The Tickle in Me

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The jazz slipping in through the window showed no sign of letting up. Its rhythmic beat seeped through my flesh into my bones, and the more I lusted over Meeko, the more it made me want to fuck her brains out. I wanted to smear them all over the walls creating a Jackson Pollock fit for the 21st century, and more than anything, I wished for both our brains and our guts to splatter the world with love. Through the coming together of our bodies, a new way of seeing would emerge—a new vision for a new world—one where outsiders such as ourselves were worshipped like the prodigies we were. The old world could float away with yesterday’s turds for all I cared, along with all those who clung to it with such tedious obedience. The cymbal rush fluttering in the air made my belly tingle, and from my belly to my balls each beat of the drum sent me a little closer to coming undone. Chewing on Meeko’s eyebrows and cheeks, I carried her into the bedroom before throwing her onto the bed. Opening the window to let the music in, I grabbed a warm bottle of wine from the kitchen and drank until the sweet liquid mixed with the music in my belly, and so the tickle in me grew and grew. Moving around the bed dancing like a drunken dad at a wedding, I handed the bottle over and she knocked back the same amount I did before making a face. The bottle was now half empty. Laughing at my awkward movements, she spread her legs and fingered herself while chewing at the air around her mouth. The air was dry, scorched. Wiping the sweat from my face with a tea towel, I felt the devil in me twitching to the eclectic ebb and flow of the drums. It moved as awkward as me, and as I prowled the foot of the bed watching her as she slid her fingers in as deep as they could go, my mind flowered as if someone had blown it apart with a bullet from the gun of God.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US

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