Today is Friday, which is alias for my Matthew Temple special. To make today particularly special, I have a double bill for you. First up, the next episode of RAPE! Then discover Matthew from his contemplative side in the next blog post.
“Put your gun away man.”
“Yeah, put it away.”
“Macro, watch yourself.”
“You’re going to get us arrested.”
“No one’s going to get arrested. I’ve got a permit to carry this. Stop making a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“What? Were you going to say something?”
“Yeah. Just. Stick to what you know, man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t know shit about firearms. I had to take a weapons safety training course to get this permit. So I know shit about firearms.”
“Just keep it away, man.”
“Just watch your mouth, Macro, or I’ll thump your girl.”
“You ain’t gonna thump shit.”
“Macro, you’re pissing me off. If I wanna thump your girl I’m’onna thump your girl. Now why don’t you two get on with your date. Sherman and I are gonna find us some pussy.”
So Macro and his dog bitch girl wandered off into the night, to have ugly sex between ugly people which everyone knows is shit.
And Sherman lectured me on the anti-merits of Holding a Gun When One Goes Out Selecting Pussy and the Pitfalls of Aiming a Gun at a Bitch When You Don’t Intend to Shoot and the like. Sherman was getting very professorial, and I wondered when he was older if he would be like the ancient schoolmarms which traversed our school and taught our classes.
“You need to leave your piece at home.”
“But how will I make bitches all scared like?”
“I don’t know. But sooner or later, if you bring your gun out, someone’s going to call the police.”
And what do you know, he was right. The very next morning my roommate who was a stinky faggot woke me with a start. The stinky faggot informed me that the police were at the door and behold, as I looked up from my covers there were the old black and blues, peeking into our dorm room door.
My gun was on my desk chair, fully loaded. I threw a pair of boxers over it, very casual, and pushed the stinky faggot out of my way.
“Do you mind waiting outside, you stink,” I said, and the stinky faggot complied.
As he pushed open the door I could see there were two of them, short cop and tall cop, and they were no doubt ready to play all sorts of games with little old me.
“Can I help you?”
They spoke my name. “Is that you?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“May we come in?”
“Come right in, come right in brothers. Can I interest you in a cold brewski?”
“We’re on duty. Have a few questions for you about last night.”
“Last night eh? Can’t say I know much about it.”
“Can’t say you know much about what?”
“About anything, really.”
“Were you at Bruno’s on State Street last night?”
“Indeed I was!”
“Do you own a weapon, sir?”
“I own a wee Glock.”
“A wee Glock.”
“What makes it a wee Glock?”
“It’s very small.”
“Did you take your Glock with you to Bruno’s?”
“My wee Glock? No I did not.”
“Where do you keep your wee Glock?”
“I keep my wee Glock in a safe back in Burlington.”
“Mind if we search your room?”
“Be my guest.”
So they start rummaging through my closet and that of the stinky faggot. I make sure they know that one’s not mine.
“What are you looking for?”
“Let us ask the questions.”
“Oh. Duly noted, my good man.”
“What was that?”
I enunciate. “Duly noted, my good man!”
“Do you think this is funny?”
“Am I laughing?”
“What were you doing at Bruno’s?”
“Scoping out bitches.”
“Me and my cronies were scoping the fly hunnies. Bitches. Sir.”
“You know you’d get more pussy if you stopped calling women bitches, don’t you?”
“I beg to disagree. Sir!”
“Did you point your gun at a Miss Angeline Brewster?”
“I’ve never met a Miss Angeline Brewster. Sir!”
“Did you point your gun at anyone?”
“My gun is in Burlington. Sir!”
“Do you know what the mandatory minimum sentencing is for felony assault with a firearm?”
“And you weren’t out pointing your firearm at any women last night?”
“I was simply looking for a little pussy, sir! I had started out earlier with my boy Tic Toc. His name is Sherman but I call him Tic Toc sir! We headed out of the crib and met up with Macrobiotik at Bruno’s, sir!”
“What is macrobiotic?”
“Macrobiotik is my homeboy, sir!”
“Your homeboy’s name is Macrobiotik?”
“Macro for short. Sir!”
“You can quit with the ‘sir.’ You could spend a lot of time in jail if this lady’s accusations are true.”
“I don’t want to go to jail, sir! Sorry about the sir! I’ve heard people get ass fucked in jail, not-sir! I’d like to die an asshole virgin sir! I can’t help it sir! I’m not ready to be fucked by a nigger in prison sir!”
“You have a bad attitude, son.”
“I know, sir!”
“You’re acting like somebody who has something to hide.”
“My story is complete, sir! There was no harassment at Bruno’s. Just a lot of bitches looking to get ass fucked by a carrot. Have you ever ass fucked a woman with a carrot sir!”
“Why don’t you sit over there while we search your place.”
So I sit at my desk, on top of the boxers covering my gun. And I feel that gun pressed into my ass and I think of what it must be like to have a Glock 9mm stuck up your ass by some psychopathic faggot who wanted revenge for all the times I’ve used the “f” word.
These cops were thorough, but they weren’t searching under my butt. They worked their way through the room, opening drawers, looking on top of the closets, then they made me sit there while they went up and down the hall questioning my hallmates.
When they came back they asked me if I was sure my gun was in Burlington.
“Are you even a Scout?”
“It’s an expression. What? You think that just ‘cause I said ‘Scout’s honor’ without being a Scout that that makes me a liar on the point of my gun being in Burlington? My gun is in Burlington, rest assured. Just because my bitch-ass hallmates say otherwise doesn’t MEAN SHIT!”
Then they ask me if I’m on any medication for psychiatric illnesses.
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Are you aware of the university health service?”
“They treat scabies and STDs, right? I don’t have any STD’s. I fuck clean bitches.”
“And what do you mean when you say ‘fuck bitches?’”
“You’re kidding, right? I stick my pee pee in they cooch. What the fuck you think I mean?”
“Do you ever get rough with a bitch?”
“Why would I get rough with a bitch? Maybe I slap ‘em in they mouth when they act up. I mean I might do that from time to time.”
“You know that’s assault, right?”
“I’m not admitting to anything.”
“You need to treat bitches right, ok? When you get a bitch to suck your dick, that ain’t no license to fuck her, and when a bitch lets you fuck her, that ain’t no license to hit on a bitch.”
“Now wait a minute, who ever said I be roughin’ up on bitches? Did they say that?” I point to the hall.
“We’ve had reports. Bitches be callin’ us and lettin’ us know what you’ve been up to, bro! When you stick yo’ dick in a bitch, and she don’t want you to, sometimes bitches be callin’ us the next day and gettin’ they insides swiped. We find you spunk inside a bitch that didn’t want to be fucked, you could go to jail. Bitches’ insides be they own. You can’t fuck a bitch ain’t got no permission.”
“Now, did you take your piece to Bruno’s last night or not?”
“You didn’t pull your piece out on some bitch named Angeline?”
“Nah, man. But that bitch was actin’ up.”
“What did she do?”
“She was lookin’ all fly and shit. She was wearin’ tighty fishnets and I could see her maxi pad between her legs and shit. It was stickin’ out. I was thinkin’ about that bitch’s pussy and shit. Bettin’ she had a fly pussy. Wanted to do a finger test with ye olde pinky, if you catch.”
The officers were coming closer, and I squirmed me butt around the Glock, trying to conceal that I wasn’t sitting on flatness.
“What’s a finger test?” the one officer asks.
“When you get a bitch captive,” I say, “you want to perform Ye Olde Finger Test. This is where you finger a bitch progressively with one finger, two fingers, three fingers, four. Start with your pinky. Ideally you want a bitch who passes the one-finger test, meaning that when you stick yo’ pinky up that bitch’s cooch that bitch is tight as hell.”
“What happens if she fails the test?”
“You move on, my brotha, you move on.”
“Well, we’re going to be keeping an eye on you. If it turns out you’re hiding your Glock on campus there will be serious consequences.”
“Good, my brotha, right with you.” I give them the old thumbs up.
“And take it easy on the bitches. I know you like to fuck but bitches be havin’ feelings. It’s important that everyone be treated with respect.”
“That’s right.” The officer gives me the thumbs up.
“And you boys take it easy on the road. You never know with these university brothas, when someone might go ballistic on ya, jump out guns blaring, like maybe if he had a personal grudge or something. So anyway take care, I doubt we’ll be seeing much of each other after today.”
Then those black and blues took their smug faces and they left me be. And I stood up from sitting on my Glock, and straightened out my ass cheeks.
(from RAPE! by Matthew TEMPLE. Read the rest of this story here.)
As promised, Matthew Temple, the deep side:
In certain circles we talk a lot about living in the moment. But what does it actually mean? There must be as many definitions as there are people. It’s an elusive and simple concept. Here are some of my thoughts.
Being in the moment is about being aware—of yourself, of the world around you..and realizing they are one and the same.
Being aware of yourself can be a subtle act. Do I want to take a walk? Do I need to cum? Am I thirsty? Will a cigarette help me feel better? Will a drink?
Knowing these things about yourself—knowing them well and intimately—is part of living in the moment.
Being aware of what we call others is also part of being in the moment. If I am hiking, what is under my foot? What is over my head. Can I escape the tunnel of reaction-awareness and become more omni-aware? Can I become aware of things which seem at first to have no relevance to me? When I am speaking to someone, interacting with them, can I become aware of their body cues?—look at their lips, their posture, their manipulation of objects in our shared environment?
And can I become aware that she (the tree), she (the woman) are not separate from me? That we are pieces of the same, total organism?
I must be aware of everything..my self..my world..and realize that they are the same thing. (I may be inside the forest, but, also, the forest is inside me.)
In a sense, the only thing I can control is “myself”—what is contained within a bathtub. I can’t make the tree grow, I can’t make the woman kiss me. But to look at control in this way is too limited. For everything I do affects the world around me, so there is an influence—if not a control—that I exert on everything and everyone around me, and the reverse is true.
I am not even in control of my whole “self”—I do not control my stomach, my digestion. I do not control my subconscious. It is questionable, even, to apply the concept of control to that tiny little part of my brain that seems like “me.”
But there is no question that I influence myself and I influence the world around me—the environment, the people, the plants and animals.
This is a key concept of being in the moment. The moment consists of the influence and interaction of all that is close by me, all that is far away. The moment is not a static photograph. It is not a movie. It is an explosion, and it involves everything—that which you know, that which you do not know. Living in the moment is less like sailing a ship; it is more like dancing inside a bomb.
Everything influences everything. All that influence is the moment.
This is about living in the moment, not knowing about a moment.
This is the wonderful part.
Whether you are controlling it or not, whether it is part of what you can call, “me,” or whether you are essentially part of something too large to ever use that term, you are acting.
Whether you like it or not.
You have no choice.
That’s what living is. It’s being on the roller coaster that never stops moving. It’s the continuous skein of motion of your body and your mind and your thoughts and your words.
And you can act in a way that reflects awareness and the reality of the universal influence of everything, or you can act like a dud—that is, act in a way that is unaware of the world and its wild garden/fusion bomb of activity.
Act in a way that reflects awareness of everything you know (“self” and “others”) and in concert with the dynamism of the fire and the ocean and the hurricane that we live in and I think you will find you are living in the moment, at least by this particular definition.
(Matthew TEMPLE. This post originally appeared in his blog on December 1, 2016)
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)
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)
Pussy be rampant. They be so much pussy at this school they has to haul in dicks from out of town just to fuck it all. The female-to-male ratio be something like three to one. On weekends, guys be drivin’ in from Youngstown, Abilene, as far away as Dexter.
Girls want dick. They is drooling for it. Eighteen-year-old hunnies with nothing better to do than spread and get a hot spike in they cooch.
School is just a pretense. No one care about classes or grades. In class we get our dicks sucked while the prof is doin’ his thing. I once came in this girl Jenny’s hair while she sucked me off in Intro to Philosophy 101.
The main way to get pussy be in the club. Get a bitch drunk, go to her place, fuck her. She wake up in the morning like what the hell happened to me, her cooch aching like she had a rolling pin up there. She ask her girlfriends, and they be like, “You remember that one guy? You took him home.” Then you fuck her friends.
Bitches love dick. They is no question about it. Some bitches pretend they ain’t into all that—but they is. Trust me, they is.
I met this one bitch, she likes to have two dicks inside her at once. She told me this when I was fucking her. So me and my buddy James fucked her. Two dicks in her pussy at the same time! That girl had a big cooch.
Sometimes I like to bring a gun with me to a girl’s house and stick that in her when she’s passed out. With the bullets in it and everything. I like to think about what would happen if I pulled the trigger, that bullet would go up through her pussy and through her cervix and up through her baby-making pouch and then through her lungs and out her head. I want to cum like that, through a bitch’s head.
I like to cum in a bitch’s mouth when she asleep. Get her nice and stoned and then get on top of that bitch like I’m ridin’ a zebra. Then stick my dick in her mouth and rub it against her gums. I like when a bitch has good dental work. You can get off just by rubbing on her cheeks. A bitch’s tongue rolls back when she’s passed out. But the inside of a bitch’s cheeks is soft as hell. You can cum there.
When a bitch is passed out, you have to hold her down a bit because she’s not completely passed out. Somewhere, below the twelve Jägermeisters, that bitch is still awake. She got certain reflexes intact. She can still kick your nuts when you’re on top of her. So you grab her neck and choke that bitch a little. Her eyes will go gray. Then you know you got her ready for some prime, prime fucking.
Bitches love fucking. Some act like they don’t, but those are the ones that need it the most. Quiet ones. The friend of the friend with the librarian glasses. She’s fantasizing about me giving it to her, from the first moment she sees me. You know she is. She goes home and jerks off that little cunt thinkin’ about my cock sliding into her and ticklin’ her inside parts. The cute librarian ones need it the most.
I once met this girl who didn’t want me. She acted like she didn’t. I got her drunk and fucked her with my gun in her mouth.
But mostly they easy going. They want you to come over. That’s one rule. Never bring a bitch to your place. Always go to hers. You don’t want that bitch tracking you down. Plus that’s part of the thing: you want to cum on her sheets, let her pussy juice make a wet spot in her bed. It helps me get off when I’m in the girl’s bed.
I usually like to steal a girl’s panties. I keep ‘em in a jar, squished down real tight, as a reminder of all the places I’ve been. I keep ‘em on my desk, as an example to less fortunate males. Males who don’t get pussy. Males who are into “relationships.”
Some males think that females are out of they reach. They do they pathetic little to reach them. They text. They call. They play out the little games they mother taught ‘em and hope that will get ‘em laid.
There are only two ways to get laid: get her drunk or have her like you. The first is foolproof whereas the second is hit or miss. If you wait around for a girl to like you, you could be waitin’ a long time. When you get a bitch drunk, results are immediate.
You go out with your boys, looking sharp in a nice shirt or something. Hair slicked back, plenty of product. (Bitches like product.) You select a nice club preferably on State Street. Then you sit back and wait. The bitches will be on you like peanut butter on jelly. When they dance, you might be tempted to go to them. But don’t. Bitches like when you stay put. You watch them dance. You check out the way they move. You think: is this the kind of bitch who is likely to have a live pussy? Is she likely to be too stuck up? Too resistant to force? Does she have mace? Watch the warning signs. A bitch who thinks too much is likely to have friends who think too much. You want an academic bitch, no doubt—where’s the fun in fucking a dotard? You want a bitch in high-level classes but who likes to drink like your uncle. A bitch who likes to party too much for her own good. A bad bitch. A bitch who likes to get in trouble.
The best is a submissive bitch. Who sucks your dick as soon as you in the dorm room, kneelin’ on the floor and shit. Fuck, I love when a bitch sucks my balls. Because you know they don’t want to do that shit. But the fact that they’ll do it anyway, with all that hair in they mouth..well..some bitches are truly desperate for cock, what can I say?
I tells you about a girl named Mary. Mary be’s a freshman, she has they librarian glasses and everything. True scholar. I mean seriously, she was like a Rhodes Scholar or something. Biology major. About 5’2”. Big-ass titties. Mary comes up to me in the dorm. Asks me if I’ll lick her pussy. I said, Mary, you know I’m not going to lick your pussy. She says Why not. I say, Because, I can smell your nasty pussy from here and I don’t lick stinky pussy. She says she’ll wash it, and come back, and will I lick her pussy. So I said, Ok, you wash it, and I’ll meet you in your room in half an hour. So half an hour passes. I peruse some porn I have on my computer to try and get in the mood—nothing special, just some video of a woman getting fucked by a horse. Then I go up to Mary’s room. Knock on the door. She answers in some sort of nineteenth-century neglige, like we’re going to make love or something. I said Mary this isn’t that kind of party. Then I pull out my gun. I put it in her face and I say, “Get down on your knees and suck my cock.” She says, “Is this a joke?” And I say, “No, do you wanna get shot in the head?” So she sucks my cock. I get hard. Then I say, “Mary, get on your stomach on the floor, I’m gonna fuck your ass. Have you ever been fucked in the ass before?” She says no. I say, “Well, you’re gonna like this. Just like opening presents on Christmas morning. Don’t scream too loud or I’ll shoot you in the fucking head, understood?” That’s my story about Mary.
Mary I fucked in the ass. But I’m almost exclusively a pussy man. Ass fucking is more of a novelty to me, something to do when you don’t even respect a girl enough to fuck her cunt. I like a pussy that’s nice and clean, no hair, though I’ll fuck a hairy pussy—in a pinch. I prefer big pussy lips, no roast beef, nice and tight and plenty of moisture on the inside but no drips. Keep that shit to yourself, you don’t need to be flowing all out on the sheets and shit.
I like to spank a pussy with a fly swatter, to fatten it up before I fuck it. Get that pussy red with some hard spanks. Then spit on my hand, stick my fingers inside it, then come in with the dick, spreadin’ those lips with my dickhead, then sweet, sweet fucking.
You might disagree with my style of fucking. For instance, you might prefer the girl to be awake. But I prefer ‘em passed out, high on Jägermeister, with their legs spread and my gun in their mouth, finger on the trigger so that I could accidentally shoot them through the skull in a moment of passion. I like to hold back a little, stop a few times right before I cum so the cum builds up and shoots up into they cervix like a bullet, just like a bullet from a gun.
Fucking is good. I know a lot about fucking. You could say I’m sort of a specialist. When it comes to smacking a pussy with a fly swatter, those are just some of the tricks I can teach you. I know a lot of tricks, and someday maybe I can tell you about those, but to tell you the truth my favorite trick is getting a girl to fuck me when she really don’t want to.
(from RAPE! by Matthew Temple)