Eye of the Needle

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When she slides off her clothes and lies next to me, I squeeze a mole on her belly and she calls me names. Dirty names. Filthy names. She calls me a smelly fuck because I refuse to wash on our days off from work or even change my clothes. My armpits have a tangy air to them and she hates it but can’t stop sniffing. My cock smells, and so she pulls back the foreskin and wipes what’s underneath with a random sock to make it a little better even though I tell her I’m too tired to do anything. After a time of not speaking, she moans that I’m not paying her enough attention and threatens to leave. Waiting for a response, I intentionally turn my back on her and mock close my eyes. Jumping off the bed and grabbing her stuff, she attempts to dart from the room but I take hold of her arm and pull her back. She hisses and scratches and states in no uncertain terms that she finds me hideous in so many ways but when we exchange a kiss things simmer down and we take up our positions again on top of the duvet. Could order a pizza but neither of us has the money, and neither of us can be bothered to do anything but just lie around. Grabbing one of her tits, her right one, my favourite one, I flick the nipple harder than I should and she retaliates by pinching me on the arm hard enough to break the skin. There’s a little blood, but it’s the bruising that does it. Kissing it better after my complaints, she gets up and opens the window and the curtains move in a breeze that circulates around us.

The world is broken, and this wine tastes terrible, but when she sings her songs life feels like it’s worth living somehow. When she presses herself against me, her pubic hair’s so soft beneath my fingers, and when I slide them into her, she nestles her face in my smelly armpit and licks me like a cat. The sensation of her tongue on my skin is arousing, and even though I just wanted us to waste the day by doing nothing, now there’s a fire in me that can’t be put out. As naked as insects, I bite and suck her neck, and when she grabs my cock and gives me a handjob, I close my eyes and see a landscape by Hieronymus Bosch. The imagery tickles me. It pulls me in, and as she’s doing her thing, I’m running through a field containing a hundred nude bodies in the midst of some great orgy with a throng of baying animals that circle them in wild devotion. There are arrows shooting into skin, and pieces of fruit smeared over the bellies of young women that are then fed into the mouths of rabid foxes and goats. Everything vibrates, and the colours are so vivid they feel almost edible. Shaking my head, I push her onto her belly, and as the visions run wild and the nude bodies dance their dance, I grab her hair and do my best to pass them into her by filling her up with my stuff. When I’m on the verge of coming, I tense and grit my teeth and sink my fingers in the flesh of her buttocks, and when it’s time, when the light and the madness align, I shoot into her as if I were trying to pass through the eye of a needle. God’s needle.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com

31 replies »

  1. She hisses and scratches / she nestles her face in my smelly armpit and licks me like a cat: I like how you have these two images of her as a cat – angry and sensual. The ending is really something,

      • And makes everyone involved happy. It’s even better with people you don’t know: at the end of the day, you remember the moment and think ‘today a stranger and me smiled at each other. We were human’. And then you smile again.

      • That’s a good strategy! Other people may think you are slightly mad, but who cares? Have you ever noticed how people look at you when you walk on the street thinking of something that’s made you happy and you have a big smile on your face? Most of them give you very curious looks.

      • Yes, they often look at you quite suspiciously. But let them. Those that do are often so lacking in magic that the last time they had it was back when they were children. The adult world chewed them up real good.

      • I agree. Most of them are dried up and tight-lipped, like there’s nothing in life that can make them happy. I’m not even sure they ever had any kind of magic in their lives – a spark should have survived, something would stir inside them.
        Suspiciously is a good word here.

      • Perhaps the spark is buried, so deeply buried they’re not even aware of its existence. Perhaps when something stirs it, like the smile of someone walking down the street, it makes them feel so strange they do all they can to push such sensations as far back as possible.

      • My hometown is small, so I wanted to be in a city. I understand though about freaking out in crowds – sometimes you feel like opening way through them by shooting.
        I love the countryside too. We used to spend the summers with our grandparents.
        I’ve been to London only once, for three days. Walked a lot around. Found it a little scary.
        Living in the countryside and having a big city nearby in case you need it is a good choice.

      • London is cool for a day or so, but it’s so easy to just disappear within it. Some never come back out. But I guess that could be said for many cities.

        There’s something about the countryside that soothes my soul. The fields and sky and open air, it helps me to find myself in a way the busy streets never do.

      • All I know of the English countryside comes from novels. I’d love to see it – I imagine it very green and misty, usually a clouded sky above.
        The solitude the countryside offers can save your soul. My favorite spots are usually by rivers, plane trees with hollow trunks and ivy climbing them.

      • Yes, the English countryside is green and misty, and more often than not under a blanket of clouds. But when the sun does come out, it lifts your soul high.
        There aren’t many rivers where I am, but the few there are work their magic quite well.
        But saying that, there are those that have dried up and are filled with shopping trolleys. There’s a great contrast in England of natural beauty and urban decay x

  2. And that, is how you, fall into the temptations of the flesh, when there should be a level of more depth to just having sex and enjoying each others bodies when you’re in love…

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