slow jam, slow rock, slow fuck, sticky and wet, so dirty it makes you drool on demand, this was the kind of music they made before I was born. hard, turgid, tumescent cock, cream-smeared, worn-out gaping hole, amongst the warm, fuzzy noise of pubic hair. i am no eagle flying above the abyss. i am restlessness, the abyss itself.

...but on second thought, maybe the following are more your speed:

After much deliberation, I decided to get myself one of those Pangolina Squeaky Fuck Peaches® for Valentine's Day.

"For here or to go?"

"To go of course. Wrap it up for me, in fishnet, please."

"Nails?"

"Erythrocyte Red."

    I reached home, placed it on the couch and turned on some Jimi on the Ongaku. I looked at it for a few moments, then lay down on the carpet and took a nap. When I woke up it was still there, resting Zen-like and calm. I was horny, my cock was hard, so I decided to have a go at it. With both hands on the squeaky globe, I positioned myself for entry and punctured its polyethylene hymen to the beat of hollow psychedelic drums. Almost immediately, I could feel the well-timed throttles of its activated silicone walls. It didn't help one bit that the filthy electric wah-wahs seeping from the Nautilus was goading me on and on, weaving trails upon trails of trippy sonic colours all around the room like a retro iPod Nano ad. As my organic seed unloaded deep inside, I was overcome by a strange sadness that was akin to having been ripped off twice.

jelly pigs, crunchy morning, citrus cash, ganja for your ancestors. Happy Chinese New Year, and may your superstitions lead you to your castles in the air.

 

Let's just say that during this holiday season, Neko and I went out with another couple, and this couple happens to be related to us --- maybe a cousin brother and his girlfriend or my actual brother and his wife). And it's been going on for sometime, this thing with the girlfriend, or wife. To cite two examples, there was once when I ordered a mango gelato and there were two forks; since Neko was having her period she was having none of that icy stuff, and she, the other girl, promptly reached across the table, grabbed the other fork and began dipping into my gelato. Ha, the nerve, I thought.

    Then there was this other time, when she was at a lost as to what to order at a sidewalk café, decided to order exactly what I ordered. Whenever she's speaking to me, it's also plain obvious that she's very excited, often exerting herself like a little girl trying to impress. Maybe it all means nothing, but Neko has noticed it too. And so that night, when the four of us were sitting in our little nebula of smoke, wine and stupid jokes, I imagined cupping my mouth over hers, and telling her how she must've been waiting to find out what it feels like to have my cock inside her. Then I waved the thought away like an irritating fly.

My sinuses are drying up like the receding flood waters of Indonesia. Just a couple of days ago, I was sitting around sick, hallucinating about sex with my aunt and her hairy cunt while drifting in and out of sleep like a drugged out vampire, my cock like a turgid earthworm from some tragic B-movie being masturbated by her fingers and glossy lips.

Of course. Of course I want to write the kind of postmodern sex stories that have yet to be written, the kind of porn that is filled with happy, springy cocks and cheerful, hairy cunts that weep tragic tears as desire dissipates in the twilight of the afterglow.