It takes more than a minute but less than five. Luckily for me, my leg holds out long enough to get the job done. It’s a sorry performance by all accounts, eclipsed only by the memories of a select few drunken encounters where I’d failed to get it up, or shot my load before I’d even started. Taking into consideration my pain, and the fact I’m trying to manoeuvre the best I can around a soggy, fluid-riddled mattress, she takes pity on me like the feeble creature I no-doubt resemble. Squeezing her nipples for me, she whispers filthy, sweet-nothings into my ear. Things like, I’m gonna shit myself, and, my pussy’s not been washed in weeks—it’s necrotic down there.  It’s a struggle to not let it descend into a complete farce, but eventually, I get the tingle in my toes, and when I place my hand over her mouth and hold her gaze, the tingle becomes a buzz that pinches my nerves until I lose control. Growling and chomping on her chin, she gasps as I tell her I’m about to come, and when I do, I show her my real face, and she shows me hers in return. As I pump and stutter the name of God, our flesh makes way for light, as behind our stupid man-skins, we’re nothing but energy, and for a second, the energy takes over, and the pain and sorrow of this existence is replaced by an unending sea of stars. Collapsing on top of her, the sweat from my body mixes with hers, and as she tries lifting me off so as to not suffocate, I find myself gone—gone being my best state to be. Opening one of my eyes to a slither, she wears a frown from having me deadweight on her chest, yet when she manages to push me off, she rubs her belly and smiles at the feeling of having my seed swimming inside of her. Rolling onto her side, she nuzzles her head into my armpit and sniffs me, and when she kisses and licks my strange tasting skin, we briefly doze as outside the sun continues its rise into the infinite sky.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US