Last time I had sex she was dressed like a man with a white face, a mannequin smooth and hard. Her hair slick as black shoe polish. Eyes dead, tear stains of blood on the bed. The bedroom was dark. Nothing was true. Everything was permitted. The sky was gray. She was pale and smelled like sex. But she lied about not liking sodomy: she liked it and she knew I knew she liked it. She loved it and came back to it like a dog who couldn't escape the vacuum cleaner, the knife, the deranged psychotic. The more I got to know her the more I didn't know if I liked her better as a man or a woman or a dog.nothing is as tempting as pleasure twisting helplessly from a rope. We didn't merely have sex: we stopped being coherent. We made a mockery out of it. A mockery out of paradise. She rubbed my chest trying to make me be somebody. Gave herself orgasms in front of a mirror. Gave me oral sex which was more important than a conscience. I was dominate and she was submissive. I had a tongue like fat flesh. She loved my mouth. Loved my mouth inside her. Loved my tongue inside her brain. Loved the blood in my hypodermic. I was so proud for never having an original idea that I made her beg for every bad thing I did to her.She made me forget monotony. I gave her my undivided attention. We did speed in the kingdom of heaven and I'd watch her stagger down the street and come to my dirty little space. I touched the skin under her nose. Played with eyelashes. Made her sleep on the floor afterwards, chained to the bed. She was the one thing needed: forbidden fruit of a girl who waits on tables. She remembered being in a dirty laundromat, a dirty basement of a dirty hotel in downtown Dirty Town. A place where everybody lives sooner or later. It wasn't wrong to irrigate the field. I tried to find some balance but still couldn't get a taxi. I put gypsies in my arms and sometimes I missed the vein but it was still worth it.one night a few months ago I got a phone call. It woke me up. I answered it. Said hello. She wanted me to drive over to her place. Wanted to be tied up with a bag over her head. Wanted me to do it on all fours from the back end. Wanted me to bite her neck and leave deep teeth marks. Wanted to pretend she didn't know who I was. So she left the door unlocked. I let myself in and out.... in and out....... in and out in a reenactment of the Tribulation in the Garden. Sex was loud and painful. She passed out. I was the prince, she was the dead princess. After that night, I slept on subways. Bought tickets for the long and fast. I got sick from a cold wind that blew under the door and fell asleep. Something woke me up. It was the woman next door masturbating in that virtuous holy place of eternal consciousness. She was dressed like a man with a white face, a mannequin smooth and hard. Her hair slick as black shoe polish. Eyes dead, tear stains of blood on the.
