This is part one of Pornography Kiss, my latest work. This is not me speaking on behalf of myself. The narrator is Robert, a man obsessed with exploitation and the abuse of power. There are lines which are sexist and perverted, but these are NOT MY ACTUAL VIEWS. It is for the character who is obviously brainwashed. Ok, enough of my rambling lol. Here it is:
1. My imagination
I want to fuck her like Tony Blair fucked our ears way back when. Her smeared lipsticks, her whispers in my sleep, have set my world alight. I can never give anyone respect. Who am I thinking they don’t know me? Everyone knows who I am. The magazine readers, those whores on the computer screen. They are only expressing themselves for me. And me only.
When someone flashes you, they think of me. Those people who screw for £200 are, in their fragile little skulls, thinking of me. Barack Obama’s wife must lust over me every sleepless night she has. Every Asian, African or any other race wants to be with me. Your ex-wife probably left you to have sex with me. The sluts only appear in those films to imagine themselves screwing me.
I have been tied down by my own bed due to my cramps. My back, wretched and ruin from bending over a computer screen, has been burnt as if someone has just spread an iron on my spinal chord. My eyes are pure and simple fragments of endless white light; 240mph ecstasy trips into oblivion. My hands are cramped from the endless typing, trying to unravel a brand new scene in my mind. Looping over and over again, the slideshow of some lifeless blonde girl, about 19, prevents my sleep.
I hate the quiet in the night time. It forces my to think up my own fantasy, rather than someone giving it to me. Some nights it happens automatically. Other nights don’t happen at all. The images that have been transcribed in my mind haven’t been good enough. I have to keep searching for more mind-blowing images of people who had no more choices.
If these people are rape victims by any chance, this makes me feel even better. They have experienced a horrific event. They are more used to violence than most people I have the pleasure watching. I know when an orgasm is real or fake. I know that the G spot is real, and I know where the clitoris is. Pen on paper, the night never ends.
I hate books about shit that is fake. I hate films with 43 second sex scenes; in my eyes a dire waste of my time. But what do I expect from a film rated 12? Vagina? I have never gotten into 1984 by George Orwell- what in the fuck is he on about? Society is fine, it is dandy. I am allowed to watch what I want. There is no such thing as censorship. If so, why am I watching what I am watching?
I especially hate people who feel they have to “oppose the government for freedom”. Everything is free about the government. Everything is alright in the world today. Poverty disintegrated years ago. So what if women are disregarded? They’re only here to take mankind’s cock.
What is a woman’s role anyway? They certainly aren’t here for show- they must have a preference for their existence. The love of the computer screen has fuelled my mind for too long. I need to get out. I need…to…get…ge-e-t…slip away into dark sleep, hope my childhood sweetheart reveals herself. I wake up to the distinctive smell of rain- another pointless day of school. My friends will understand what I mean.
“What about her tits? Would you go for that?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t really. I’d have to ask for a-“
“But hang on a minute, you’re concerned about her periods aren’t you?”
“No! Of course not! Why would I be? A pearl necklace does not require sex.”
“No, but just imagine it. Face to face, with Sharon James’ cunt. What would you do?” The other boy laughs with embarrassment, obviously denying it.
“I couldn’t possibly reply to that. Robert? How about that?”
My eyes, facing down, focused on drawing whatever I could, turn to theirs. They were probably expecting a reply. I gazed at them, still and ambiguous, yet alert at their endless stream of conversation. They talked for too long. I had to shut them up. For good...for good...forever.
“Er…er…I can’t think. Jordan? Katie? Who screwed who?”
“Man, is there something wrong with you? There must be something up. You only talk when we have changed the topic. Besides, what are you drawing?”
I couldn’t bare to show them my drawing. A young girl, whom I named Caroline, stares straight at me from the empty, dull paper background of nothing. Her breasts standing out, she is visibly naked. The two “friends” stare at me. They think it is obscene. I think it is a work of art.
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