to various locations – classrooms, senior’s centres, etc. to give seminars on the importance of bio diversity and raise awareness of the importance of preserving species around us. I will also be shooting some PSAs to raise the profile of this important organization and am trying to put together a fund raiser for them as the money provided them to operate is deplorably low.
Economic conditions being what they are, I would finally like to see what kind of property I can acquire in Kelowna, British Columbia, which I consider Eden on Earth. The world today is a mad house, and I am becoming a bit of a bitter recluse, so the idea of a beautiful getaway home where I can have cherry and peach trees, and one day open an animal sanctuary is more appealing every day. I love animals, humans not so much. And hope does spring eternal, maybe one day I will find someone who would like to share this life with me.
Thank you again James. Watch for Bloodmania coming soon to slay you with salacious delights.
It denotes a pattern She notes, her pen scratching Rats in the walls, skitter scatter Thoughtfully, she taps her nails And watches the breeze play in the trees They fade, vividly waving goodbye If only she could fade as the trees do Only Jack Frost would miss her
The real world snickers mean encouragement
Let the freak peek from behind open eyes
Retrospection versus reality
Influences dim like afternoon mist
All that remains are lyrical sighs
The perfume of summer in wintertime
Often truth from empathic lips whisper
Enigmatic, words fall apart like dreams
A soul’s assentation from darkness to light
As lovely as faded butterfly wings
All I can do is listen and recall
The soundtrack of my forward momentum
Do you think me pretentious
Or just inane because I refuse to kneel
After a lifetime on my knees
Praying to a nonexistent God
Or bowed to the will of another
I’ve done my time in Hell
Thank you for not shoving your belief
Down my throat
If I wanted a religious facefuck
I’d google it, so thanks again
If I appear rude
It’s because I am being so
Blame it on the snow in California
Or on social media and what have you
But stop asking me to prey to a dead deity
There is no God.
Maybe once upon a time I could buy it
Now as an adult it could never be
God abandoned me for greener pastures
See ya buhbuye!! He waved hello
To the age’d averages in Florida
Or blew himself up in space
Who the fuck knows
Zealots and factionists
Come in all shapes and sizes
Even grow in your own backyard,
according to the media mongers,
History speaks volumes if you care to listen
All the religions in the human experience
Started with LOVE
One has to wonder when love became hate
I hit him. I balled up my fist and hit him square in the sniffer. I’ve always said that if I had the chance, if I were ever in the perfect time and at the perfect place, I would punch Billy Sharp just once and make it count for everything. It didn’t happen that way, though, and you know what they say; once is never enough. I wish I could say it was only twice or thrice but no, it was many, many more than that. I regret nothing.
It was bad enough that I was in certain company and that tossing a table, attempting to murder what would appear to be an innocent man with my four-inch stiletto would be entertaining, but poor form. Still, the moment alone in my head with a mental movie of him screaming in agony with my Jimmy Choo treasure sticking out of his left eye and the toe of my shoe keeping time with his tuneful yelping was almost hysterical. I actually fought the urge to laugh out loud lest it give the douche the idea I was happy to see him. Yet there I was, with a spoonful of crème brûlée frozen halfway to my lips and that motherfucker standing there in front of me smug and sporting a smirk.
The crème brûlé needed work, but it dampened the dangerous tinny gall that filled my mouth. Wiping my lips delicately on the cloth napkin, I stood, giving the fellas to each side a glance at the skull-and-roses embossed nylons I wore on what my besties call da pinz. They didn’t match my business attire but c’est la guerre. I didn’t care what they saw as I returned Billy’s smirk with a grin,. I didn’t even mind the feather touch of a warm palm sliding along my inner thigh as I stepped around to the other side of the table and punched that dicksicle in the face with every ounce of coiled rage I possessed. One punch. Make it count. I rang his bell hard enough to make him stagger.
The first hit hurt my hand and broke his nose. I felt it crunch under my knuckles like eggshells, and admittedly, I liked the way Billy squealed in surprise. Like s stuck pig. Fucker didn’t see it coming and how could he? He was so busy watching himself in the reflection of the coffee shop window to realise my fist was hurtling towards his handsome face. I could hear the muted voices of several of my cohorts, ranging from stunned gasps to aroused horror. I liked it. He collapsed to the ground like a sack of hammers and I landed as hard on his chest with my fist still pumping like a piston. I liked that too. The horrified sounds made me hotter and the melon thunk of my fist in his face fed that ragefire in my stomach that I couldn’t drown except to smother it in this current activity.
So I did it again. And again. And again. And again. Billy’s squeal of shock turned into a dismayed cry, then became a choked moan that punctuated each wet smack. He begged mushily for me to stop and I did, for a few seconds; for a fraction of a heartbeat, and in an intake of breath, I actually considered ceasing, dropping my fist to my side while he sobbed my name and squeezed my ample tits with a gurgly chortle. Another old but apt principle, an object in motion stays in motion; my arm swung forward and my favourite red stiletto heel was stuck into his left eye and it did in fact slap in time with the gyrating and writhing Billy was doing. It was an oddly tuneful song that I didn’t find offensive in the least.
I know what you are wondering and the answer is no. I felt nothing more than absurdly horny and that carnal hunger intensified every time I heard that thud. I should have felt something, in retrospect, other than the urge to get myself off on his bruised and battered lips. Considering who he was, it’s ridiculous that I even registered that desire. Still he was good for something, at one time, in some way. At least at the start, the sex was unfuckingbelievable. Billy was heroin and I needed a fix. I wanted him constantly and he was more than capable of providing, then.
But after the newness rubbed off, his wandering eye came alive and was down the cleavage of every woman from late teen to fiftyish. If not there, then his virtual hand was down the gusset of each said female he made contact with. Even with me stand there feeling the fool. That son of a cunt practically panted when the neighbour’s nubile seventeen year old granddaughter came to visit and to cut the lawn. He stood at the side window rubbing at his crotch and sweating while he watched her push the mower in her short shorts and bikini top. Then the punishments for crimes I hadn’t committed began again. Finally, through some kind of divine intervention or because I suddenly grew a set of balls and a backbone, I ran from him and emerged from Hell into freedom and into a new kind of fear. Battered, I had to rebuild the temple of Me from foundations. I survived and vowed that one punch. Once for all.
My hands hurt badly, and they throbbed like my starving sex for relief. His face is a pulpy patchwork of blood, eyes and teeth and shoe. He’s quite repulsive and my desire to fuck him while cutting his throat had mostly passed. Thankfully. One place Billy Sharp will never be is inside of me again. In any way. The voices are louder now and I sense another male close but far enough out of reach of my one track mind and aggressive fists. “You’ve proven your point. End it or compose yourself. They are watching,” a familiar voice stated in a cold, understanding tone that contrasted sharply with the heat of fingers playing along my spine like a xylophone. He was right and from my boot I pulled a small handled, sharpened spoon that had been a gift from an old friend. I made it dance in front of his remaining frightened eye.
“You loved seeing me suffer didn’t you, fucktard? Guess what Billy? I’m sharing the favour. You’ll never have a woman again, unless she’s blind.”
Oh he knew then and bucked his bulk around under me hoping to knock me loose, or judging from his hardon, trying to ram his dick up inside of me. He couldn’t even decide between sex and self-preservation. What an idiot. I have very strong thighs and he failed. I did however extract my pound of flesh, so to speak, and composed myself while bidding my colleagues adieu. His eye I left floating in the glass of bourbon he had been sipping when I made good on my vow. Sadly for Billy, no amount of skin grafts can fix the ugly face that now matched his ugly soul.
That was five years ago today. I’ve been in hiding since the jury exonerated me and for good reason. His family resents me and this I comprehend their reasoning, sort of. I’d feel worse if I didn’t know the apple was rotten inside long before it fell from the tree. I had a long hard laugh over my coffee this morning when I read that he that he had blown his head off in the night during rush hour traffic. What a fucking drama queen.
“My goodness people are crazy in those big cities!” Ginny, my waitress exclaimed as she refilled my coffee cup, “I feel sad for him though Eloisa. He must have been miserable.” She smiles into my eyes with her innocent glazed stare focusing on my own with a fire I hadn’t seen in a long time. She would make a sweet treat for my tounge later. I feel my smile widen and I chortle with delight at her stunned and pleased expression as my hand slips under her uniform and strokes the cleft of her perfect ass, “I hope so Ginny darlin. I sure do hope so.”
Voices spoil the reality
Passion brought us here
Let’s not waste words discussing
A not so secret desire
Human, you are so warm
Close enough to taste the salt of your skin
So just kiss me and again
So I can feel something
Feel anything but this gnawing disquiet and
The distance that grows wider
With each lecture on prowess
Each pointed verbal finger
That highlights the reasons why
Guilt should be paramount
I don’t care about the reasons why
Rather, I care about the closeness
The flesh contact and eye grip
Instead of the sinking depths
That come under the definition
You don’t get it
being trapped in your head
and trapped in your mind
all corridors and no exits
nothing but hallways and corners
with no safe place to hide
from the monsters inside me
they induce fear and prison
all my life since then stolen away
like treasure by pirates yo ho Ho but there is no rum
just poison that drips from lips
laced in false truths and honest lies
like it’ll never happen again
and I love you
and please don’t leave
then its better
until it’s hell
until the fists
until the wishes for death
you’re drowning in brimstone
with no fire left in you
but by some miracle
an ember survives
or I’m too too stupid to know
that I died long ago
when my expression was taken
I ache to create
put my fingers on cool keys
let it flow like magic
water into a desiccated soul
it hurts to miss the soundscapes
the release of the notes
a thirst never quenched
it just coughs dust and regret
while I die without an outlet to scream
or a prescience of presence
in a trusted heart that judges not
just listens to the inane
insane babblings of a lost heart
that’s tired of wandering
I stand at the window, the opaque red curtains blowing in the night air, pressing their meagre weight against my bare flesh, moulding against it. The breeze is delicious, like chilled hands running over my body, teasing my nipples til they stand taut. The fire burns inside me, throbbing like a wounded beast striving for its end, making me gasp as I run my fingers against my clit. I’m thinking of you, the images conjured behind my eyes bringing a jolt of pleasure with each passing moment, slow moments pushing me closer to release. I can almost feel your breath on my neck, the implied warmth of your body rising a wave of pleasure that screams through my veins. I feel the release as it breaks, my muscles thrumming as wetness bursts forth when you touch me. I’m afraid for a moment, I thought I was alone, and find I like it, and crave more.
You rub my shoulders, your rough hands soothing as they travel down the long length of my spine, moulding them to the form of my ass before sliding back up, and around to cup my breasts. The touches ignite the small flame into a roaring fire animal, clawing its way free. Pinching my nipples as your lips caress my skin, stopping to linger on the tattoo on my shoulder.
Still sensitive, I shiver and attempt to pull away, an effort halted before it begins. Your hand finds my throat, gripping it firmly, the other hand slipping down my abdomen and across my mound of Venus pushing my hand away and settling on my clit. You aren’t gentle, turning into a demon with the sweet somethings you are whispering into my ear, all the things you wil do to me, making me gasp for air, in pleasure and anticipation as you strum the tender nub.
I lean into you, placing my arms over my head and around your neck as you pull me hard against you, breath heavy on my neck as your hand finds my sopping pussy, roughly shoving two fingers inside me and hammering as I hoped you’d do with your dick soon. I rock my hips against your hand, breathing fast as I begin to shiver. I cum in an explosion, monaing as I drench your fingers. Your grip on my throat relaxes and I gasp as your pull your digits free.
Turning around, I press my self against you, and feel your arms close around me as I stare up into your green eyes, barely visible through the soft cotton mask you wear. “Hi. You’re back early,” I whisper, reaching up to lick your lips and you shake your head, leaning away. You point to the floor and I raise my eyebrow, a slow smile curving my lips as I shake my head and take your hand. You follow without a word, openly watching my progress with blazing eyes that move all over my back and behind. I stand you in front of the lazyboy, and push you backwards into it, before placing my knees on either side of your hip, raking your hair with my nails.
I can feel your arousal through your jeans and wriggle against it, relishing the way its length feels against my fold. Still you don’t touch me and I feel a frenzy building in my centre as I lean down , my long hair covering our faces and take your lower lip in my teeth with a low growl. I feel you twitch beneath me as I begin to suck on your lip, my tongue tracing the inner length and probing to gain entry, desperate for your touch and becoming frustrated. I lean back and stare at you, before smiling and sliding off of your lap, letting my breasts trail down your chest and feeling the jersey of your shirt tug at my hard nipples. Pulling your belt free, I tear open the button and slide the zipper open, placing my hand over the swaddled erection and hear your sharp intake of breath.
Sitting back on my heels, I invite you to unsheath your beast and you snarl at me, coming at me from your seated position and grabbing my throat kissing me hard, while yanking down your pants. I grasp in my fist, fingers overlapping but a little and begin to move my hand up and down and feeling it grow harder yet in my hand. Your hand finds my hair and you pull it gently, tilting my head back and biting at my colllarbone. Lightening bolts of pleasure send shivers through by body as I feel your lips on my breast, sucking hard on the nipple and making me gasp. I hold your head tighter to me as I increase speed on my movements. “Stop.” and I do at the tone of your voice, a little afraid and exhilerated as well.
You rise to your feet, still with your hand in my hair, and pull my towards your member, forcing it into my willing mouth with a groan. It’s hot length makes my mouth water and I devour it, tightening my lips around the shaft as I take you deep. while gently massaging your balls and scratching lightly. Dragging my teeth along the shaft I pull back, I flatten my tongue against it, the feeling of it slide and pull slightly along the contures until your tip is just inside my lips. Back and forth, in and out, I lick and suck your raging arousal like a lollipop and your moans of pleasure do litle more than encourage, relishing the way you are fucking my mouth with abandon.
“Stand up” I flick my eyes up to you, and bite down slightly, enjoying the fleshy feeling between my teeth. You yank my hair, forcing me to my feet before scooping me up in your arms and striding to the bedroom. THe room is dark, the red walls look like they are bleeding in the candlelight as you place me on the bed and tear off your shirt. The look in your eyes excites me and I back up slightly as they narrow, your tongue slipping out to lick your lips with an expression that makes me feel like food. Slowly you climb on the bed, your hands running up my thighs to my waist and pressing hard against the small of my back, pulling me closer before dipping to lap at my pleasure centre, making me shiver. I feel my lower lips swelling with the fluids of my desire as your tongue dances along my folds, and you delve inside me, once, twice and all the way in as i draw in a breath before pulling your head tighter against my honeypot.
I writhe in your hand, rocking my hips against your mouth as you torture my clit ruthlessly, and insert your fingers inside me, fucking me as you lave my sensitive button until I scream and cum, and fill your mouth with my pleasure. You don’t stop and my body begins to shake as you tease my ruder spot with your thumb as you thrust harder, nearly violently, growling as you pinch my clit. “cum. Now” You snarl, biting down gently and inserting a third finger inside. I explode again, my breath gasping in my lungs as you give a final thrust and pull your hand away.
A chuckle from under your breath draws me out of my bliss and I open my eyes to find you looming over me, caught by the intense green gaze as you lift your hand to peel off the mask. I shake my head, wrapping my long legs around your waist as I wrap my arms around your neck, “leave it on,” I whisper, rising to nip at your throat, “I like it.” Agreement comes as you push your prestigious rod into my hollow, making me squirm in delight at the feeling of it caressing my inner walls, making them flutter as it fills my emptiness deliciously. I rise up against you, feeling your arms around my waist bringing me closer as you bury yourself inside me to the hilt, resting in my sheath.
Tenderly, you press your lips to mine, holding me close as you withdraw from my core, the wetness gushing from my folds as you nearly pull out and drive forward again, and again, your arms holding me tightly. I feel a crescendo building, each time you thrust into me I feel it rise, and I use my nails to claw at your back, digging deeper each time. Each entry is full force, and you let go of me and grasp my nipples, pulling hard and making me scream in pain and pleasure. “Stand up” your voice is rough and full of gravel as you tear off the mask, causing a silver tingle of delight as I slide off the bed and stand before you, my inner thighs glistening in the moonlight. You lead me to the couch, and fold me over the edge before holding my hips and impaling me yet again with your member, hammering hard and fast. Moaning I tease my clit, feeling my climax rushing at me like a cannonball as you pummel my body, I feel you stiffen, and your hot cum bounces off my inner walls. It’s more than I can bear and I cum moments later, screaming your name as I grind against your groin, desperate to ride it through.
I stand up, with you still inside me, and shaking from the force of the orgasm as you kiss my neck murmuring promises of more, and I smile as you grow hard within me once again.
Endless questions, debates
Stop, stare out the window
Sigh quietly inside
It screams and it howls
Suddenly I’m back again
Back in the game once more
I want to hide away.
Now in the shower, cry
Where no one else can see
Clipped daemon wings don’t fly
Letting go is so hard
God i fucking hate it
Weaksister, a poor example
That’s another story
It’s why I weep unseen
If I weep at all