Posted by rache on August 09, 2004 at 17:59:51:
I'm just ranting, in my way; I'm too weak to just come out and yell...I put this on ASSM...haha! That should throw a wrench in some people's monkeywerks. It was meant for the one or two people around here that I know can appreciate aimless frustration.
--=--
The Gerbil of Fate (and other stories)
By rache
I. Reflections
II. Gerbel of Fate
III. Idle Chatter
IV. Elision
V. I Remember
VI. 12 Good Men (And one fucked up bitch)
-=-=-
Reflections
I’m in a reflective mood. I’ve been sitting here while Paul sleeps, listening to the radio station from Cebu, listening to Mario play his guitar, listening to the crickets and frogs, the electric fan whirring endlessly. It’s kind of noisy, but not really.
I’ve been typing on a couple things. Something called ‘Vampire People’ something else called ‘X’ and something called ‘Observations on Com-Elec Procedures in Provincial Voter Registration Program’ which is probably the most dreary document I’ve ever worked on. I switch back and forth and sometimes; I wonder what’s the point.
So now I’m typing this.
My mother was from the Philippines. I don’t talk about her a lot and certainly not around the internet. Probably because I don’t understand my feelings. Sometimes I think I have no feelings, at least on that subject. A few years ago I was very…down. For lack of a better word. I was just coming out of that when I posted my first ‘dark’ stories. I guess it showed. Hopefully, I’ve changed and what I’m writing reflects that, but I’m not sure. Sometimes I wish I could still access that really bad place inside me. But I can’t, even though I know it’s still there. Maybe that’s a good thing, right?
I’ve started to love humanity, which is scary. Once I felt nothing but loathing for the world. I hated it with a passion. What was it Caligula said? ‘I would that all Rome had but one neck.’? I understood that once, but I’m not sure anymore.
I was going to say something about my mother, because I’ve been looking for some courage to look at her. To look at myself. My father is old. He was in the air force during the Vietnam war and he was stationed someplace here in the Philippines. He has some medals and stuff, I’ve never really read them, I suppose I should someday. He told me a little, that he used to get on these bomber planes after dinner every night and they’d fly over Vietnam and drop bombs, and then fly back. He was the guy who told them when to pull the trigger, or maybe he even pulled the trigger himself, I’m not sure. That’s his phrase, by the way. You drop a few thousand pounds of high explosive on some guys and it’s just a pull of the trigger. He didn’t even have to see the smoke.
He met my mother when he was in the Philippines and they were eventually married. There was a time, when I was young and reading Hemingway, that I supposed she’d been a nurse. A wartime romance, you know. My father never talked about her much. He said she worked at a hotel he stayed at. Okay, that’s mildly disappointing to someone desperate for romance, or at least drama in her life. But now, I wonder sometimes if my mother hadn’t been a…hostess, I suppose is a polite enough term. Why do I have this urge to hurt myself? To contemplate my mother as a prostitute?
I have no reason to believe she was, except the popular belief that those were the only kinds of girls young American soldiers would have intimate contact with. And like all popular beliefs it is a false one, to be sure, so my mother could have been virginal, innocent, swept off her feet by an American of noble character.
I do not like the middle path. I never have and so I must choose to believe one or the other, that my mother, who died bringing me into the world, was either a whore, or a saint. That seems to be my new personal torment of choice. Doubtless it seems a minor thing to you, and that is fine, this is hardly an earth shattering issue. Just a curiosity. But…How does one go about asking her father, ‘Dad, was mom a cocksucking whore during the war?’ without getting slapped?
That’s my new fantasy, by the way. Since I have come to terms with the cold reality that my father has very little, if any interest in me as a sexual being, perhaps I could persuade him to kill me. Fuck me or kill me, Daddy…Sounds like a Dolcett kind of thing.
+=+=+
Gerbel of Fate
Cue big music…bright lights…fancy graphics…
“Welcome to ‘Who Dares?’ the most popular game show on television today, where contestants are given impossible choices and have to live with the consequences! Today’s guests are Rachael and her father, Robert! And here’s the host of ‘Who Dares?’…Jula Valdez!”
Big applause please…camera 1 zoom on Jula…
“Hi, welcome to the show! When we left off last week Rachael and Robert were still deciding whether or not to go for the one million dollar jackpot, risking everything…or, take the $100,000 they’ve already won and go home safe and sound.
“Robert, you’ve already defied fate 3 times! That’s pretty amazing, do you think you can do it again?”
Camera 2 zoom on Robert…
“Gee, I don’t know…”
Camera 2 go wide…
“You can do it Daddy, I believe in you!”
Camera 1…
“So what’s your decision, Robert…take the money and run, or go for broke?”
Camera 2…
“Well, a million dollars would almost pay for Rachael’s student loans…Aw, heck! Let’s go for it!”
Camera 1 go wide…pan…the audience…center...hold…
“When we come back Robert will spin the Gerbil of Fate! Where will that little rodent go? Will Robert and Rachael win the million dollar jackpot? Stay tuned after a word from our sponsors!"
Are you at the end of your rope? Has life got you by the balls? If you’ve got one foot in the grave, don’t take another step until you’ve called 1-800-DLIVER that’s 1-800-DLIVER …We need your organs! All around the world, rich people with so much more to live for than losers like you, are willing to pay top dollar for hearts, kidneys, livers, eyes, and much, much more! Don’t leave your spouse and children with a mountain of unpaid debt! Leave them with something they can use! Real money paid in cash! Not in McDonald Gift Certificates, or food stamps like those discount organ merchants, but real green money with pictures of dead people on it! Act now and we’ll even throw in a six piece Ginsu Knife set! A $29.95 value and yours free! Surgeons are standing by! Call now 1-800-DLIVER …and save the life of someone important!
Camera 1 wide…big applause…
“Okay, we’re back! Robert and Rachael, you know how the game works. We put the Gerbil of Fate in Oprah Winfrey’s ass…no, just kidding, folks! We love the President, we really do! Robert you’re going to spin the gerbil and that means Rachael, you get to pick a Golden Envelope! Thank you, I’ll hold that…”
Ohhhh….Robert spins the wheel, drops the gerbil in the middle and the poor dizzy confused creature scampers for safety into one of the little holes…it’s…
Camera 3 zoom rodent…
“Well, looks like the little furry bugger picked ‘Incest’ Robert! How about that! For one million dollars you get to fuck your delightful young daughter on national television! How old are you Rachael?
“I’m 21, Jula…and a virgin!”
“Is that right? Well, I never would have guessed, the way you dress my dear! Do you think your Daddy will put his big old penis in your little hole? Or will he chicken out and take his chances with the Golden Envelope?”
“Oh, my Daddy loves me! He’ll jump at the chance to break my cherry!”
“Is that right Robert? Do you want to make your little girl into a woman? Especially since she’s 21 already, she must have been saving herself for someone pretty darn special, Robert!”
“Uh, well, Jula…I do love Rachael and I, well…I could never bring myself to do…that. To her, I mean.”
“Mmmm…Well, don’t make up your mind just yet Robert, because on this show you get a choice! Let’s see what your other option is, and remember, if it’s the jackpot, you win 1 million dollars immediately!”
Scritch! “Oh my, look at this…Parricide by Hanging…Robert, you may not want to fuck your daughter, but if you don’t…you’ll have to kill her! How does that sound?”
“Well, not too good, actually. I’m sorry, Rachael.”
“It’s okay Daddy. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to show me your love…in a physical way. I mean a different physical way. Make love to me, Daddy!”
“No Rachael, I meant that you’re just too special to me, I’d rather…uh, see you dead than have to do that…um, incest…thing.”
“What? Daddy! Please!”
“I’m sorry Rachael, call me old fashioned, but I still think a father should beat his little girl, not fuck her.”
“There you have it folks! Tipper would be proud of you Robert. Are you sure you won’t fuck Rachael?
“I’m sure, Jula…Where’s the rope?”
=-=-=
Idle Chatter
Blah blah blah…
You know, there are women out there who are suffering precisely because of the thing I want most. Does that make sense? It’s akin to having a fetish for infectious diseases. “Oh please, give me AIDS!’ and you know, I found a small group of people into that. Sharing stories about having unprotected sex with HIV positive people, just trying to get it. I even wrote a couple, just for fun. Chopping someone’s head off for sexual gratification is not the extreme it once was. Abortion fetishist, them too…Oh boy, I love that group a lot. Every time I go and chat or post and imagine what it would be like getting a late term abortion, just for a sexual thrill, I know I’m hell bound.
My fav is playing the happy innocent mother to be, who has Dr Mengele for a OB/GYN…He kills the fetus and fucks her while she deals with it. I always imagine that desolation of the soul, like a great famine is suddenly visited upon my very existence. Getting to that point is incidental, a fantasy is a fantasy, it is relatively unimportant in the same way pain is unimportant. It isn’t the physical sensation that matters, it’s just the push to reach the emotional summit. Or perhaps emotional pit is a better term.
Anyway, at first I was surprised by how many Dr. Mengele’s there are, lurking out there. Innocent mothers are a dime a dozen too, but I knew that.
And these are on my mind a lot. It used to be that I was worried about my boyfriends, or at least one in particular. I would write and be totally influenced by my experiences, by my insecurities. How we broke up and got back together, etc. etc. I always thought, way down inside my heart, that once I was married all that would go away. But it doesn’t, does it? Now I’m always wondering about my husband. Does he love me? Does he love me enough? Does he fuck around behind my back? Why would he do that? What don’t I give him that he needs?
I know I am…paranoid. It’s a chemical imbalance in my brain that makes me a little depressed, a little anxious and tending to focus on small things, unimportant things, and making them life and death issues for me. I know this and I take pills to combat it, I talk to people who can lead me through some issues I can’t deal with alone. But, still…inside…I feel really fucking paranoid! God I hate it.
I’m pretty good mostly. But sometimes I can’t sleep at all, for like days. I’ll bite my fingernails until they bleed, then I’ll bite the skin. I start wanting to hurt myself, like I really need to stick this needle in my skin, because…I don’t know why. Or I’ll start a fight with my husband. I’ll look at him and I think, he’s up to something behind my back. He’s fucking the maid, or some woman down the street, or his old girlfriend, Jenny. I look through his clothes, his wallet, his briefcase looking for evidence and when I don’t find it, I don’t feel better, I just think he’s being clever.
-=-=-
Elision
"How do you feel about body modification, Rache?" Paul asked me and I looked up at him from the paper I was trying to edit.
"I like it." I looked back down.
"Any kind?" He seemed surprised.
"Sure, um..." I waved my hand a little, like I do sometimes. "I can't think of anything I don't like." And then I thought about it some more. "Well, I mean the people who get goat horns bolted to their skulls, or wolf canines to replace their own, that's a little out there. But it doesn't bother me."
"How about amputation?" he raised an eyebrow.
"You want to amputate me?" I chuckled and looked down again. "Just don't mess with my fingers, okay? I need those."
"I was just wondering."
"Well, what do you think about it?" I decided to ask.
"I'm not sure. I uh, ran across some pictures when I was cleaning out your temporary internet files." He grinned at me.
"Oh," I laughed. "Spam, you know."
"Uh-huh. Right." He nodded. "And I suppose that explains the amputee stories I found in Rache's Documents Folder."
"You big snoop!" I threw a paperclip at him.
"Hey, you're the one who downloaded them. I just try to keep that machine running." He picked the paperclip off his chest. "So anyway, what's the deal?"
"What deal?" I asked. "Why does there have to be a deal? I download everything, you know that."
"Yeah, and I'm the one who throws it away, you don't have enough gigs for the whole internet yet."
"Not my fault, dear!" I sang. "Your the one said 240 gigs is enough for anyone!"
"It is." He threw the paperclip back at me.
"Then let's delete the 30 hours of video you shot in Thailand! That's half of it right there. All that Anger What crap."
"Angor Wot. You just don't want to do the subtitles." He accused.
"Angor Wotever. No, I don't want to do the subtitles, Jesus. Fucking Thai bastards, I can't even understand that stupid translator you hired, the stupid bitch. You could have at least found one who speaks English instead of that pig Oxford shit."
"She came from the university and her translation is fine, I don't understand your problem with her." He looked at me, both of us wondering how this started.
"Maybe my problem is with that night in Palay, watching her fuck your brains out. She translated fucky sucky just fine, I noticed." I frowned because I hadn't meant to bring that up.
"What? You were the one who suggested it, Rache. Or did that whole conversation somehow slip your mind?"
It had, actually, but now I recalled it vividly. Telling my husband how much I'd love to see him fuck our new traveling companion, out little translator from the National University in Bangkok. How I'd sat so close to the girl, laughing and talking, touching her and telling her it would be okay, it would make me happy. And it had, that was the thing, watching them. Masturbating as I sat in that big rattan chair, smelling their sex, listening to it, tasting it on that humid air in which we languished. Decadent and spoiled, playing the debased wife and loving it.
"No, it didn't. But today it bothers me, alright?"
"Sure, fine, so the next time something is okay with you I should just assume that a month later it's going to piss you off, huh? Do you think you could schedule these little schizo episodes, because frankly Rache, it's a little tough to keep up."
"Fuck you."
"I have a headache." He stood up. "So I guess you'll just have to go fuck yourself, Rachael."
I stared at him as he walked away, but he didn't look at me. This wasn't the first time I'd managed to turn a relatively friendly conversation into an argument. It seemed to be happening a lot lately and I didn't understand why. I was usually pretty well behaved. I hadn't skipped my pills or anything, it wasn't PMS or anything stupid like that. There'd been some stress, a little, but only because I felt a bit lonely sometimes, a little tired of all the travel, but we didn't have any money problems or anything. Our sex life was great, when I wasn't pissed, I should say. Fuck. I didn't know why I just had to fight with him.
I stewed in guilt for an hour or so, watching the sunset and not doing anything at all. Roselyn, our maid, asked me once if I wanted something to drink, but I waved her away. I got up finally, walking into the house and finding Paul asleep on the sofa. Johnny Bravo was on the television and I turned him off.
"Hey." I whispered and gave Paul a little nudge, sitting on the floor next to him. I nuzzled his neck and breathed into his ear. "Wake up baby, I need you."
He opened his eyes, blinking a few times and stretched. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven." I put my head on his chest and he stroked my hair. "Are you hungry? Roselyn was going to barbecue some pork, but I told her to wait.”
"No, I'm not...Are you?" He asked lazily.
I smiled up at him. "I want to work up an appetite."
"Oh really?" Paul smiled and ran a finger around my lips.
"Uh-huh." I opened my mouth, catching it and sucking on it. "If you wanted you could, um, punish me."
"Is that an official apology?" He chuckled.
"Not yet, but..." I ran a hand up his leg. "there's one inside me someplace, just aching to get out."
"You really pissed me off today, Rache." He stroked my cheek, staring into my eyes.
"I know."
"I'm going to nail your tits to the wall."
"I love it when you talk dirty." I rubbed his crotch seductively.
"Suck me." He said.
"Here?" I looked around, Roselyn was just on the other side of a thin beaded curtain, doing maid stuff in the kitchen. I didn't know where how houseboy Mario was, probably getting water.
"Yeah. Make me cum." I could feel his prick growing in his loose pants, soft old worn Dockers I envied. All my pants were tight and unbearably hot in the tropical climate. So I'd taken to wearing shorts, or things like the thin short skirt I was wearing now. Paul brought a hand up to squeeze my breast through the t-shirt I was wearing.
I unzipped Paul's trousers, reaching inside to feel him already hard and I pulled his penis free, so it stood up from his body in my hand. It was heavy and warm, throbbing with life. He pinched my nipple against the cotton, teasing me while I squeezed him. I love my husband's cock, not exclusively mind you, it is only one part him, but oh!...I do enjoy it so.
I let the length of him slide across my cheek, moving my head back and forth, pressing him to my skin with my palm. I kissed and licked at him, dragging my tongue along his length and encircling the smooth swollen head with my lips. I sucked on just that for a moment or two, stroking him with my hands until I felt the first bit of wetness leaking from the tip. I tongued the little slit there, letting him watch my tongue until finally he urged me to take him deeply into my mouth.
I gave him a slow loving blowjob, as much for me as for Paul. I worshipped his cock with my mouth and hands. My own body was responding just as eagerly as my husband’s. My nipples had become hard and sensitive so that Paul's fingers were a gentle torment as he played with them. I moved slightly to help him get my t-shirt over my breasts, so that he could tug at my rings, making me moan around his stiff member. I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing me down gently, but insistently.
"Roselyn, would you bring me a glass of water, please." I heard him say loudly and I started to lift my mouth, but he held me firmly on his hard cock. "Don't stop, I'm almost there." He told me, and I could feel the little thrusting of his hips as he urged his cockhead deeper.
"You're such a slut, Rachael. I can't believe I married you." He started berating me, jamming his cock suddenly upward as he pulled down on my head. It made me choke and I gagged and coughed against his swollen shaft as it pressed to the back of my mouth. I knew Roselyn must have come into the room, but I had my eyes closed. "I think I should change your name to cocksucker. Thank you Roselyn, just put it down there for me. Say hello to my wife, Roselyn." Paul pulled my head up by my hair, twisting it back painfully so I faced our young maid, kneeling with saliva and Paul's precum running from my panting mouth. "Say hello, cocksucker."
"Buong." Roselyn said under breath, but she dared not leave. She wouldn't look at me either, even when I reluctantly opened my eyes and said hello.
"Kamusta ka, Roselyn." I said breathlessly.
"That's enough talk, cocksucker." He slapped my face hard and pushed my mouth back down. My body burned from the embarrassment and I sucked his cock back into my mouth, using my tongue and hands, trying to bring him off quickly now.
=-=-=
I Remember
Blah Blah Blah… You get the idea. I remember this one guy, mmm…I remember the way he smelled and tasted. I remember how his fingers were hard and calloused. I remember the way his hair used to blow in the wind. I remember everything, except his name. I wonder if I ever knew it?
He called me cocksucker. “Come here little cocksucker.” He’d whisper it and I was young, like use your imagination young, and he smoked. Oh Christ he smoked all the time and one day we were in bed, naked and we’d just finished having sex. He was smoking and he played with his cigarette, just moving it over one small barely there breast, not touching, but just above the skin and I watched it, glowing darkly in the dim light.
He burned my nipple with it, accidentally I think, just grazed that hard nub of flesh and I jumped with the pain, but it wasn’t that bad. He looked at me and I smiled and he took a puff of his cigarette.
“Did you like that?” He asked me and I nodded. “Really?”
“Yeah, it didn’t hurt.” I said, even though it did.
“You lie.” He laughed and that made me a little mad.
“Do it again.” I dared him.
“What for? No.” He shook his head.
“Give me your cigarette then, I’ll do it.” I reached for it and he gave it to me, not believing me I’m sure.
I put the cherry to my left nipple, just holding it there and it hurt, oh God it hurt so much. I almost couldn’t do it but I did. I held it there until I thought my flesh would melt and he left me after that. I never saw him again. Now, why do I remember him? Why do I remember him now? I remember everything except his name.
I have a cigarette. Sitting here, typing this. A document I started a month ago and return to, adding a few words, here and there, closing it again. I’m burning myself, small black and pink and red holes in my tit. It hurts glorious and I’m so fucking crazy. I know it, but I can’t stop. My husband is gone, gone away, visiting someplace else and fucking. I know it. He’s fucking and I’m burning. Why did I marry him? I hate him.
I wish…
=-=-=
Eleven Good Men (and one fucked up bitch)
01 “Okay, let’s get this started, huh? Maybe we should introduce ourselves just so we know. My name is Gene and I’m the jury foreman. I’m a retired school teacher.” The old man looked around the small jury room. “Let’s just go around the table here.”
02 “I’m Jim, I, uh, I work for the post office.”
03 “Hi, my name is Henry and I’m a plumber.”
04 “My name is Seth and I sell cars, down at Thompson Lincoln-Ford-Mercury-Hyundai-Rolls-VW-Audi-Plymouth-Chrysler-Ferrari-Bmw-Jag-Honda-Kia-Saturn. If you guys need a car, you know, just come by and I can really get you a sweet deal, like we got this red…”
05 “Yeah yeah…I’m Fred and I’m a florist.”
06 “Hi there, I’m Joe and I own Boeing.”
07 “Really?”
06 “No, I’m uh, a pathological liar. But I stayed at a Holiday Inn last night.”
07 “Oh. Well, I’m Jerry and I’m a trash collector.”
08 “Hello. I’m Robert and I’m an alcoholic.”
01 “This isn’t AA…”
08 “Oh, right, I didn’t see any donuts. I’m a minister. Sorry.”
09 “Hi everyone, I’m Stanley and I’m an unemployed social satirist. But, uh, I brought copies of my resume if anyone’s interested, or knows anyone who might be…”
10 “Okay, my name is Wayne and I’m a horse breeder.”
11 “My name is…”
10 “I mean, I don’t breed with horses.”
11 “My, uh name is…”
10 “Personally.”
11 “Okay! I’m Bill and I manage a McDonalds.”
12 “I’m Rachael and I’m a pornographer.”
01 “Uhhh-huh. Well then, um, now that we know everybody, kind of, maybe we should take a quick vote just to see where we stand, huh?” The old man looked around. “Everybody have paper and a pen? Good. Just write guilty or not guilty and pass it down.”
A few minutes later.
01 “Okay, uh let’s see…Not Guilty, Not Guilty, etc…etc….okay that’s 11 not guilty’s and…the last one… ‘Guilty as fuck.’ Uhhh-huh. Okay hold it down, hold it down. Does the um, person who cast the ‘Guilty as, uh, fuck’ vote want to identify himself and maybe, er, maybe shed some light on the reason?”
12 “Why do you assume it was a himself?”
01 “What?”
12 “You said it was a himself, why not a herself? Are you sexist?”
01 “Er, no, of course not I just assumed…”
03 “When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”
11 “That’s clever.”
12 “You assumed that a female would never find a raping murderer guilty?”
01 “No, of course not, I mean…”
09 “What? You mean of course she never would?”
01 “No, I meant I wouldn’t assume anything!”
06 “But you just said you assumed a moment ago.”
01 “I know, but…I’m not on trial here!”
02 “Maybe you should be.”
10 “I wanna change my vote now.”
04 “You can’t do that!”
05 “What do you mean he can’t?”
08 “This is still a democracy, nimrod!”
03 “I think he’s guilty too now!”
12 “Let’s vote again.”
01 “No, wait a minute this isn’t right!”
05 “What do you mean? We can vote again.”
07 “Something’s fishy here. He’s guilty.”
09 “Yeah, let’s vote again.”
01 “Alright, alright…let’s vote again. Everybody just um, write your vote and uh, pass it up.”
Some minutes later…
01 “Okay uh, Guilty as Hell, Not Guilty, Guilty, Not Guilty, Not Guilty, Guilty as Kuck…oh, that’s an F…Guilty as Fuck…um Guilty, Not Guilty, Not Guilty, Guilty as a Girl, uh…Hmmm… ok…Guilty, Guilty, and um, Not Guilty. Let’s see that’s 6 Guilty and 6 Not Guilty.”
12 “Who the hell wrote Guilty as A Girl?”
03 “It wasn’t me.”
12 “Who did it? Come on chicken shit, what are you trying to say? It was you, wasn’t it?”
08 “Me? No, not me why…why would you think it was me?”
12 “Cause you’re a minister.”
04 “So?”
07 “So? Original sin? Eve? The Garden of Eden? Duh!”
11 “You blaming girls now? For what that prick did?”
08 “No, I’m not! I didn’t even…”
02 “So you think it was the girl’s fault she was raped and strangled?”
08 “No, I didn’t say that! Look it’s all a misunderstanding, it’s her fault that…”
12 “Oh! You’re blaming me now? Hmm…let me check! Nope no cock in here, gosh! I must have left it at the scene of the crime!”
01 “Why do you think she did it?”
03 “I think he did it!”
07 “You know why fish smell the way they do?”
10 “What’s the matter, no choir boys to castrate that day?”
06 “He was in on it, that’s for sure. Look at him, guilty as hell.”
05 “So how was it, raping a mother of two on her way back from a PTA meeting? Pretty tight?”
08 “What?”
09 “I wanna change my vote now.”
11 “How come this didn’t come out in the trial?”
12 “It was the lawyer.”
01 “Well, there ain’t no lawyer in here to cloud the issue. I’m changing my vote too.”
04 “Let’s vote!”
A bit later…
01 “Okay…Guilty, Guilty, Guilty, Guilty…etc etc…Not Guilty. That’s 11 for Guilty and um, 1 for Not Guilty. So, who’s the guy who still thinks he’s innocent?”
12 “What makes you think it’s a guy, you sexist bastard?”
--++--
the end
rache696@yahoo.com