Time for the third episode of RAPE! I’m in two minds as to whether I should start a whole new blog to feature adult fiction or continue to share it here. I take it my readers are freethinkers, able to laugh at themselves and the world. I take it you all won’t get your knickers in a twist if I don’t stick to what is politically correct. Good. Got that sorted. Let’s move on. Matthew, over to you.
It was a while longer before I again saw Little Miss Defiance. She had to do her things and I had to do mine before we were to meet the second time. While she was masturbating to my image and sticking all manner of vegetables into her pussy, I was hanging with my boys, Tic Toc and Macrobiotik. We were at Bruno’s.
“Is this it?”
Macrobiotik looked at me. “What do you mean, is this it?”
“Sherman, you promised me this wouldn’t be a sausage fest.”
“It isn’t.” Sherman motions toward the dance floor. “There’s like..a seven-to-one ratio out there.”
“Yes, but all those bitches are sasquatches. Sasquatches don’t count.”
“Show me one sasquatch.”
I point to a very large girl with hairy armpits. “Sasquatch.”
“Just ‘cause there’s one sasquatch doesn’t mean they’re all sasquatches.”
“Yes it does. They infect. I’m going to take a piss.”
I get up. I can see those motherfuckers later. Dragging me to this hellhole..sasquatch-breeding motherfucker. Bruno’s huh? I think Bruno has a pink dildo up his ass.
I go down this long hallway leading to the bathroom. There’s a guy and a girl making out. He’s this academic-looking type, and she has on fishnets, is slightly taller than him, and has a purse slung from her shoulder. It’s open. As I walk by I look in the purse and it’s littered with condoms.
I say, “What’s up?”
They both kind of turn and look at me.
“I said what’s up, baby?” I do this little motion with my hands that’s designed to make a bitch go crazy.
The guy is looking at me like he’s really angry.
I say, “Tell your man to stop looking at me.”
The guy says, “Just leave us alone, ok?”
I keep my eyes on the girl. “Tell that motherfucker to stop looking at me.”
She puts her hands on his cheeks and turns his head to her. “Stop looking at him.” He turns and they’re looking each other in the eyes.
“What’s your boy’s name?”
“He fuck you in the ass?”
She doesn’t say anything. I’m looking at her body. She’s got fly legs. Fly tits. And a fly-ass face.
“Francis, what do you think you’re doing with a girl like that? You can’t handle her.”
“And you could?” the girl says.
“Yeah,” I say, and smile. “What kind of tampons you use, bitch? Kotex? Playtex?”
“Let’s go,” the guy says.
But I flash my gun.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I say.
“I use OB alright.”
“Super protection? Extra glide?”
“Don’t answer that,” Francis says.
I put my gun to his head. “Let her answer.”
“Extra smalls,” she says.
“Extra smalls?” I start to get hard. “What dorm you live in?”
“Don’t tell him.”
“Francis, do you want to get shot in the head?”
“Crawford. I live in Crawford.”
“Good. You two can go. Be good and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, ok, Francis?”
Then this bitch says, “Don’t you want to know the room number?”
“Why, do you want me to know it?”
Francis says, “Let’s go.”
“Do you want me to come and visit you at night? I can suck the blood off those extra smalls and stick my dick in your extra-small pussy. Francis, would that be ok with you?”
The girl says, “Just let us go.”
“No I’d like to hear him say it. Would it be ok with you, Francis, if I snag your girlfriend’s small-size fishnet cunt and drop a load in it?”
“Yes, it’s fine, can we go now?”
You can tell by the look on fishnet’s face that she’s not happy.
Francis says, “What?”
“You’d let him drop a load in my pussy?”
“I wouldn’t really let him drop a load in your pussy, I just want him to get the gun out of my face and let us go on with our evening.”
“I’m gonna let you do that, Francis. But I want you to promise me one thing. When you’re fucking this bitch, I want you to know that I’m there somewhere, over your shoulder maybe, waiting to take over when little miss fishnet here gets tired of your pencil dick. Ok. Go on. Go on! I’m trying to take a piss here! Get the fuck out of my face.”
And, gun in hand, I unzip right there and take a piss in the hallway.
On the way back to the bar, this Poindexter-looking dude sees me and he sees the pile of piss. I give him this hard look and he just keeps going. “Thought so,” I say.
It’s just Tic Toc, sitting alone.
“Where is Macro?”
“Dancefloor,” Sherman nods.
I look to the dancefloor. Indeed there is Macrobiotik, dancing with some average-looking girl.
“Is that the girl from his polisci?”
“That’s the girl from his polisci.”
“That’s the reason we came out here?”
“Sherman. Tic Toc. What the fuck. We gotta get out of here.”
“‘Cause I flashed my piece.”
Sherman turns. “What?”
“There was this fishnet girl with this gentleman named Francis. Francis is, shall we say, a cake boy. Francis has no right being with this piece of hotness. And then there’s me. I found out where she lives. She wears extra-small tampons, super protection.”
“What does that have to do with you flashing your piece?”
“They were actin’ up.”
“Well we have to leave this bar.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’.”
“Before the police get here.”
“I’ll get Macro.”
So Sherman heads over to ye olde dancefloor and tugs on Macro’s shirt. I see them arguing and Macro’s girl looks unhappy so I figure it’ll be a while. I turn to the bar to order a shot.
“I’ll have the gunslinger’s special.” I laugh. “That’s a special..for gunslingers—”
“There’s no guns allowed in the bar.”
“I know that, I was just saying—”
“What are you having? I don’t have all night.”
“A cup of Goldschläger.”
“You can have a shot.” The bartender leaves.
I’m tapping my hands on the bar and Sherman and Macro and Macro’s girl come up behind me.
“So let’s get outta here.”
“I’m having a drink.”
“We’re leaving because of you. Skip your drink.”
“I already paid.”
“No you didn’t.”
The bartender comes back. He tells me the price and I put it on my card.
“Can’t you pay with cash so we can get out of here?”
“I never carry cash.”
“What kind of policy is that? You never carry cash? Psychopath.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Why do we have to leave?” Macro’s girl says.
“Because I’ve been a bad bad boy.”
“What did you do that’s bad?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” I say.
Macro puts his arm around the girl.
“Macro, what the fuck is this bitch’s name?” I say.
Sherman says, “Drink your drink.”
“I’ll drink it..in a minute. I don’t like to be around a bitch and not know the bitch’s name. ‘Specially if the bitch is the bitch of a friend of mine.”
“Nice to meet you, Kelly.”
And I do my shot. Then I sign my name on the credit card receipt with a scrawl that in no way resembles my signature.
Outside, the four of us walk down State Street. There are many hunnies, bitches, and hoes, as well as a few vixens, some foxes, and an intolerable number of dykes walking hand in hand and flaunting everywhere that they had released themselves from their dangerous dependency on dick. When dykes pass I think of how tight their pussies must have become after such a long vacation from dick, or in some cases a complete lack of dickly intruders. To turn a dyke is the ultimate accomplishment for a straight guy. Or, let’s just say it is one of the ultimate accomplishments, for their are many ultimate accomplishments.
“So, Kelly, when you suck Macro’s dick does he precum a lot?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m concerned about my man here. He’s showing a lack of progress, academically. All he wants from you is your polisci notes.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” I smile at Macro. “Now about this precum.”
“Why are you always so interested in everybody’s sex life?” Sherman asks.
“Because it’s my specialty.” Duh.
We walk a while, and I think the subject is dropped. But then Kelly says, “I haven’t sucked his dick yet.” And she looks at Macro.
I felt like a proud mother, hearing this “yet.” Knowing Macrobiotik sperm would be lodging themselves between the teeth of this average-looking girl as she gulped down his cock. I mean, hey, if he wanted to date down with this mutt-looking girl Kelly, she better be sucking his cock. “She better be sucking his cock hard,” I say.
And everybody looks at me for saying that.
“Me, I like a girl with a pretty face. Like that girl we met at the coffeehouse this morning. Wasn’t she pretty, Sherman?”
“If you like mice.”
“Mice? You think the looked mousy? She wasn’t mousy, you just like a long face, Ticky Toc, where I like a round one. She had a round face, it wasn’t mousy. If by mouse you mean she had a small pussy, then I bet you’re right. I bet that girl’s pussy is just as defiant as she was. She was like holding her fist up in the air in protest.”
“She wasn’t holding her fist up.”
“But it was like she was holding her fist up. Like she was Che Guevara and I was the Cuban emperor.”
“Uh, dude, Cuba doesn’t have an emperor.”
“Shut up, nigga.”
“Can you not say the n word?” That was Kelly.
I stop walking. Then everybody else stops walking.
“What? I just don’t like that word.”
I look at Macro. Then I look at Kelly. I pull out my gun. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, bitch.”
(from RAPE! by Matthew TEMPLE)
Still ever so pleased with the recent 5-star review of Verses Nature Vol.1 . So pleased that I’m now going to give that book away for FREE on October 29. Make the most of it!
Now that you can have Verses Nature (In The Beginning Was The Heat) and Verses Nature (The Making Of) for FREE, what more do you want?
What??? Oh, alright then. I’ll give you Long Time Walk on Water (‘Highly, highly recommended’, says a reviewer on Amazon). Free for selected days in November.
What??? Oh, alright then. I’ll also give you Mut@tus (high-brow rumpy-dumpy for you and your friends, but not for your mum!). Free for selected days in November.
Watch this space and kindle promotions on Amazon. Don’t say I’m not nice to you.
I got this review of Verses Nature (In The Beginning Was The Heat) the other day and I’ve been grinning ever since:
What does this woman do when she’s happy? She kicks her heels and dances around the house but you won’t get the benefit of that. What I will also do is to give away the companion book, Verses Nature (The Making Of), for a limited period. Yes, you heard right: for free. No, I’m not after your email address and you won’t need to give it to me. So if you want to know just how ‘200% delicious sin and literary genius’ gets written, click here. No strings attached. Promised.
I was going to see my boy. My man’s name is Sherman. We call him Tic Toc because that’s how he is with the ladies..it’s only a matter of time, see? Only a matter of time before he gets in they sweet panties.
My man was up in the joint sipping pumpkin lattes. Girls like that. Shows your sensitive side. Neither me or Sherman liked pumpkin lattes, but you do what you gotta do, know what I’m sayin’?
I came in through the side door. “Whassup?”
“My man. Tic Toc. What are you up to?”
“Drinking your pumpkin latte.” I smile.
Tic Toc lifts his cup.
I sit on the couch across from him. Start scopin’ out the hunnies. Couple of potentials over by the front door. I turn around. Sly hunny at the counter, ordering her drink. Short skirt. Some bumpage on the legs but that can be fixed with any number of skin creams. Sometimes you have to fix a bitch up before you fuck her.
“So listen.” That was Sherman talking. Didn’t he see I was checking out the hunnies?
“Shut up,” I say. Then I whisper, “Shut your fucking mouth.”
That bitch at the bar was looking around. Here she comes..here she comes..no.
I turn around to Sherman. “You know what I want to do to that bitch?”
“Check out the fly hunny at the bar.” I point my finger.
Sherman’s eyes brighten.
“You like her?”
“Well here’s what I’m gonna do to her. First I’m gonna eat that bitch out. Get her real horny.”
“Where are you gonna do this?”
“In the bathroom. Shut up. So I’m gonna get her in the stall back there. Lock the door. Get that bitch all up on the toilet with her legs spread and eat that bitch out—”
“Why do you like eatin’ bitches out so much?”
“I like..to eat a bitch out..because it gets the bitch horny. That way they don’t mind when you stick your dick in them. Especially when you stick it in their ass.”
“Why you want to stick it in they ass?”
“I don’t. I do it for my health. Have you ever ass fucked a girl, Sherman?”
Sherman is silent. Then he says, “No.”
“Well. First of all use a condom. And never ass fuck a bitch when she has diarrhea.”
“How does you know if she has diarrhea?”
“Tic Toc. Sherman. Do you want to hear my story? You only ass fuck a bitch when she doesn’t have diarrhea and you know she doesn’t have diarrhea because you clock what the bitch eats.”
“How do you clock what the bitch eats?”
“What do you think I be doin’ in the cafeteria? Why do you think we be sittin’ close to where the fly hunnies sit? Do you see the notebook I be carryin’ around with me? What do you think is in that? My chemistry homework? No. That’s records, my man. Of everything a bitch eats. Stay away from bitches who eat citrus, or bitches who smoke, as that can cause diarrhea. You want a bitch who eats yogurt with every meal. Stay away from vegans—their farts stink. Have you ever smelled a vegan’s farts?”
“Well try it sometime.”
I look over at that bad-skin bitch who was at the counter. She’s going out the side door.
“I didn’t want her anyway.”
“What was you gonna do to her?”
“After I ate that bitch’s pussy out?” I say this real loud, by accident, and some hunnies behind Sherman look over. “What are you lookin’ at?”
They turn back around.
“Mind your own fucking business,” I say. “So after I ate that bitch’s pussy out,” I say extra loud, “I was gonna thump her in the mouth with my fat cock. Slap that bitch till she has marks on her face. Get that bitch’s face real red then cum in her mouth. Then make her spit my cum in the toilet between her legs and then THROW that bitch out of the bathroom. Nasty bitch. Shouldn’t be drinkin’ pumpkin lattes in the first place.”
The girls behind Sherman are starting to look our way again.
“Any bitch who drinks pumpkin spice lattes is asking to get fucked in the mouth. Have you ever met a bitch who drank pumpkin spice lattes who didn’t deserve to get fucked in the mouth?”
I wait for Sherman’s answer.
“Sherman. Take a look behind you and tell me whether you think these freshman bitches up in this piece deserve to get fucked in the mouth.”
Sherman turns around.
One of the girls behind him looks directly at me. The rest keep their heads down.
“What are you lookin’ at?” I stand up.
She keeps looking at me, this sweet-looking face with lipstick. She looks like a bitch that probably keeps a ferret as a pet. English major, something in the humanities. Probably a virgin.
“Do you let your ferret lick your ass?” I say.
“Do you let that pet ferret of yours lick your asshole?”
“I don’t have a pet ferret.”
“‘Cause you look like a bitch with a ferret.”
She turns away from me. I can only see her boobies from the side now. She and her friends are talking low. One of her friends is packing up her books.
“No,” the girl says. “We’re staying.”
She puts a hand on her friend’s book, flattening it on the table. Then she looks at me. She gives me a look of such disgust my dick starts to get hard.
I sit down. Sherman and I shake our heads.
“Bitches,” he says.
We lean in together, heads above the table between us.
Sherman says, “I’m gettin’ into some trouble up at Bruno’s later on, you wanna come.”
I smile. “What kind of trouble you getting into?”
“Well,” Sherman says, “Macro knows this bitch from his polisci class that wants to fuck him, so I’m going up there to be his wingman.”
“If she already wants to fuck him, why does he need a wingman?”
“She doesn’t know she wants to fuck him.”
“He’s taking me..so it won’t be awkward. So he’s not like alone going to a bar.”
“You could come along and be my wingman.”
“Is this bitch hot?”
“I’ve never seen her.”
“Well is they hot bitches at Bruno’s?”
At this point that little defiant bitch at the next table looks over at me and doesn’t break eye contact. Do you believe that shit? I wish I had my gun. Pop that bitch dead and go on with my conversation.
She says, “Would you mind keeping it down?”
I breathe out, trying to calm myself. I say, “What’s your name?”
“I ain’t tellin’ you my name.”
“Well..whatever your name is..why don’t you mind your own FUCKING BUSINESS?”
At this point she gets up and goes to the manager. I see her pointing over at me and Sherman’s table and her sweet forehead looking all concerned.
“That bitch just ratted us out,” Sherman says.
Then the manager comes over. I give him a real sweet look, like the look of an angel.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to keep it down.”
“Uh, officer,” I say, “I swear I didn’t see the sign.”
“Still, this is a study bar, so I need you to respect the environment.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize this was a study bar.”
He just stands there.
“Are people required to study, I mean is that like an imperative?”
“We like to keep a study atmosphere.”
“So you don’t mind if I sit here and not study, minding my own business with my man here, drinking pumpkin spiced lattes?”
“Actually, you’re not drinking anything, and since you haven’t ordered I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I’ll get something. Oh, I’ll get something. I’ll get something, I was just talking with my man here.”
“Well you’re talking too loud.”
“Duly noted, my brotha. We will not speak loud in The Establishment. Now let’s go up there and take care of that pumpkin latte problem.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t like my particular flavor of the language, but he goes, and I follow. I get my pumpkin spiced latte and I get henceforth back to my seat.
The girl has her head in her books. She’s pretending to study. She’s thinking about me. I’m the kind of guy a girl has trouble getting out of her head. Because she knows I’m bad. And she knows I’ll be bad for her. But she can feel me, in her panties, from the moment she meets me. I make her wet, I make her want to fuck. When a girl meets me she’ll be rushing for fresh panties five times a day.
“Ok,” I say.
“I’ll go with you tonight. To Bruno’s.”
“Don’t be draggin’ me to no sausage bar.”
“There’s girls, don’t worry.”
“Do you guarantee it?”
Sherman sips his latte.
“I want a guarantee. In blood, preferably. I want you to guarantee that there will be pussy coming out the walls of this bar you’re taking me to. Don’t make me walk your ass home. I want to be fishing out tampons of bleeding bitches and sucking on those motherfuckers with my teeth.”
Sherman looks at me.
“I’m serious. I want some studious freshman pussy with red lipstick begging to give it up.” I’m looking at the freshman girl. “There better be bitches so tight I can’t even get my little finger up in that motherfucker.”
The freshman girl turns around. She’s burning into me with these hateful eyes. “You’re revolting,” she says.
And that’s when I fell in love.
(from RAPE! by Matthew TEMPLE)
Daughter: Mum, your website’s crap.
Daughter: Like, seriously. Way too much text.
Me: But I’m a writer…
Daughter: So what? People don’t want to read all of that. Don’t want to scroll all day long. Just get to the point.
My daughter’s been telling me this for ages. I won’t say how long because I feel embarrassed to admit how resistant I was to her critique. I thought every word on my website had its justification and I thought my website was better than many I had browsed. But she insisted: it was crap. She hated the colour of the background. ‘Keep it simple, mum!’ She found the texts too high-brow and long-winded. She hated my book covers. Somewhere in me a voice was saying, what do you care, she’s not your target audience anyway. Somewhere else another voice was saying: she may have a point. Step one, treat yourself to a professional cover designer. Step two, it’s a website, not a novel. To cut a long story short, my daughter won. And do you know what? I’m glad she did.
There Is No Memory…
of killing a crayfish between two rocks on the banks of Fishing Creek. Later, our mother would find me examining it, “how could you do that to a living thing.” I never was a violent child, as you know, just curious about small and intricate things. It was the first time I understood what it meant to die and to live.
You must know what it’s like to be that crayfish, so close to death at the hands of someone or something unable to grasp your meaning. I watch you sleep, eyes twitch beneath purple eyelids, darkened from the contents of your young and spoiled life. I imagine you dream of worlds too frightening to wake up to.
Perhaps it is the world I have created for you—a kingdom of rainbow trout, rope swings and cigarettes.
For a moment, I almost squeeze your arm to ensure you are awake.
The streets of LaRambla pulse with the inception of June—
vendors selling red and pink roses wilting in any presence but our own
prostitutes crouching between marble pillars
Tonight I am new again
for this, I thank you
There is no memory that completes me now—
the stiffness of sea salt and midnight paella
your white cotton shirt I once unbuttoned
the game we played through the hallowing streets
catch me if you can
the plaza where protesters slept off their lazy violence
your fingers in my mouth
I wonder how many women you have lingered with and if you keep postcards to remember
I watched the vines of your tattoo grow from your shoulder and into my chest
where a cornucopia rests and is replenished
there was no dream before you
now I rest my feet in a bed of pins
(Alexandtra Troxell, in Shaking Thoughts)
If you have a recipe you would like to share – and a picture of the meal once you’ve prepared it – why not submit it to be featured in my literature café? Tell me a little bit about yourself whilst you’re at it. Contact me in the comments box below or at joanbarbarasimon@yahoo, in the latter case with the reference: literature café.
From the most beautiful scene-setting in academic writing I have ever read:
The bus threaded through layers of terraced lands. The field was so lush and green that the colour seemed to have condensed into liquid drops striving to press a permanent imprint on my body. Outside in the scorching sun, newly planted rice was growing long and strong. with occasional gusts of wind, the tall, thin sprouts were blown towards the roadside, as if gracious hosts craning their necks in anxious anticipation of guests. From time to time, an unwieldy eighteen-wheel truck would honk by in anxious haste, loaded with sands and gravels, churning up dust storms to blur my vision of the summer field. It was early July of 2009. The construction of two national highways was in full force that meandered through the villages of Qiandongan towards the coastline. Patches of exposed earth were visible at a distance: they used to be farmlands and were now expropriated for the road construction. As the bus wound up and down the mountain road, it was interlaced with passing clusters of wooden abodes, brick houses and thatched huts; bent figures dotted the summer field and blended into a distance of green.
(from Disenchantment and Participatory Limit: Schooling at a Crossroads in Rural Ethnic China, PhD dissertation, Jinting Wu, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2012. This award-winning thesis is now published and available for purchase.)
There are two flies who seem in love with my keyboard. I think they are the same flies from yesterday. Sometimes they are motionless, as in sleep. Sometimes one is riding on the back of the other one and I’m not quite sure what to think about what they are doing… I think it is the vibration of the engine at work inside my keyboard that appeals to them. Small as they are, it must be like some mammoth vibrator. We have cat bars to soothe our stressed nerves. Flies have my keyboard. It’s bigger. And for free.