Posted by Barbanne on December 18, 2003 at 22:27:15:
PART ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY THREE
That was the special feature in Playdead Magazine that I did back in those days before I joined Alex and the others at Playdead dot com. Remember I told you I did other stuff and promised I'd tell you about this weird magazine? Actually it was a German magazine called "Totes Spiel", or something which meant Playdead, or Dead Play or some such, and it was pretty explicit. The picture feature I posed for was about those rent by the hour motel rooms and the sort of slags who do that (that was me, appropriate eh?) and how they die ignobly in their seamy, squalid, sordid surrounds.
The room had been made to look even trashier than normal and the dirty sheets and frayed and worn carpet had been splotched with coloured water and cream to look like it was covered in old beer, wine and semen stains. Cigarette butts were scattered everywhere, ash was dropped and ground in to the carpet.
The worst of the several scenarios had me sprawled out in ripped and heavily stained panties, strangled with my own panty hose, eyes bugging out and tongue dangling and my freshly warm corpse was being eaten by rats!!! Oh god how I hated those rats. Three big fat, furry, friendly pet rats but they crawled all over me while the photographer shot film and their little claws scritched against my bare skin and they nibbled and licked at me especially my hair and my face and eeeeyerk my pubic hair.
I think I fainted twice during the shoot.
Then I was nude twice and murdered and had died with my right middle finger slipped inside my pussy as though I died masturbating and pleasuring myself. (and they insisted I not fake this but get it right inside and the camera got so close it kept me honest) First time I was in the shower and it was running and I was slumped down with my shoulders against the tiles and my head bent forward onto my chest and my body straight out, legs apart and hand carressing my sex. I had been shot and was bleeding from a bullet wound to the head. The second shot showed me draped over the bed, finger firmly inserted in my slit and head hanging down, hair tumbling straight to the floor, strangled with my panties and tongue poking out but a look of beatific happiness on my face.
Then I was shot and lying on the stained carpet and the slut underwear I had on said she asked for it and it was sort of horrible and they made my face up to look ravaged and killed and wasted and sort of tartily corpsed and even I thought when I looked at the pictures that I had warranted shooting this time.
Then I had on only the slut bra and my throat had been cut and my face was surrounded by my fanned out hair and there was blood galore soaking into the carpet and I didn't look peaceful or anything I looked wrecked!
And then this stud "actor," he was German, picked my slashed necked body up and tossed it over the bed and then had sex with my still warm cadaver. My head hung down off the bed and my throat looked sliced right open and he was on top of me and pumping, pumping, pumping to an explosive release.
Again they insisted on no faking and I needed the money and so the sex was............well, very realistic.
I'm not proud of having done this or any other of the things I did to keep myself alive but I did them and I don't try to pretend I didn't.
One day when I was feeling particularly vulnerable I told Alex about these photos and as it happened I had a copy of the magazine that they sent me at the time and I showed him. He was disgusted but I noticed he looked at every page, even turning the magazine this way and that to better see what his girlfriend had been up to.
"You did this Barb?"
"Can't deny it can I?"
"It's really disgusting Barb."
"I guess its pretty explicit."
"And you want us to do porn when you've done this?"
"Our porn, as you call it, will be soft and sexy and made for lovers."
"Well I'd hope its not going to be like this."
"Nah. Give me the magazine, I'll trash it I don't know why I've kept it so long."
"You know something Barb?"
"Am I going to get a lecture?"
"No. I was going to tell you how much I love you and how it wounds me deeply to know some of the things that you have done, have felt you needed to do to make a living."
"Don't forget my fantasies."
"No and I share many of those as you darned well know."
"Fantasies are good, sane, healthy and very arousing and we have been blessed to have the opportunity to make them happen and to share with others but this," he waggled the magazine, "this is perverse and pretty crappy."
"Yeah. Oh well, I'll probably be punished for my wickedness some day."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? everything comes home to roost someday doesn't it?"
"Oh heck Barb," he crushed me to him, "I wish you hadn't said that."