::: notes from my libido 2.0 :::

Mrs Stern

2011-09-30T01:05:00.002+08:00

She's seated comfortably on a couch, but from the stern expression on her face you couldn't really tell that she was comfortable, but simply businesslike. Mrs Lim conducted every aspect of her life in a most serious manner, and this included when having her middle-aged cunt being eaten out by one of her teenage son's classmates.

"A little higher, yes, that is good. Keep your tongue moving, don't stop till I tell you to stop."

The pudgy teenage boy with the stubby cock complied and kept at it with an enthusiasm found only in pudgy but horny teenage boys lacking in confidence. Mrs Lim had singled him out as a candidate ever since the first time she saw him. Experience had told her that pudgy boys often had stubby cocks, and stubby cocks were what she felt suited her best. She had always been the type who knew exactly what she wanted.

"Perhaps if he successfully brings me to an orgasm, I might even consider letting him fuck me," she reflected as the boy's tongue flicked tirelessly against her clit.

Her orgasm was approaching; she could feel it gurgling up inside her. And then it came, and it was gone. She was a little a disappointed, and decided to take it out on the poor boy.

"Stand up. Take off your trousers. Show me your cock. Now play with it. Don't stop till I tell you so."

The boy did as he was told. In a matter of seconds he was standing in front of her with an erection. Mrs Lim wanted that come, she wanted it in her mouth and she wanted it ruthlessly.

"When you're ready to shoot, let me know."

"Uhhgghh...I'm gonna shoot..."

"Do it in my mouth," said Mrs Lim as she leaned forward with her lips stretched wide open. The boy erupted and a copious load of thick, chunky semen spilled into her mouth, some of it dripping heavily onto her t-shirt.

"Is he ever full of the stuff," she thought to herself, and feeling a little amused at this, felt her mood returning, the trace of vengeance in her heart slowly dissipating.

naughty is such a naughty word

2010-08-14T03:04:00.002+08:00

when an increasing number of les jeune filles* start making passes at you, when they tug at your shirt to get your attention, when they offer you a taste of their lollipop that's been sitting on their tongues, when they stare at you with burning eyes from across the room, when they go WOWWW exaggeratedly as they see you pass, does it mean that you're getting older and closer to becoming a dirty old man?

*ages 16-17

the mall

2010-01-04T01:20:00.001+08:00

you go to a mall --- or malls, for that matter --- and you see these female shapes and forms that turn you on. and so here's the idea, and since for now i'm too lazy to flesh out a full-length narrative, here's a rough sketch.

well, the chief excitement is knowing the fact that it's not actually a run-of-the-mill mall. sure, it's a mall alright, meaning it's a place where things and services are bought and sold. but this mall, it's different. and the difference is that it's a brothel dressed up as a mall. well, imagine that. a mall-sized brothel where any woman your eyes chance upon is a working girl.

the sex mall is strictly regulated of course, by a corporation in one of those generic philip k dick/vonnegut/pynchon incarnations.

so here's the narrative fulcrum a la ballard upon which the plot of this unwritten thriller thickens.

a frequent visitor to the sex mall notices with great anxiety how children start appearing in these malls. he/she finds out or is told that "the management" has relaxed the "no minors and non-sex workers" policy in a bid to maintain and strengthen community standards of decency.

and of course there's more to it than that.

i'm sure by now you have a vague idea of the directions in which the narrative may flow, depending on the type of author you gravitate towards.

frankly, that bit with the plot device i came up with while i was writing this.

what i'm more interested in are the possibilities of consensual sex in the marketplace, where every man or woman is available for a price, in the context of a mall.

not quite 3.0 yet

2009-11-30T23:56:00.002+08:00

caught up in between. days' worth of stored semen, thick, conspicuous copious spilling out of her mouth like half-boiled egg white. the morning fucking a messy sloppy meal in bed, lots of cream with some hard to pronounce french delicacy.

for what goes on inside the body when one is unwell?

libidinal shapes slithering out onto white pages.

******************************************************************

*with special thanks to fritz for the kick in the bum

jibbed?

2009-07-11T01:59:00.002+08:00

"i realised long ago that life is a bloody scam.

i've also been thinking of asking for a refund a long time ago.

but those fuckers keep making them orgasms bettern better."

- overheard in my mind

zzz

2009-07-08T00:23:00.004+08:00

rather than finding sleep, i seem to prefer sleep coming to me.

put another way, these days i seem to prefer being seduced.

perhaps baudrillard is right after all.

how we live

2009-07-01T02:13:00.002+08:00

stay away from the gloss of obvious signs of luxury.

spend good money on luxury and maintain that said luxury is fake and counterfeit.

try to be nice to everyone, including your enemies and those whose faces annoy you, and smile a fake smile that reaches up to your eyes.

(it really does work, particularly the fake smile, but it takes faithful practice for it to become a pure science)

once the fake becomes a pure science (or a pure sign), when you yourself can no longer tell which is fake and which is real, you reach the whole point of the effort.

i think it's almost time for 3.0, don't you think? (or at least, 2.1, given the wisdom of slowing down these days)

2009-06-27T00:48:00.002+08:00

, for when will we get to witness the arrival of the quentin tarantino of porn?

2009-06-21T02:15:00.001+08:00

now, this is good.

i roused from my sleep, half-awake, with an erection, and my erection was a camera, my camera.

i

2009-06-04T01:30:00.002+08:00

i am obstinate, cruel, impatient and temperamental.

i cling to attachments.

i am a bundle of fading memories.

i am full of guilt.

i am envious.

i am rational.

wisdom makes sense to me.

there is hope.

though i doubt.

i understand what i need to do.

2009-05-06T02:17:00.002+08:00

make it pulse like hip hop

photocopy

2009-04-23T02:09:00.003+08:00

tiny philosophies of the bedroom mind, flecks of logic that come whispering in the night.

“where? do you have some place in mind?”

“right here is fine. I love the clutter.”

“right here?”

“well not here. but in your shop, where we are right now.”

“oh.”

“is that a problem?”

“well…”

“is there a day when your kids are not around, when you’re by yourself?”

“he’s taking the kids somewhere soon.”

“when’s that?”

“soon. the holidays are just round the corner.”

“I see.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“great.”

the very fact that she’s married reassures me. until today, I've never thought I’d find a married woman an ideal target for my photoerotic tendencies. m was an anomaly and I wanted it to stay that way --- I still do. I used to think that divorcees or singles were a safer bet, but now I’ve flipped sides. being married, a woman is a lot less likely to go all fatal attraction on you, given that she’s got her family to think about, assuming that she’s the kind who loves her family. her family ties serve as a sort of emotional anchor for our little photoerotic tryst, which I shall try my utmost best to keep physically chaste.

Thoughts of うなぎ and such during sex

2009-04-13T18:41:00.002+08:00

Writing, it’s been a while.
Sex this afternoon, despite the oncoming cold.
Amidst the itchy throat and runny nose, I slid it in slowly, then pulled it out in equal laziness, and looking down I saw what reminded me of unagi.
“How are you enjoying the slow roast?” I said to her, calmly.
The words made her twitch.
When I could hold it no longer, I told her to ask for it.
Three days’ worth, there was so much of it that it was everywhere even with a hand over the mouth of her cunt. In turn, her cling-wrapped cream-filled cunny reminded me of fatly sliced mushroom dipped in some special sauce.

poinciana and a girl named randy

2008-11-14T01:06:00.003+08:00

there is a ball that I go to whenever I’m napping on the couch. in there you’re always wearing the same piece of music on your bony stature, graceful as a giraffe. I’m always meeting you for the first time with the lights dimmed down to a murky amber, surrounded by the tinkling of glassware and cutleries and servers in penguinwear. you would then extend a hand for me to shake, after which you would immediately bend over and offer me an enchanting glimpse of the shadow between your breasts.

the future of amateur porn part 1

2008-11-12T17:16:00.004+08:00

little rauncheroos, horny kids with technology and too much time on their hands, filming footage of their mothers, their mothers’ friends, female neighbours, female relatives, mothers of friends, female relatives of friends and female teachers.

next, staying up late at night, lying in bed wide awake, heartbeat loud as galloping ghost horses, waiting for the first sounds of lovemaking to slither out from bedrooms of parents. climbing back into beds heavy with disappointment if lights are off. if lights are on, trade with friends behind the school washrooms during recess the next day.

“your mother’s breasts are so fucking big!”

“it’s like a rainforest down there!”

“your mother is a slut!”

“quick, gimme gimme!”

bluetooth and infrared. thank god for technology.

no need to be god to figure out what’s on their hormone-addled minds when they visit each other’s houses during festivities.

more footage to be recorded and soon to be traded on school grounds by so-called leaders of the future.

goodbye girlie magazines and goodbye porn dvds.

nothing beats the real thing when it comes to beating off in the age of technology.

the future of amateur porn is no longer in your hands, but theirs, and theirs alone.

Haroon Sashimi

2008-11-12T17:14:00.003+08:00

“I met someone who reminded me of you today.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“so what’s he like?”

“tall, good-looking. not dark though.”

“what was it about him that reminded you of me?”

“the way he spoke. and the lower part of his face.”

“he had a goatee too?”

“yeah, and it was this strange mixture of brown and red.”

“red beard.”

“haha yeah.”

“so was he someone you saw on the street?”

“no, he was with one of our clients.”

“did you speak to him?”

“a little.”

“what did he sound like? his voice I mean.”

“not a particularly heavy voice, but there’s a slight growl.”

“too many cigarettes I suppose. how long is he going to be in the philippines?”

“a week.”

“are you gonna try to figure out if he’s really me?”

“should I?”

“it’d be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

a suggestion to porn producers of the future

2008-11-11T03:16:00.001+08:00

I would like to see more clothes and less make-up. storylines are not always necessary, but please, performers who do not look like porn stars but real, horny people who happen to be physically attractive.

blackbralism and the foreign student incident (2008)

2008-11-09T23:59:00.003+08:00

Her breasts were swinging to the rhythm of my thrusts from behind.

A word like “sawing” being used to describe the sliding of cock in and out. The things you find yourself looking at in the midst of fucking.

I ogled at the black straps and their adjoining hooks being pulled taut under the weight of her breasts. Just barely an hour ago we were at a gathering of foreign university students. Fresh off the boat with their food-scented clothes, they were rendered restless by the sight of her large breasts on her bony, petite frame.

I reached out to cup their fullness in my palms. I yanked the edge of her cups down and tweaked her long, sweaty nipples. Sweaty nipples, I know you’d like this. I leaned back and looked down at my cock embedded in her, the edges of the connection coated with her cream. We’re fucking now, I thought, and found myself wondering what those kids would do for a chance to watch us in action. Turning her head back but not looking directly at me she acknowledged those harsh tweaks with wounded hisses, torso arched like a cat.

Not moving an inch inside her, I spread her buttocks wide and toyed with her puckered asshole. I noted how the black, wiry hair grew so neatly around it.

Brand new you’re retro.

With circular motions I sank my thumb in and resumed fucking.

"Owww...,” like a coy and precious little girl expressing pain from a small cut. She’s always been good at this.

I increased the tempo, and felt myself knocking against her cervix. She slumped forward onto the seat of the chair, her mouth stretched wide open, the way blunt force trauma victims do. Biting into her knuckles, she began whimpering pitifully.

I, too, was feeling the gurgles of an impending orgasm. And knowing that I would be coming this time, I held back just enough to intensify the pleasure. I pulled out and spurted wide arcs of chunky white sperm into the air, and heard them splatter heavily on her back and all over the mirror. Looking straight into the mirror and past her disarray of silky black hair I saw her bared teeth sunk deep into her knuckles.

Writing about sex seem so much easier when bouquets of wine and roses are in the air, circling like angels all around you.

bookstore

2008-11-05T22:17:00.002+08:00

he is standing in a bookstore, checking out a book, flipping through the pages, shopping for something to buy. what is he looking for? something that his mind needs, or precisely, something that his mind craves. but he doesn’t really know what it is, does he? he’s got money in his wallet, and he wants to buy something. he wants to bring a book to the counter, pull out his wallet and hand over the cash as the cashier rings in the sale. he sees himself doing this, for this is for him the eventuality of a trip to a bookstore. so he keeps browsing. sometimes he gets a little distracted by other shoppers. with the sum of his experience and conceit, he looks them over briefly, and more often than not a condescending smirk will find its way into the lines on his face. on rare occasions there will be an attractive female who catches his eye. when this happens he momentarily forgets the browsing and spends a moment of two fantasising about her. what it must be like to touch her, to have sex with her, to be with her, talking to her, having coffee with her, sharing a life with her.

********

it’d be nice, at a neglected corner of a bookstore, where religion intersects with spirituality, to have your bare ass round as a naked peach in front of me as I prepare to slip my monster into you. when people walk past in front of the store they would only see my calves creaking in a kneeling position, the rest of the action (where it counts the most) strategically censored by a shelf and the festive window display. ah, your cream, always so much cream from you when we’re at it, doing the thing we are made to do in this lifetime.

“pull out a book and read several words to me!”

“jesus! mohammed! buddha! dalai lama!”

“more, baby more, and keep it down to a whisper or we’ll get caught!”

“zen! satori! watercourse! rinpoche!”

“ohhhh baby…”

“t-t-tao…te…ch-ch-CHING!!!”

my aunt and I in new york: a recollection/memory of an incident that never happened

2008-11-04T04:35:00.005+08:00

honestly I no longer remember exactly when you and I started. I do, however, recall that it happened sometime in nyc. it was smack in the middle of winter, a winter which I can no longer remember. I am reminded of it every time I hear oliloqui valley or any other tune that features those singularly night-sounding sounds of shimmering piano keys and muted horns.

anyhow, I remember how embarrassed you became when I turned on the television and a porno flick was playing.

I was deathly attracted to you and I have been for several years. they had no idea of course, and in this regard there is wisdom in the suspicion of old people. two individuals of the opposite sex really shouldn’t be sharing a room together, even if they are related, unless they’re husband and wife. but that was the arrangement during that particular trip.

the prospect of sharing the same room with you excited me, and yet, along with the excitement came an element of fear. I switched off the television just as his cock pulls out and was about to ejaculate copiously all over her belly. you looked away and continued unpacking. I knew you saw it too and I imagined for a fleeting moment how you processed that brief instance of intense porn. I lay down on the bed slightly tired as you prepared for a bath. I had wanted to go over and maybe catch a glimpse of your wonderful backside as you tested the temperature of the water, but I closed my eyes and saw it in my mind’s eye instead. after all, I’ve seen enough of your ass to be able to recall it instantly in my mind. I must’ve fallen asleep when you called out to me. I got up and walked to the bathroom, and you told me through the steam and the sound of gushing water that you had forgotten the towel. there were complimentary towels right there in the bathroom and I reckoned then that you either didn’t notice this or preferred using your own. either way, not questioning this I promptly reached into your luggage and pulled out a pink fluffy towel. as I handed it to you through the gap, though the mirror was moderately fogged up, I saw a shot of you naked in the mirror.

I walked back to the bed and lay down again, more restless than ever. I went through what I saw and lingered on the strands of hair that were plastered to your neck and the gold that was hooked through your earlobe. every bit of it reminded me of sex with an older chinese woman and the sweaty, salty secretions that came with it.

those were the first instances, but when did we start fucking?

you were unhappy for some reason on the second night of our stay. for the life of me I couldn’t remember for what reason. all I recall was how we started arguing after I made an effort to make you feel better. I was not happy that you were unhappy. there was an exchange of heated words, and we started shoving each other. I moved in and tried to kiss you, and you slapped me, which infuriated me. I tried to pin you down and as we struggled, my cock became hard from all that rubbing against you. by this time the hem of your nightgown had already ridden up to your belly, enough for me to see that you were not wearing any panties. I yanked down my shorts, and in the midst of the struggle, I managed to somehow slip it in. you froze the moment I was inside. I believe I twitched. you responded in turn and I thought I was going to come right there and then. the following moments saw me sawing it agonizingly in and out as I held you down. for a while I was worried that I might be hurting you, but looking down I saw your cream a sickly white all over my cock.

the thrashing around gradually gave way to submission. you reciprocated, drew me in and accepted me. I shivered like a terrified child as I came and I remember the gentle stroking on my head as I wept from the immensity of what I had done.

the rest of the trip was uneventful because all I could think about was getting you back in the room and fucking you.

something was irrevocably lost after that day. I could no longer muster any enthusiasm to spy on you nor to secretly ejaculate into your facial cleanser. after all, what was the point of spying on you when you no longer mind appearing naked before me? or to surreptitiously ejaculate into your facial cleanser or your food when you so willingly ate up my ejaculation?

which is why I rewound the tape to the part where I handed you your towel, when I saw that shot of you naked in the mirror, when my lust for you was at its peak. from that point on, everything flowed back into the reality that we both know, and the rest of the trip was filled with sightseeing, wet streets, the patina of the statue of liberty, food, shopping, all underscored with my barely concealed lust for you.

idle

2008-11-04T02:01:00.001+08:00

one night, when the internet was exceptionally slow, I went to her and said, “show me your pussy.”

she spun around on the swivel chair and without a word, spread her legs. though she had on a modest denim skirt, I could see immediately that her panties were white. I promptly reached under her skirt to pull off her panties, never quite removing them completely.

I spread her legs wider to have a closer look. everything was there as usual; the hair, the folds, the texture and the colour, but yet it always looked different somehow. I moved closer --- my nose in particular, and somehow this struck me as funny, and so I giggled.

“what’s so funny?”

“nothing.”

I spread her sticky lips apart just slightly, and all at once the creamy scent brought back memories of illicit childhood games. the immediate impulse was to bury my tongue in there, but I stopped myself short in an effort to prolong the longing.

kinkylube doth protest too much, methinks

2008-11-02T23:55:00.001+08:00

in life there are many choices. every day, every moment. you wake up with a hard cock and somehow you manage to ignore it, unless the burden to piss weighs too heavily on your bladder. in which case you’d have to sit down on the couch in the living room waiting for the erection to subside.

in other situations, what do you do? the outward manifestation of your libido channels into your fingers and words flow out into the screen. what’s it gonna be this time? forcing someone into sexual submission is always easy. seduction takes too much time, unless you don’t mind the trouble. you laughed, when I said that it’s a case of mind over matter, that is, if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. like age, or anything else. funny because I’ve always thought this was what it meant.

now I’m listening to some psychedelic sitar tunes. okko and ananda shankar if you really want to know. how can I weave the music into a post? all it’s making me think is the drive-in mcdonald’s by the highway. the parking lot outside where it always seems to feel hotter than any other parking lot, even at night.

how about a piece that involves horny hijab malay girls?

nah. too many folds and speaking from experience, malay women are good to lust after, but that’s about it.

well, maybe I’m just not horny enough to write about anything. I think I’ll go make some doodles now. I’ve got limited flavours, but they’re mostly naughty. want some?

murder my desire

2008-11-01T11:27:00.001+08:00

reticent girl stole into my dreams and erected my cock in the morning, the tip of her tongue heavy with longing. I place a hand on her head and convey this: I am old enough to be your uncle, if not your father. your free hums of approval tell me that you love me. the curve of your ass tells me that you want me to make you a woman, but only in our dreams. quick, hurry up and make me spurt, before I lose control and grant you your wish.

2008-10-30T18:56:00.000+08:00

sessions

2008-10-30T17:26:00.002+08:00

like all the countless senders of penthouse forum letters, I simply couldn’t believe the sheer fortune of what happened to me last week.

an ex-classmate’s wife made passes at me barely five minutes after we met for the very first time. he was a neo-freudian psychiatrist, and while he was lining up for our sandwiches in a deli two blocks away, his wife and I fucked like dogs on the black couch where his clients sit for their sessions. I’m jerking off intermittently as I’m typing this, for I am using my cock as a divining rod to intensify my erotic memory.

she had a strange habit of weeping when she was getting fucked. I wondered if this was the case every time she had sex, or only when she was fucking someone else in the privacy of her husband’s practice. however, I did not bother to ask because I was more intent on remembering the details of our encounter.

with the air-conditioner out of commission, our bodies glistened with a silvery sheen of sweat during the course of our session. her breasts were large for an asian, though supposedly there was some mixed blood in her. they dangled and swayed pendulously when I was taking her from behind, but reminded me of pancakes and fried eggs as soon as she was lying on her back. she kept digging her fingers into the couch, which got me worrying if she would make a tear that leon would notice. after all, he was a psychiatrist and psychiatrists have a way of knowing these things.

by the time he got back her face has already been furiously ejaculated upon by me. I thought I caught a whiff of it when the three of us sat smoking in the pantry, after we devoured the sandwiches and drank the coffee.

as we smoked, leon related the story of how a man lost his mind when he found out that his daughter was getting fucked by these three samurai guys on a regular basis. apparently she was real sweet-looking too, and leon knew this because she has accompanied her father to his sessions before.

“was this after he found out or before?”

“before, of course. he would murder her, let alone allow her to accompany him here.”

“ah.”

leon added that she was a real slut. when I asked him how he knew this, he said that they recorded their numerous fuck sessions and bundled them into a dvd for mass consumption.

“wow.”

“she’s pretty fucking hot. ask lisa, she can’t seem to stop watching it. it’s her favourite movie of all time.”

As I turned to look at lisa, she looked away and smiled, then took a discreet drag on her cigarette.

“some sort of fixation?”

“perhaps. but it’s important not to read too much into it. a porno dvd is just a porno dvd.”

“so it’s all about sex huh? it all boils down to sex ultimately.”

“that’s a tough question.”

before leon could extrapolate, lisa interjected.

“well, if you really want to know, it’s how she’s so voracious during sex, and yet has the appearance of being so sweet.”

“so it’s the asymmetry…the turn-on is in the juxtaposition?”

leon smiled after I said this. lisa continued.

“more than that it’s the greed. she’s this one girl, taking on three guys, with above-average-sized cocks, and she loves it so much…the part that always gets me is when she’s practically begging for them to come inside her.”

“you mean she enjoys creampies?”

“the japanese calls it ‘depth charges.’ or ‘centre discharge.’”

“she loves it everywhere, in her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass, on her body, in her hair, her face, everywhere.”

“and the clincher is, I suppose, the fact she is actually someone’s daughter, and this someone happened to be someone real. have you seen this man, the patient, by any chance?”

“once, when she dropped by to get the keys.”

“well, what was your impression of him?”

“he looked just like any other middle-aged man. only difference is probably how the world seems to somehow weigh heavier on him.”

“was he even remotely attractive? to you?”

“haha, sorry, I’m not into the middle-aged, over-the-hill, depressed type. plus, any man who visits a psychiatrist is probably not worth it anyway.”

I turned to leon and said, “well, at least there’s no danger of your wife being seduced by one of your patients.”

we smoked a few more cigarettes, and then leon stood up and announced that he had to run over to a fellow psychiatrist’s office to get some papers.

“I’ll be back in roughly an hour. how about dinner? at, say, around eight?”

lisa turned to me and said, “do you like japanese?”

“food yeah, not porn.”

“umm, yeah, I love sushi.”

“well, they’ve got more than sushi. corner table for two then. see you guys there at eight.”

after he left, we stayed in the pantry for close to twenty minutes, during which I became horny and my cock became hard again. with only silence and the smell of burnt out cigarettes around us, I stood up and she started unzipping me as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I stabbed the insides of her mouth and she throated me. saliva flowed out of her mouth like a golden stream of lubricant twirling into a car engine.

“goddamnit!@”

“what’s wrong?”

“my period just started.”

“hahaahh, oh…darn?”

“shit.”

“it’s okay.”

“fuck!”

and that was how our brief sex life ended. later that night, the food was great, but you’re probably not interested in that anyway so let’s end it this way.

cowboys

2008-10-21T11:17:00.000+08:00

j. r. ewing, max hardcore, texas ranchers, oil moguls, wicked characters with wicked grins under big bright sunny skies. tight trousers, big ass buckles, pointy handmade boots, strutting with arms akimbo, plotting, pondering, scheming.

shots of these in a techno loop in some classy strip joint where the girls don’t bother you when you sit at the bar.

br_OK_en

2008-10-20T14:01:00.001+08:00

broken lines in the mirror, subjugating lies in the distance.

your jokes, wrapped in ass, receptacle of my lust. tropical enclosures and the musty scent of her sweaty pubic hair. all creases and folds in baby blue. my cock is buried somewhere within the convoluted memories of her.

(balls bouncing their way towards a draining orgasm)

a sensation of broken dreams; cracked eggs and spilled contents, wasted nutrients in decrepit settlements.

(((how soon is now?)))

snapshot of that distance between you and me

2008-10-20T03:45:00.001+08:00

sitting across the world, you look at me and I look at you.

electricity pylons humming in the distance, abandoned missile silos gathering dust. rolling tumbleweed, thunder in the horizon. fibre optics throbbing with lust and feedback, visual cortices eating images for breakfast, lunch and dinner. shadows moving across retinae, matinee. people walking here and there dressed in class-coded clothes. I put pen to paper and attempt to draft out yet another useless blueprint for my unconscious.

The Best Policy

2008-10-20T03:38:00.000+08:00

I love reading Stanley Donwood. He teaches me how to write with a straight posture, rather than struggling to squeeze painful drops of what I think are impressive phrases to impress whomever is reading me. Or trying to pretend that I’m writing like someone else.

This is an honest phase, and I hope that it stays.

There, there’s a nice ring to it, yeah?

blings and ka-chings

2008-10-20T03:36:00.000+08:00

waiters and waitresses enjoy stealing glances at my doodles. I know this because I have good peripheral vision. when they do this, I often wonder if everyone else enjoys stealing glances at my doodles. and then I start wondering if my doodles are worthy and marketable. all in all it ends up a pain because it’s a bitch to draw with thoughts of a dollar sign looming over your head.

finding our way home

2008-10-18T03:36:00.000+08:00

mapping the confusion that precocious young girls leave in their wake:

“…so greedy…”

“…such a slut…and so pretty too…”

“…shameless…”

“…what would her mother think if she saw her like this …”

“god it’s everywhere…”

“… like thick porridge…”

pretty girl of clear skin and expressive eyes, surrounded by darkened cocks with their gleaming helmets of red and purple. pixilated, but you get more than the idea.

“…she’s so hungry for it…”

“so many men…so much semen…”

“I wonder what it smells like…”

words like industrious and diligence when applied to the description of porn, making herself wet as she describes what she sees.

I couldn’t wait for the moment when our genitalia get acquainted with each other.

before long she discovers that she too is furnished with the means to commit the same acts she’s seen in porn, the way I realised that I too have a cock like all the relentless men who soldiered on in porn flicks hauling it in and out like sweat-shiny labourers in a steel mill.

a mouth is useful not only for eating.

a penis is useful not only for peeing.

you can use it to suck, and use it to fuck, too.

masturbation as a celebration of pornography and all that jizz.

watching porn as a prelude to actual flesh-on-flesh fucking.

watching porn while fucking to a virtual audience.

a symphony of wretched moans and groans.

when they come we come too.

throwaway tart, throwaway piece

2008-10-12T02:51:00.003+08:00

at the wedding dinner, though the restaurant was packed, we kept note of each other across the tables and guests. you were dressed like a well-heeled tart alright, and I was all alone amidst the frenzy of conversations, exuberant greetings and the enthusiastic patting of backs. all hopes of a late night drink with the promise of more were dashed when I walked past and saw you there reclined comfortably on the sofa with all those wifeless, middle-aged men pawing you with erect hands as you sipped your drink. one of them had even unzipped himself, stroking himself with one hand while holding an empty glass in the other. the only appropriate reaction was laughter, and that’s why I laughed…

I saw your reaction as the mocking hahahas tumbled out from my mouth. you were not pleased.

well what were you trying to prove with your skirt hiked up dangerously up to where the hem of your panties showed? and that prominent display of a nipple with the tip of your cigarette precariously poised right next to it as you glared at me. I do not belong to that pack of toothless, impotent wolves.

and that’s precisely why I left without you hanging on to my arms like two new lovebirds in some black and white French art film. which was a pity, because we would've made a pretty controversial couple. ;)

marital sex loop

2008-10-08T01:30:00.000+08:00

“please fuck me.”

this simple and direct three-word phrase always works for me. and perhaps it is precisely how simple and direct it is that makes it so effective.

my cock is up and ready in no time: amazing how words can command the rushing of blood to the penis.

she slips the curvature of my cock into her mouth, textured bumps, length and all. such delight that she exudes whenever she has a cock happy in her mouth. she maximises her oral resources in the way that only she knows how, and soon a silent voice in me goes, “I’VE GOT THE RAGE, I’VE GOT THE RAGE, LET’S GO, LET’S GO, LET’S GO GET SOME PUSSY!”

I translate this into “I wanna go home now please”

(we’re always very courteous to each other when we fuck)

and say the exact thing to her.

we position ourselves

(this afternoon she wanted me to take her on the sofa from behind with the filtered sunlight from the light-coloured curtains dancing in my eyes)

I slip it in and the fucking begins.

cream was easy as ABC

squishy was the sound of music in my ears.

I tingle and twitch

she feels it and there is a jump in her love sounds.

anime girl, little girl, av star, all rolled into one,

my neko-chan.

solicitation

2008-10-08T01:10:00.001+08:00

my right hand is a dutiful organ and performs its job well.

when the time is right, it will steal into my underwear and grab hold of my cock.

“how about it? my right hand asks.

“umm…not too sure really,” my cock replies.

my right hand gives my cock a few half-hearted tugs.

“maybe we should wait a little. I’ve still got some work to finish,” my cock replies.

not exactly dejected, my right hand slips out from my underwear and continues to help out with the typing.

rooftops and helicopter shots

2008-10-08T00:03:00.000+08:00

I woke up from a heavy dream this morning. And when I said heavy I meant it to be heavy like a heavy meal that you’ve just had, the kind that makes you regret more than a little, but the food was just too damned good to eat just a little. anyway, this dream involved an ex-girlfriend, someone whom I still lack the guts to meet up for coffee because I’m a closet catholic who still feels rotten for breaking up with her. for the record, she had done no wrong, and I was the bastard who couldn’t stand her mother and the geographical distance in our relationship. so anyway, in this dream my subconscious had dressed her up as a power executive, pda-poking type. her hair was longer, wavier and fuller, and she seemed to be totally ok about what had happened between us. as a matter of fact, it seemed to me that she had completely forgotten about it. a highlight of the dream was the presence of rooftops and helicopter shots. there were also pov shots looking out from the skylight, which I knew were somehow not covered with glass.

me looking at someone framed in a window in some tall building. perhaps he or she saw me naked.

or maybe not, because it’s too far away for me to be completely sure. the point is, as I was brushing my teeth, I found myself wondering how much psychic energy does it take to conjure a skyscraper in a dream.

being boring/behaviour/pet shop boys

2008-09-28T01:00:00.002+08:00

one of those truly rare occasions when the video is as good as the song. :)

wisdom speaks in wisdomspeak

2008-09-23T01:59:00.002+08:00

what is this voracious appetite for porn that you speak of?

i can’t stop searching for variations of pornography, the deeper I dig, the deeper it goes.

and the problem is?

the sense of infinite futility bothers me.

you are worried, yes?

i think i am.

what is so worrisome about infinity?

it seems never-ending.

and there’s the truth you’ve been searching for.

so..what does that mean?

what does what mean?

there’s the truth I’ve been searching for.

it means, go on and do whatever you want to do.

oh.

sex is simple

2008-09-05T12:26:00.001+08:00

“my cock is hard and I want to fuck.”

“my pussycunt is wet and ready and I want you to fuck me.”

he inserts his cock into her and her cunt receives it.
amidst the in-out, in-out, moan, groan, love sounds, fuck sounds, animal gestures and expressions, secretion of bodily fluids.

cruel antithesis

2008-09-05T02:13:00.002+08:00

a hint of a smile crosses his face as he manipulates an element here and an element there. he remembers a time when he used his fingers for the task. that was a long time ago, he considers, being fully aware of the relativity of that singular thought. the very concept of aufheben was a sort of in-joke amongst his many selves. an in-joke at the expense of those hapless vessels of futility. oh those humans! such wondrous creatures for his games! and few humans had ever been able to perfect aufheben. no matter how hard they tried, most would inevitably fail in the most miserable of ways. he knew this because he had made a point to factor in this cruel constant when he concocted this game for them aeons ago.

it was then that something caught his attention.

“how do they rise to the top? how does one become the owner of a fast, german car?”

“but the question remains. do you want to become one of them?”

“is it not possible for one to rise to the top and yet remain artistically pure?”

“not impossible, but highly unlikely.”

now, he liked that. more so for the fact that this human was talking to himself, and in such melancholy mental tones. hence he decided to give in to his frivolity. perhaps he would even consider making aufheben a distinct possibility for this human being.

that night he guided the human’s mind-hand and together they stained pages upon pages of otherworldly, numinous sketches.

shoggoth.

cthulhu.

mi-go.

such wonderful names if they weren’t actually real.

and to this three he added one more.

the masturbation maestro

2008-09-04T16:17:00.000+08:00

“cook up a story now. quick!”

“o-okay.”

“seeing, it start with seeing, this girl, she sees, saw, um, her parents, having sex..and..and…”

“hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

“…and it’s also about this character called…called…the maestr…no…the…he’s called the masturbation maestro…”

“this had better be good.”

“so this character, the masturbation maestro, he..he…is well-versed in the…um…this mystical form of masturbation…and his art and skill allows him to effect changes in the perceived world.”

“that’s good, I like it.”

“the maestro is sort of a god in the world of masturbation, well, more of a sort of deity, since he’s not old enough to be christened a god yet. he’s a deity who has one feet planted in the real world and the other in an otherworldly dimension, where consciousness intersects with imagination. and he has been around for a very, very long time, since time immemorial you can even say…since the day humans discovered masturbation.”

“so where does that girl figure in this scenario?”

“well she’s just one of the pawns of his game, we all are, his pawns, in a sense, since we are all affected by masturbation. his sphere of influence overlaps many facets of human existence. our desires for instance, consummated or otherwise…”

“so why this girl?”

“well it can be any other girl. it makes no difference to him, though he tends to exercise the strongest influence on the more precocious ones, the ones who are the most curious, the most inquisitive…”

“I’m afraid the time is almost up…”

“hold on…let me just add this part…”

“do it.”

“the maestro also has the ability to shape pornography and bend it to his will…in other words, pornography is forever in his debt…pornography serves him…porn is his most loyal, faithful and diligent servant…”

“okay time’s up.”

“…”

“your time has been extended. and I expect more from this, do you understand?

“yes.”

talking cock

2008-08-27T23:22:00.001+08:00

“it’s always such a turn-on when someone tells you how big your cock is, or feels. especially when you’re not hung like a horse.”

“or a donkey, or a mule.”

“I wonder why though.”

“do you think it’s because being praised appeals to that part of you that knows for a fact that you’re not hung like a donkey?”

“I suppose it’s nice knowing that someone appreciates your modestly-sized cock, that even though it’s not hung like a donkey, it appeals to them in some way, aesthetically or otherwise. well, hung or not, I like my cock just the way it is.”

“well you should.”

“I’m really glad it’s not the type that tapers off towards the head, like a fuckin pencil.”

“haha, or the kind that looks like it’s all head, like a freak mushroom.”

“no kidding.”

“textures are always good.”

“and uncut too.”

“yeah.”

“and balls with just the right balance of weight and tautness.”

“absolutely.”

begging for alms

2008-08-24T02:25:00.003+08:00

the first time he saw her was on a five-foot-way, when he was on a mad rush to an appointment. she had seen him coming and the hope on her face was turned to the max. what he saw was a pesky promoter peddling some nutritional drink that he was, by default, not interested in. her stall was set up in front of what he knew to be a Chinese medicine shop which also stocked liquor and adult diapers.

as he came within inches of the stall, she held out a tiny plastic cup towards him, the smile on her face as eager as ever. he didn’t even bother to look, let alone acknowledge her effort. and as soon as he turned the corner, an almost profound sense of guilt overwhelmed him.

“I could’ve smiled and say no. say no and smiled.”

but it was a trivial matter anyway, forgotten throughout the appointment and remembered only when he was walking to his car. he made an effort to use the same route from which he came, hoping to see her again and perhaps get a chance to set things right. he was disappointed to see that she was no longer there.

that night, as he pulled out from his fiancée she did something rather peculiar. instead of hiking her skirt up and staying put for him to come all over her ass, she turned around in a flash and kneeling, held out her hands cupped together to catch his load. in a fraction of a second the promoter girl appeared in his mind with all the complexity of her desperation fleshed out in painful detail. that night he ejaculated more copiously than he had ever felt before.

from that day, certain elements began to realign themselves in his sex life. he found himself becoming aroused almost on cue whenever he came across porn that featured sad-looking girls begging to be fucked. and on account of this, he was determined to work out a way so that he can get a chance to fuck that promoter girl he had so heartlessly ignored.

I showed her an image

2008-08-22T20:25:00.001+08:00

it was a retro pic of a woman riding cowgirl on a man.

“what do you see?”

“a man flowing out…starting with the tumescent shaft of the penis…then the balls…his hairy thighs, rest of his legs and simultaneously…hands…forearm…upper arm…torso…neck… part of a face…a grimace…teeth…hair…from her cunt.”

dancergirl WY

2008-08-22T00:49:00.001+08:00

this blair witch evening, he caught her looking at his crotch as the winds of the clichéd weather lashed against the window panes. the cheap glass rapped and threatened to crack.

ff to half an hour later, the winds went somewhere else to play. with a cup of tea and a cigarette in front of him he got round to thinking that perhaps she was incestuously-trained by her father. maybe, just maybe. as he washed his hands he looked into the mirror and wondered, considering how they share the same facial features, if her fifteen-year-old cunt was beefy like Estelle’s. as he turned off the tap, he addressed the audience in his mind.

“hey don’t blame me. I’m no paedophile. should you catch me and her in the act of fucking our brains out, you wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s not even eighteen.”

Muriel, a girl i grew up with

2008-08-21T01:17:00.002+08:00

my dad drove me home from the hospital. the dog was ecstatic when it saw me. it’s been almost a month since we saw each other. the house felt empty without my mother. a day after my appendectomy, she had to be admitted for a gall stone attack. So while she’s recuperating in the hospital, my father had to take care of me. After all, I was only nine. And it was during that time that I met Muriel.

the first time I saw her she was sitting right in the crevice of some sort of volcanic rock formation. she was buck naked with her back facing me. her head was turned halfway towards me, and the look on her face could only be described as mildly surprised with a bit of annoyance mixed in, as if she was irked by my intrusion into her world. I have seen naked women before but Muriel was different. what struck me as particularly captivating was her fine blond hair and how she looked so comfortable without any clothes on. naturally, her large breasts rendered her even more attractive.

my dad had just finished his shower and upon hearing the clink of his razor in the bathroom sink, I saved Muriel for another day, another opportunity. I knew too well that had my mother been around, she would have hidden Muriel in a place where she thought would be safe from my prying eyes, which was futile, because in the following years, I proved all too easily that my mother was no match for me as far as this hiding business was concerned. I easily outwitted her on all occasions.

but my father was different. perhaps he wanted to share Muriel with me, that old fox. he never bothered to conceal her from my sight and I made full use of his apparent generosity to see more of Muriel. In a matter of days, my young --- though not all that innocent --- soul became acquainted with those enigmatic folds between her thighs. Her cunt. I simply couldn’t get that crazy sensation of the shape of her labia out of my head. I remember trying to draw them, specifically with her long legs flaring out from them. bent at the knees, her round belly topped with her breasts with those nipples reminiscent of spotlight eyes. Thinking back now, I am not even sure if I was trying to exorcise her cunt from my mind or to own her cunt and make it a part of me. there was something so elegantly indescribable about her cuntlips, so streamlined and pure and yet so dark and full of naughty promises, promises which at that time I had the vaguest inkling of.

at the rice shop

2008-08-09T23:49:00.000+08:00

with her back facing us, the Chinese woman who ran the store bent over to check the price of a particular brand of rice. the powerful ceiling fan did its job and lifted her loose knee-length skirt just high enough for us to see her creamy white thighs all the way up to her pink panties. this culturally and psychologically-conditioned mind of mine became all agitated in a very pleasant way when neko practically yelped at the fortuity. god only knows what those panties were cradling, but suffice to say she had pasty-white skin and those telltale bushy eyebrows.

later that night neko sat me down in front of her before pulling off her panties and letting them hang around her left knee and made me eat her out as she replayed the scene in her head.

“Oh goddamn I must be a fuckin’ filthy lesbian!” she managed as I tricked an orgasm out of her.

courtesy of c

2008-08-03T17:46:00.000+08:00

oh honey, what on earth am I going to do with or without you? flashing me ever so surreptitiously when everyone was in the room. do you think he noticed? I understood every glint in your eye. your cunt, puffy as ever, is all I’m looking forward to tomorrow when we have the whole house to ourselves.

this summer madness. what started off from one suggestion for a photograph led to the gradual removal of your items of clothing. getting dressed again, with all your nastiness safely stored in digital memory. going back to where we were last night when everyone was there. and now that it was just you and me, only the very idea of their presence remains. silently, we fuck and we suck and you show me things with your eyes.

Stillborn Permutations at the Doppelgänger Coffeeshop

2008-07-01T01:07:00.002+08:00

She struts down the veranda and steps into a café. She remembers how it used to be such a thrill, tenderly nudging their balls as she went down on them, the erect cocks standing straight up like proud turrets of an alien mushroom city, milking them dry one after another with her expertise and award-winning theatrics. When it was all over she would stagger around the ruins --- collapsed bodies of the men looking like cadavers --- imagining herself to be the sole survivor of some generic nuclear disaster with all their cheap semen safe in her belly. She considers easing herself by the roadside in full view of the Saturday night crowd, and smiles the thought away. For now, appeasing her hunger is more important than anything else.

She finds an empty table and sits down, the cacophony of inane chatter not bothering her one bit. Males of legal fucking age ogle at her. They spread her wide and lick her with their eyes. Their brains call up pornographic images on cue, casting a dreamy glaze over their dilated pupils, much to the chagrin of all the wives and girlfriends present.

As she makes her order, the waiter stares down her décolletage and deftly imagines his erect penis sliding back and forth in a predestined movement between her intermammary sulcus, towards that eventual ball-draining moment when he decorates her breasts the way he used to write with icing on birthday cakes.

The decidedly heterosexual patrons continue to steal fragmented glances at her as she eats, senselessly pornographic art films --- inevitably post-Godardian with the emotional cadence of Alphaville --- taking shape in their minds. As she eats, her bangles clang loudly against the plates. The grease of the quarter-chicken glistens like sex juices on her blood red nails. It was a matter of time before all the cocks of all the men who have been watching her solemnly stand up in a collective silent ovation, poking and straining against a motley collection of pants, trousers and shorts, surreptitious drops of pre-come soaking into the fabric of their underpants.

penguin trip-hop at the doppelgänger coffeeshop

2008-06-25T15:44:00.001+08:00

sure, it was nice being surrounded by beauties. and it was then that she walked past, all round and luscious with these words emblazoned across her back: “I may not be the prettiest, but look at the kind of body that I have.”

and thus it was decided that ugly women are people too.

4 ideas for a portmanteau film_1

2008-06-21T01:07:00.001+08:00

1. in the days before the proliferation of oversized shopping malls, mobile technology and the cultural pandemic of pornography, I remember how they used to spend their secret afternoons together smoking spliffs and discovering the erotic potential of their young bodies. nipple to nipple, an eerie electricity passed between them as the glowing tips touched, the mercurial amplitude and sanguine metallic t(w)ang of jimi hendrix lending credence to their precocity.

2. he ate her pussy and she wanted more. she swapped fellatio for cunnilingus and this was their barter. after making sure that the coast was clear, he took out his dreadfully erect penis and proceeded to erase the innocence from her face.

3. diabolic young girls preying on vulnerably older men. she sat on his thighs and galvanized a painful erection that wept silently into the fabric of his underpants.

4. my mother’s friend reconfiguring my default libidinal settings.

customer service

2008-06-16T01:43:00.002+08:00

natasya, which was what her name tag said, her face flushed with anguish during sex, which reminded me of something about middle-aged office ladies with pictures of their genitalia hanging from their necks.

cunny labyrinth

2008-06-13T12:15:00.000+08:00

The multifarious forms of the cunt is God's creativity on display.

Aiko, almost BBW

2008-03-06T12:00:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, when he’s driving, he’d find himself thinking about all the hearts that he’s broken. In fact, one of them happens to live in the same city where he is now. She’s all fat out of shape, gone to seed.

Do you think she’s happy?

Prolly not.

Do you care?

I think I may be partially responsible for her present state. Living under an illusion, however partial, can be fattening.

sexu/poruno/makudo narudo

2008-03-05T22:56:00.003+08:00

words falling like rain drops, who do you want to fuck today?

today, the precocious and flirty schoolgirls at the fast food place, where I scattered coins all over the idiotic floor. caught precious glimpses up their thighs, though in all honesty I’m no upskirt fan. as I chewed my way through lunch, I couldn’t help but imagine the things they were saying about me. their fathers’ collection of japanese porn will give them an impression of the way my cock looks when erect. their smallish, eager hands caressing their drinks, sucking on the straws salaciously. they will swoon at the fragrance released when they peel back the moist foreskin. welcome to pornographic intermissions at a fast food joint.

♥ child

2008-02-22T03:51:00.003+08:00

the love child was conceived by the sperm of its biological father and the lust of its mother for another man.

what if that man were me?

The Future Promise of Plastic

2008-01-29T00:43:00.000+08:00

what she saw was akin to a kind of pure, unadulterated evil. there he was, a fully-grown man, kneeling on the wet bathroom floor, frantically jerking off as the hot shower relentlessly pelted his naked back. there was something trance-like, discrete yet related, in his coordinated movements; feeding his eyes with pornography from a handheld device on the one hand and the brutal throttling of his swollen cockhead with the other. we can surmise from her age however, that what she saw was merely the form but not the substance.

his only aim was to transfer the pent-up content of his balls into the container of body shampoo which his semen, in itself, shared the colour and texture but not the smell. for days he has been fascinated, obsessed, even, with the singular sensation of ejaculating onto and into voluptuously moulded plastic tubes and containers. he would peer into the hole that gradually appeared as he gently squeezed the air out from a tube of facial cleanser, and marvelled at how it resembled a starving cunthole gaping wide and then closing up as he eased up on the tube and allowed the air to be sucked back in.

incest is nothing avant-garde

2008-01-22T01:45:00.000+08:00

taking her into the room and fucking her whenever their parents were not around. still images and footage to commemorate their escapades. watching themselves fucking when they were fucking. narcissistic loop, pornographic thrill. no regions left unexplored, uncharted, unconquered. living as husband and wife right under their parents’ noses. getting together whenever they can to enact the performance of their genitalia. a growing collage of glistening fingers and gripping cunts, veined cocks and bulging lips, chaotic pubic hair and penetration, dark crevices and painfully erect nipples, ecstatic spurts and lazy dribbles, sexual positions and blurry ejaculations. these, together with prosaic family photos, along with their parents’ secret stash of their own equally shameless documentation, formed a complete and thorough profile of a typically decent family of the era.

It’s Definitely More Complicated Than That (LOST DREAMS and MISPLACED DESIRES)

2008-01-02T16:02:00.005+08:00

Tucked among a company of appropriate words, the word nipple emerges fully-formed like a plump raisin rising defiantly from a bulbous areola.

“What do you want from me? What is it that you want? Tell me everything.”

“What I want is not direct. It needs to be filtered through the cracks and slits of worn-out, rotting geriatric bathroom doors, camouflaged by mundane gestures in front of mirrors.

“A sentence broken in mid-thought by an intrusive opportunity for a furtive glance, a careless neckline that awakens a sliver of pornographic memory.

“The world is so crowded and congested that the only viable remaining space is all the gaps in between. Helplessly overpopulated exteriors and colonised interiors, sneaking a thought in here and there, vague and half-eaten dreams whose meaning can only be derived from the in-between of fragmented sequences.

“So here’s a fragment of a lost dream where desire misplaces itself. Second-floor of a café, retrofitted to evoke Malayan nostalgia circa 1960s. Some skirmish in the downstairs section. Petty brawl or major political struggle? I have no idea. The owner of the café is sitting in front of me, talking. Going on and on about something while I observe our mutual attraction. See, even in dreams being direct is tough. I never did find out her name during that initial conversation, but she later sent me a text message and disclosed her name to me. I noted with amusement how her name, \/\/31 ><1/\/, was written in l33t.

“The space between an eyeball and the surface of a contact lens. The hot, stuffy reek of soiled genitalia trapped between the fabric of underwear and pubic hair. The firing of neurons and the transmission of messages through empty space.

“The cosy lounge between your thighs. Young girls lifting their skirts and parting their thighs. Wicked little girls and their tiny little desires. I swear I could smell your cunt when I looked at your face. Desire with the roundness of monstrous boulders, an egg the size of a mountain, my cock a flag pole pointing patriotically at the sky, bruising you with my wandering libido. If I fill your cunt to the brim with my cock there is still the question of that space between the uneven bumps and the cushioned walls. Don’t you see, there will always be distance between us, even when we sex.

“We dream of fucking but it’s tough when the very nature of fucking is no longer the same. It’s become an act that has lost a large part of its meaning. The merging of physical bodies is now merely a platform for ethereal things.

“The specifications of your cunt and the length of your nipples and the noise levels of your frenetic pubic hair. The viscosity of our body fluids and the wattage of the horny electricity that crackles through our body. Being a fanciful impurity of the soul, love floats by like an apathetic ghost.

“Held under microscopic scrutiny, what are we when we’re fucking if not creatures who are in fact dreaming of some non-existent meaning into the very act itself? It used to be that these were labelled “sexual fantasies,” but even fantasies have taken on a peculiar shade of subtlety. It’s no longer just the simple matter of imagining that you’re fucking someone else instead. The lines of subtlety lie in the colour of a thought, the grain of a pixel, a specific detail of knowledge and information amidst the limited physical movements.

“Unheard voices dressed in schizophrenic tones, a break of routine and a random sprinkling of psychopathology. But back to that question from you, or anyone for that matter. Nothing. I want absolutely nothing more than what is unfolding before me as it is. It used to be that I was helplessly overwhelmed by the desire to fuck you physically while at the same time trapping you within a series of vile, pornographic images, but not anymore. Let the way I treat others decide how others choose to treat me in return.

“You don’t know this, but I deposited a generous amount of my saved-up semen (three days’ worth) into your facial cleanser this morning. When you step into the bathroom tonight I will know for sure that you will soon be rubbing my dead sperm all over your face, my dear aunt, sister of my mother.”

Flash Point Erotic Marketing Strategies

2008-01-02T16:00:00.001+08:00

Their employees were all young girls with lubricated joints ready to bend at the knees, handing out porn-grade blowjobs to any older man they find the slightest attraction for, or for that matter, any man who showed an interest in their products.

“I think they’re customers.”

“Aren’t tea eggs bad for health, especially for men that age?”

“Maybe they aren’t here for the eggs.”

“You’ve got a point there.”

While all the balding and pot-bellied Mr Lees, Mr Wongs and Mr Lims guffaw with smug satisfaction as they ejaculated, he found himself steeped in anger. “These porn-addled bitches are ruining the fuckin’ market!”

night lights flashing by like fireflies

2007-12-26T14:56:00.000+08:00

we’ll go out for a drink in one of those places where the air breathes an endless supply of wine and tobacco. we’ll talk and you’ll laugh. when we’re tipsy enough I’ll drive you home and we’ll make clumsy softcore love beneath the stars.

when we wake it’ll be a brand new day. we’ll fuck again and shower together before we leave the house. if we’re early enough we might even make it for an extravagant afternoon spent shopping.

underlying every moment of happiness is an underlying sadness. I love you I lust you and your great big ass and I don’t care how you’re such an unfaithful flirty slut. I just want you.

get my money’s worth, so much slut for so little effort. portishead at 80 miles an hour. our hands are locked together but we’re looking out from our own windows.

my eyes linger long enough to internalise the precise curve and roundness of her backside. I simply couldn’t wait to get home and liquefy my desire.

The Tactility of Jealousy

2007-12-19T15:07:00.001+08:00

She was enjoying a cigar the colour of a darkly-textured cock, tears streaming down her face to the tune of a heart-breaking Bacalov tune. Just last night, she was grazing for emotions on the internet, seeking virtual break-ups and simulated sadness.

Every once in a while I’ll come across a book and an impression of its imaginary contents would flash across my mind. All those words and all those concepts, so much mental masturbation. Sampling the flavour of emotions, the ups and downs, manic intensity, insane drips and dabs of coloured non sequiturs, breaking down, disintegrating, reconstituting again.

Fragmentation and reconstitution, an emotional experiment in jealousy. First, we chart the alternative narratives made possible by existing elements, rounded off to the nearest emotional decimal point of pornography. Then, we…

You see a face in the crowd and…empowered by the conceit of being presumptuous, it’s undeniably a stranger’s face that registers, but yet, the readymade narratives appear fully-realised. The mind with its ego-centred experiential values reacts to a look, to a certain manner of walking, to a singular gesture and translates these discrete elements into narratives.

Making do with déjà vu, going beyond the familiar, infiltrating the perimeters of the experience and --- much like a virus --- making the elements do your bidding.

The jealous hem of her frilly skirt and the thighs that it covers, the strands of hair that falls over her face, that obscure her eyes as she speaks. The smoke-lubricated joints of a tarty doll, endlessly fragmenting and reconstituting until it reaches a final state, sitting on the cultural market place as a finished product to be bought and sold. Not a whole lot different from endlessly mass-produced so-called individuals apart from that built-in chaotic interference…

"This one's different. It's got a chip on its shoulder."

"Oh right. And look, this one here, it's got an erotic bump on its face."

Play (expurgated version)

2007-12-01T15:06:00.000+08:00

She led him into a room at the back. The moment she closed the door, he was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of discomfort. Then she sat down on the bed while he remained standing.

“What would you like to do to me?” Seeing that there was no reply forthcoming, she took his hand and placed it gently on her right breast. “Don’t you like me? My breasts? I thought you did.”

He turned to his left and looked at the windows, which were shut. It made him feel that the room was blind.

“No one can see us. We’re all alone. Don’t worry.”

“Can you open the windows?”

He knew that she didn’t understand why, but yet she got up and did as he requested anyway. With the windows opened, he could now see the sunshine and the leaves, the rusty fence and beyond all this, the back of the opposite house.

“Is that better?”

He nodded.

Without a word, she slipped off her shorts and lay down on the bed.

It was a familiar sight, something he’s seen in his father’s hidden stash of girlie magazines. Though she was not topless, he could tell that she had large breasts from just looking at the swell on her chest. Women have mountains, his mother used to tell him, almost lewdly, in her trademark, half-smiling way. He hated that expression. She parted her robust thighs and said, “Fuck me.”

What was he supposed to do? He wanted to look at her cunt and all that hairy mess, but his vision was scattered all over the place and he ended up looking at nothing in particular. Perhaps she sensed his discomfort, and arranged herself so that it was now her ass that was facing him. Looking back at him, she said, “Is this better?”

And it was better. The phantom children started whispering excitedly amongst themselves. He knew that even if the phantom children were not his friends, they were at least on his side. But yet, he dared not look at them. Their whispers gradually find their way to him. Play, they said. Play.

“Don’t play too much, it’s bad for your health,” his mother said to him when she caught him masturbating once.

“This is not what I want.”

“What is it that you want then?”

“I want to see you naked, and I might even want to fuck you, but not this way.”

“How do you want it then?”

“I want it to happen, without any premeditation on our part.”

“You want it to appear as fortuitous occurrences?”

“Yes. And spontaneous. No conscious setting up of scenarios. It makes me feel as if I’m being put on the spot. When this happens, I freeze.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I like it when you act nonchalant, when you act like you don’t seem to know the effect that you’re having on me when in fact, you do.”

“Does it always have to be so complicated?”

“Only by re-layering my consciousness can I begin to make sense of my memories and yet still enjoy the process.”

“Just my luck that we happened to be neighbours.”

“And just my luck that you happened to be endowed with these beautifully large breasts that I enjoy ogling at. I mean, it could all have turned out differently.”

“Yes, it could have been some other part of my body that turned on something in you.”

Thus they ended up talking instead of fucking. As they talked, she afforded him many things. He would steal glances at her cleavage and she, in turn, would discreetly provide him with ample opportunities to do so. He marvelled at how the straps were pulled taut by the weight and volume of her breasts. Wobbling ever so slightly, they seemed like living things, with a life of their own, rather than the milk-producing appendages they were destined for, though there was once, in a dream, he found himself milking her like a cow in a strange place. Later that night he would follow his cousins to a night market, and there he had another revelation as he passed a stall selling brassieres.

All those emptiness waiting to be filled by the roundness of breasts.

His mother never suspected a thing. He would be invited over on one pretext or another, and once he was there, she would carelessly expose herself to him while performing the most innocuous of household chores. For instance, she would enlist his help whenever she had to lift something heavy, and in the process, indirectly reveal the profuse growth of pubic hair that he automatically deduced from the stray strands that peeked out from the sides of her panties. She would shower with the bathroom door ajar, and as he walked past he would be just in time to see her soaping her cunt. She would walk around half-naked --- and always half-naked, never fully-naked --- with either her top or her bottom uncovered. Whenever she wore only a blouse and nothing else, he realised that it was a sign that he could gain access to her cunt. Though he realised that her orifice was a space where he could stick sensible objects up into, he never fully exercised this privilege. The furthest he went was to place a finger at the hair-covered entrance of her vulva, lingering there as he marvelled at the profuse growth of her pubic hair. He found it surprising that not even once did she encourage him to go further. Because of this, he couldn’t decide what she had wanted him to learn from the experience. Was it sexual autonomy, the virtues of passivity or the necessity of violation?

At the Spermarket

2007-11-29T19:02:00.000+08:00

A tall man is jerking off frantically behind a woman bent over in front of him. His son and daughter stand watching and giggling, nudging each other with elbows stained with come. The shape of her bare buttocks prove too much for him and he spurts helplessly all over the place, onto the thin material of her blouse, the hair on her cunt, the glinting metal of the shopping basket and the meticulously-waxed floor.

The woman grabs a Kleenex and wipes her cunt, inadvertently pulling loose several strands of pubic hair in the process.

Underpaid security guards are polishing their hard-earned tools with sunflower seed oil. They look bored. In their minds, the same line repeats itself: “Nobody ever steals anything around here.”

At the checkout counter, young girls seeing semen for the first time fight over leftover glop on the cashier counters. Their mothers with their come-stained dresses and jewellery watch in amusement. A fat girl emerges the victor, triumphantly pushing a remaining chunk into her pudgy mouth. For a brief moment, she considers taunting the losers by pulling a string out and sucking it back in like a drippy noodle; she changes her mind, thinking: “Protein is precious.”

YY

2007-11-24T15:26:00.001+08:00

The moment he woke up he headed to the can to take a shit. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the clock. He later found out that it was slightly after three. He smoked as poop popped out from his anus, excreting waste from the previous day. Then he remembered YY, the girl who would cry the moment she felt sexual pleasure.

“Is it me?”

“No,” she managed between sobs.

And so that was how their sex life was, a series of chaste, cuddling episodes, instead of intercourse, like everyone else.

The Ape Woman and Her Slut Daughter

2007-11-23T02:28:00.000+08:00

Middle-aged woman with an ape-like face, blaring her large horny breasts in my face, oodles of nipples, blackened areolas punching me in the eyes. I could stand the monstrosity of her body, it’s the black sooty qi of her face that I had trouble containing. She started running her jeweled hand all over my denim thighs, sending telepathic sensations to where the action was. I continued to pretend that it’s not happening, and took a tiny sip of my lukewarm coffee. When I returned the cup to the saucer, she leaned over and began molesting my earlobe with her tongue. When she was done, she whispered coyly to me.

“I just want to ready you for my daughter. Get you all hot, hard and erect, just for the apple of my eye, light of my life.”

That’s just about enough, I thought to myself, enough for me to crave for a smoke. Fire up my lungs, recharge the immune system. I reach for the pack, just in time to remember that it’s empty. The bum with the wispy Taoist beard is still sitting there smoking the last stick, totally oblivious to all the stares and crinkled noses around him.

“So which one is your daughter?”

“The sexiest one of course. Make a guess. If you get it right, I’ll up your credit limit.”

I pick the sluttiest one of course, but in my mind. Then I revert this to the ugliest one, and flip it around one more time, finally settling on the sluttiest one, before I voiced out my choice.

“Show him your cunt honey. Go on.”

“But mom…”

“What are you afraid of? We’re in public. Would you rather do this in the privacy of our own house?”

As if resigning to her fate, she spread her legs apart and pulled her shorts to one side. Her cunt looked just like a cunt, but I thought the hole was a little on the small side.

“Her entrance looks a little small.”

“Oh really? Lemme see.” She turned the chair towards her, so that her daughter was now facing her with her legs spread. “It does look a little small.” Then she abruptly told her daughter to stand up, after which she stood up herself. I almost knocked my cup over when she slapped her daughter across the face.

“HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU??? HOW MANY TIMES??? HOW MANY???”

Now that she was standing up, she looked more like an ape that ever. This woman, I thought, was simian beauty par excellence. Her breasts --- now covered --- jutted out from her chest like droopy torpedoes, and her backside gave the most callipygous of pygmies a serious run for their money.

Her daughter covered the slapped part of her face like an outré qari’ warming up to a manic recital of the Qur’an. She didn’t say a word, and the ape-woman attempted to change this by shoving her around and adding more verbal filth to the air.

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF CUNT!! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO STOP FUCKING??? HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES???”

I took out my mobile phone and started jabbing absentmindedly at the buttons with my fingers. The woman continued shouting.

“YOUR PROMISCUITY IS A PRIZED POSSESSION MEASURED IN POUNDS!!! YOUR LIBIDO, A LIMBIC INVESTMENT MEASURED IN LITRES!!!”

The Effluent of Affluence

2007-11-20T17:05:00.000+08:00

Girls and daughters of respectable families having lucid dreams of becoming semen-swapping prostitutes on film, wetting cocks to the limits of their tumescence, prepping them for multiple entries into the crowded, internal auditoriums where warped biological skits are played out in the darkness to a silent, writhing audience of doomed spermatozoa.

Surrealistic Interference

2007-11-18T23:18:00.000+08:00

His careful enunciation of pleasure, not leaving the house for days, trapping himself within walls and walls of words, telling himself that the only means to get out is to build a textual bridge out of himself and into the real world. The stories he wrote have the reek of madness and the steady disintegration of an intelligent mind. Memories of the past zoom in and out like silver jetliners in a transcendent madhouse. Voices over the public address system announcing echoes from the real world, evoking a scene he remembers from some movie he had experienced in a cinema. Through the clear glass, he saw parked planes waiting to swallow their passengers before vomiting them into another world. A crashed plane, split in the middle, looking like a sorry victim of a failed dissection, belongings and appendages spilled across the land like a garbage can molested by hungry, mongrel dogs. Those poor dogs, he wonders if they found their fill. Perhaps one of them did swallow a digital camera and shat images through its anus the next day and died a photographic death.

He continues walking, and everything feels like an intersection amongst intersections. He steps into a café, and orders a coffee and two Nepeta catnip brownies. He looks out and sees black umbrellas raining down onto the tarmac. Upon touchdown, they turn into little African leprechauns with a jet effect. Slithery music play into his mind as he chewed on the brownies that have the colour and consistency of shit. Augmented by crazy sitar snakes tracing mathematical equations in the dark, the morose phrasings sound like someone moaning into the hollow barrel of a gun, or a laconic muezzin calling somnambulists to prayer, trampling down on the diligence of ants trying their hands at ball-squeezing falsettos.

The Postmodern Wanderer and the Abduction of His Semen

2007-11-14T01:57:00.001+08:00

He found himself wandering in the streets, when all he could think about was sleep. High above the rooftops, the whores flashed their toothy smiles at him, planting several more items into his subliminal to-do list. They’ve abducted his semen, and now they’re holding his libido hostage. That last operative they sent was nothing short of top-notch. When the cock enters that pussy, there is absolutely no turning back.

Gripping and holding onto him like some loathsome squid, he felt she was the one who was fucking him, and not vice versa. Only mere seconds had passed, but already he was feeling those familiar gurgles bubbling up from somewhere dark within him. He decided to go for it, but it wasn’t like he had a choice anyway, and when he came, he was reminded of a sea cucumber spilling its milky guts into the depths of some murky, hopeless universe.

He crossed the street with a ruffian cigarette dangling from his lips. He stopped for a moment to light it, vaguely hoping that by recharging himself with fresh lungfuls of smoke, a solution would magically appear by itself. He sucked intently on that sovereign cigarette and coated his throat with a new layer of tar. As nicotine lubricated his bloodstream, the cool night and cigarette smoke reminded him of bars and restaurants.

She knew exactly what he wanted. Every octave of her moans was calculated to quicken his orgasm, every muscle designed to extract the very last cubic centimetre of semen from him.

“That’s just too hot,” she had said to him right before they started fucking, “I love guys who don’t commit.”

And he fell for it like a fucking idiot.

The Pink Glow of Her Neighbourly Breasts

2007-11-11T22:37:00.001+08:00

“Her goofy husband’s not home, and even if he was, would it have made a difference? Then she led me into her bedroom, which was cast in an unremarkable scent of cosmetics and clothes. When she started removing her top, I told her to stop. The light wasn’t quite right, and what’s more, sex wasn’t what I wanted.”

“But I thought you were real keen in having a look at her bare breasts?”

“I did, but not in that way. I wanted to see her undress, but without her knowing that I was watching her. I wanted to see her breasts surreptitiously, through a keyhole or a crack in the door, and not with her willingly undressing in front of me. So I told her, and she stopped.”

“Did she say anything?”

“I can’t really remember, but it was along the lines of either kids nowadays, or what a tangled web we weave.”

“What happened then? Did you tell her what you wanted?”

“I didn’t. But I did leave a message for her, and told her that if she ever caught me peeping at her, she should just pretend that she hadn’t noticed.”

“And throughout that phase of your life you never once yearned to fuck her?”

“I did, but only when I was masturbating, and wanted a quicker way to orgasm especially when my mother was shouting for us to come to dinner.”

My neighbour’s large breasts as one of the leading characters in a new pornographic plot. Breasts such as hers were meant to be mauled by my hands, but since society has deemed it wrong to do so under certain circumstances, I brought it on myself to learn how to do it with my mind. The softness of her breasts made softer by the material of the clothes that she wore. A lazy morning with overcast skies. Having been invited over to her house to keep an eye on her daughter, I was made to sit in the living room like a john waiting for his favourite whore. She puttered around the house, busying herself with this chore and that, absent-mindedly sweeping the floor till she reached the spot close to where I was. In an effort to reach a corner, she bent over in her flimsy nightgown, the silhouette of her hanging, pendulous breasts sharply marked out by the diffused light diffracted through the murky aquarium water.

Holding the image in my head, I calmly walked back to my house and stepped into the bathroom for a shower and a wank. Later in the afternoon I brought an image of her to school and showed off her breasts to a close friend of mine. Sure, it wasn’t really her, but it was exactly the way I wanted her to be, with her perfect breasts exposed in that retro light. By the time it was evening, I couldn’t wait to go home and jerk off again in the shower.

Whilst masturbating, occasional flashes of observational clarity would spring up in my mind. For instance, how she made no effort to cover her indiscretion and how she surely must have been aware of the effect she was exerting over me, providing me with fresh materials to masturbate with every day.

As she kept bending over in front of me, her eyes had the calculative look of an intelligent, domesticated feline, simultaneously challenging me not to shift my gaze towards her dangling breasts (and that dreadfully riveting cleavage in between) and egging me on with her seeming indifference, as if she hadn’t the faintest fucking idea what was happening.

Sometimes I would kneel down on the bathroom floor to make it more real. She became Suzy, and I became endowed with John’s amazing cock, driving into her from behind as she bit into the sheets to stifle the agony of my awesome fucking powers. As my mind flooded with filthy images of Suzy eating come, I would finally spray my young seed all over the tiles.

When I think of her now, all I see, besides her breasts, is her head of jet-black (and almost masculine) curly hair, her mildly insolent face and her ruddy complexion.

“Dressed in white, in a cotton camisole and shorts, her movements were all at once robust and economical. The pink, rosy glow of her breasts, calling out to me. Looking down at my own thighs while I was taking a shit one day, I realised that we had an almost similar complexion. This got me thinking about the colour of our genitalia. Compared to the rest of my body and especially my face, the colour of my cock is almost too dark and this made me wonder if her cunt had a similar colour and shade.”

“I told her that I wanted to take pictures of her cunt. I’m sure you can imagine my excitement when I saw that her privates were lined with dark, wiry hair all the way to her anus. Several stray strands had gotten themselves trapped on the weave of her panties, and in a yet unwritten narrative, I would pluck one of these and use it to replicate versions of her. Have you ever had that feeling that a story you’ve written hasn't really ended yet?”

snacking

2007-11-06T01:31:00.000+08:00

the young girls wanted it in their mouths but not their pussies, so he was more than glad to oblige. after all, his libido was charged to the max, and he still had a little bit of sperm to splurge. through the spinning candid cameras, he relished how good his cock looked. their bobbie brown lips were perfect too, and the lushness of their juicy, succulent tongues quenched his horniness perfectly. having two girls sharing his cock had a decidedly retro flavour to it and was almost embarrassingly old-fashioned, but he found nothing disagreeable about his darkly-textured cock looming portentously between their dido flip hairstyles, their tongues dipping into frame at alternate turns.

being arguably the greatest porn generator of the fucking century was not as easy as most people assumed. just today, while he was enjoying a cigar in the smoking room, a middle-aged man in a bush jacket stepped in with two girls. from their appearance alone, the girls looked no older than eleven and they looked so perfect that he couldn’t even begin to guess if they were real. the man, trying his best to appear charitable, offered one of them to him, but he politely declined. the present looked bleaker than before and the future was everyone’s guess. though he was only halfway through that awesome monte #2, he decided it was time to leave when the man started feeling up the girls. he couldn’t get any work done when he was horny.

God's Gift to Tarts

2007-10-27T02:07:00.000+08:00

Like all the tarted-up sluts who were blessed with genuinely beautiful bodies who went before her, she had thought that he was just another horny --- but good-looking --- lout who merely wanted to “get into her shorts,” the kind who would willingly satisfy her every whim and fancy on demand.

And like those who went before her, little did she know what was in store for her. His quirky and discriminate taste in music, art, literature and pleasures of life notwithstanding, she hadn’t the faintest idea the kind of champion fucker that he was, and still is. It wasn’t that he was well-hung either. And surely, it was more than, to use a hackneyed phrase, the way he used it.

Like any other couple of their generation, they owned the habit of recording their sex whenever the mood struck them, which was more often than most. There was once, when their relationship was nearing its tail end --- though she hadn't seen it coming --- when she confided in him and explained how she had never seen the kind of sex that they had, even in porn. This was not an inane declaration either, considering the fact that she started watching pornographic movies at nine, and now that she is twenty two, we can safely assume that she had seen boatloads. And among these boatloads, she added, neither has she seen the kind of expressions that she made nor the amount of cream that she secreted.

He noticed that she almost blushed as she completed her sentence, and though he thought that this was cute in some uninteresting way, he smiled.

But such searing, intense pleasures are not destined to last forever. She cried when he explained this to her, and even till today, she wondered why she was dealt such a cruel blow, just when love was about to bloom over the compost heap of their lust.

Teaser Trailer: When We Meet

2007-10-18T02:29:00.001+08:00

To a neutral and impartial observer, if such a thing exists, what is the meaning that emerges from the sum of all our conversations, when taken together?

I live in a duplex apartment that overlooks an unknown city. Fresh from the shower, I’m standing there amidst the smell of cigarettes intertwined with the lingering scent of shampoo and aftershave. If you had passed by in a helicopter you’d have seen my silhouetted nakedness breaking off the tip of my cigarette and then gently blowing into an ashtray, accelerating the death of that tiny piece of ember. For the story of us to make its way into the wikipedias of the world, we would need to get famous --- way famous --- and fame, I’ve finally decided, is not something that I want, not in this life anyway.

This has to be filed under afterthoughts, because the very premise of the idea disrupts that certain sense of security that I’ve gotten so accustomed to. The afterthought, fleshed out: you arrive, on an assignment, in this unknown city where I live. We decide to meet. We do, and we’re mutually enamored. After enough of real-life chatting, we huddle into a corner, you and I, and we kiss, is that it? Maybe we’ll exchange a physical gift, something cheap and personalized from the real world, but what’s most important is that, while that something must be lasting, it should not last forever. Perhaps a real-life photograph, the kind that is shot on real photographic film coated with an emulsion of light-sensitive silver halide salts that would capture our representation in three-dimensional space, with only my chin and part of your face obscured by your hair showing.

Intermission: What If Freud Were A Pornographer?

2007-10-17T01:48:00.001+08:00

Imagine a theoretical Freud, who has somehow managed to unearth his entire unconscious and brought it out wholesale into his consciousness. Now, if this were to happen, all that's left of Freud would be his consciousness, sans phantasies. And if he should become a pornographer in this state, what would his porn be like?

It's been a long time since I've had a wet dream. I attribute this to the fact that I spend so much of my waking hours thinking about sex. If this continues, logically and linearly, my dream life would one day become free of all the burdens of the erotic and the libidinal, the way our theoretical Freud would have a dream life of pure consciousness. And when that happens, would it be untold bliss, or anguish?

Cousins and Afternoons, Part 1

2007-10-16T01:09:00.000+08:00

I’m standing at the back of a shoplot where my grandmother used to live. It’s become an ice-cream parlour and since the backdoor was unlocked, I’ve slipped out for a cigarette. It’s the same place but it’s a different time, and what I saw in front of me was not was actually there. What used to be thick bushes and undergrowth is now a parking lot. I allow the tentacles of my mind to reach out into the perfect golden evening, snaking their way into those dark, hidden places where the vilest and toughest kind of pornography were vainly kept out of the reach of children. Some children are definitely not as innocent as most of us think.

I remember once how my aunt was telling me about how her little daughter, my cousin, who died of a heart ailment many years ago, had an encounter with one of the tenants. She was apparently bathing herself in a big, red plastic tub when the tenant, a young, skinny guy with glasses and longish hair appeared before her, his cock hard with an erection. She let out a scream, but I don’t think he did anything to her (she was nine) and what remained stuck in my mind was how “he was wiping his cock with her panties.” I’d imagine that his cock was long and curvy as a sausage as he polished it like a metal rod, his stare calmly fixed on her as he tried his best to rub off as much of her cunt onto the length of his cock. Much like rubbing the glans against a nipple, or ejaculating onto a woman’s face, masturbating with someone’s panties was a meaningless gesture that was erotic for some strange and inexplicable reason.

Another cousin sister --- who died in a tragic road collision --- and I somehow managed to convince her to show us her cunt. It was late and the scene was lit by a single streetlamp which, needless to say, did not afford me a high-res view. She was standing with her back against the wall, and faced with a set of female genitalia that somehow didn’t make sense; I knelt on one knee and tried to see as much as I could. I was overwhelmed with curiosity, and I wanted to look closer, as if by looking closer I would somehow understand what all those complicated folds meant. Thinking back, this parallels my experience with philosophy, in particular, the philosophy of Baudrillard and Bataille. I was confident that if I had looked hard enough, the mysteries of the (cun)texture would somehow be magically revealed to me.

And yet, there was this other time, when I was nursing a nasty gash on my knee. I must’ve been seven or eight, and she, younger. She was sitting in the middle of the room, mosquito-bitten legs spread wide in an inverted V on the cement floor. She had no panties on, and I distinctly remember how her cunt opened up like a delicate flower as she held herself wide apart while looking down at herself. This incident haunted me for a while --- prior to this I had only known the part between a girl's legs as a slit and nothing more --- and most likely served as the precursor to that late night episode which was curtailed for one reason or another.

Her father, my asshole uncle, husband of my mother’s younger sister, had a VHS copy of “Fanny Hill,” which my two cousins and I often watched together. In real life, nothing physically sexual came about from this shared experience, other than my after-school escapades stealing into my aunt’s bedroom and silently jerking off to the scene where a very dark-haired and dark-nippled Phoebe initiates Fanny into the pleasures of the flesh (“…and conducted my hands to a pair of breasts that hung down in a size and volume that fully distinguished her sex…”) until I squirted uncontrollably into my underwear.

But in my mind, something --- which I’m glad did not happen --- happened.

strumming a karmic rock tune

2007-10-14T00:05:00.000+08:00

an evening out on a social mission/obligation. saw you sitting there, all alone, like me, despite the company. during that dreaded dinner i simply couldn't wait till we were seated in that bubble tea place, where it's dark and i can get to see you better. is it possible to live an entire life in a few moments? i think it is. you and me, together in a 108-minute widescreen movie where, amidst the meaningless sequence something meaningful gradually bubble up to the surface, bringing tears to my eyes when i realised that even forever can be too short, knowing that i am not for you because i know you are not for me except during those fleeting moments when i wanted to selfishly love you. you are not the one who will cook for me, iron my shirts and polish my shoes. i know i'm crazy for not following you to wherever you may lead me to, but your eyes, they tell me; they are too lovely and lovely eyes such as yours can only sustain a heartbreaking arpeggio for so long.

paint my monogram

2007-10-10T15:03:00.000+08:00

"drab dabs of paint."
"I saw a slice of the future, and it appeared to me as disposable LV bags."

digital masturbation, revitalised paper porn and the expenditure of orgasms

2007-10-02T11:05:00.000+08:00

all the porn that you want, all the porn that you need. when you have everything you need, it all becomes a matter of taste. and when you've found something you need that turns you on, you celebrate it with an orgasm or two ---> orgasmic expenditure.

in an increasingly fucked-up world, the orgasm is the one true personal freedom. perhaps one day a story will be written about someone who escapes into different worlds and dimensions through orgasms. or perhaps it has already been written?

"when he recovered from that devastating orgasm, he found himself alone on the second-floor of an empty house. he had no idea what time it was, but judging from the quality of the sunlight, he surmised that it must've been around four or five in the afternoon. as he was getting up, he heard some chatty voices coming up the stairs."

Sekkusu, Su-geee!

2007-09-12T14:42:00.000+08:00

big breast prada bags. porno pouches. bukkake shoes and watches. anya hindmarch money shots.

It was a rape scene, with someone watching.

He would have his cock out soon, and that was when she started screaming like a postmodern headless chicken. He was clumsy, and before he even got hard, he spewed all himself. Is that even possible, the voyeur found himself wondering, to ejaculate when your cock's soft as chewing gum?

He would have loved to have her licking him like a stick of Chupa Chupps, and how he imagined eating her out like a hot bowl of ice-cream with that tiny, little sensitive bean beneath the hood. But he was spent now, and he was no longer interested in fuck, nor suck. He just wanted to leave, and so he left, leaving her lying there on that messed-up bed still screaming. As he rushed out of the door he thought he saw someone crouching there, but when he turned around there was no one except the door all ajar.

Her troubles were far from over. He the would-be rapist had left, but he the voyeur was now standing over her. Were they the same person? Nobody knew except for the four lime-green walls that surrounded them. She had stopped screaming. He thought she looked beautiful with all that messy mascara running down her pixelated face. He couldn't read her face, but her body language told him that she saw interpreted him as rescue, American television-style.

"A-may-ree-kan rays-kew?"

He absolutely loved how she enunciated each word with her squeaky Tokyo voice. It was so fuckin' Japanese it gave him an instant hard-on. Somewhere, somehow, a reader wondered, is that even possible, to have an "instant hard-on"? Well, no matter, he had it out now, but she didn't scream.

Genre wipe. We're going porno now.

PHALLUS

2007-09-02T23:51:00.000+08:00

well, if i am you and you are me, what is my turgid cock, or erect penis, to us?

an excerpt from "ttse: death of a bohemian":

That Vietnamese lady boss at the one-hour photoshop...when she saw the pictures of my cock did she feel it in her?(in her mouth, in her cunt, in her ass, in her hands, and hot between her thighs?)

i loaded up ::: images from my libido ::: and for a brief second, it felt like i was you looking at that mirrored image of my cock and balls. the image does convey a certain mood, does it not? the texture and mood, taken together, is such that you can practically smell it. i felt like swallowing it, sitting on it, taking it into me, holding it and keeping it inside while nudging those soft, warm, vulnerable and fully-loaded balls.

The Labyrinth of Carnality

2007-09-02T12:34:00.000+08:00

"Did you get some good rest last night?"
"Oh yes."
"Slept early?"
"Yes. I wasn't sure what time, but neko told me it was round nine."
"Any dreams?"
"Yes, but I can't remember much."
"What can you remember?"
"Oh, labyrinthine."
"Right up your alley then."
"Yes, very enjoyable. I woke up and felt as if I was loaded with inspiration."
"What sort of inspiration?"
"Well, I was toying about writing this post about how much I enjoyed porn that had lots of kissing."
"Please continue."
"I love watching porn that has lots of kissing. Not the cursory western type of buffet tongue sucking before they start fucking type of kissing, but the real thing. And the girl's gotta look nice and sweet too, sitting properly and all. They're fully dressed, both of them. And as they're kissing, getting totally into it, I can imagine his cock getting hard and her pussy getting wet."
"Some sort of uprising beneath their clothes."
"Yes. And they're taking their sweet time, letting it simmer."
"And by the time they reveal themselves to each other, he's all hard and twitchy, and she's wet and sticky. But they don't start fucking. They push the envelope, go on to the next level."
"The next level?"
"Yes. I know it's hardly original, but there's a closet in her room, and it leads to a sort of underground labyrinth."
"Ah, the labyrinth of the unconscious."
"Perhaps, but it's not important. What's important is that as they enter the labyrinth, her purity and innocence get dragged through the muck."
"As in corruption? The corruption of her soul?"
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. But she gets dirty, and she enjoys it."
"I see. Is there anything else that you would like to add?"
"Yes there is, actually. I see her journey through the labyrinth scored by Massive Attack."
"Eerie triphop."
"Yeah. Sinister and menacing. Like the things which are going through her mind as she works her way through the obscene acts."
"Bukkake?"
"Of course. But bukkake is merely one among many other acts. I'd imagine that if I were there witnessing her initiation, I'd relish how she gradually gets undressed as she progresses."
"How so?"
"Well, she's fully dressed in the beginning, when she was first making her descent. As she starts sucking her first cock, anonymous hands run themselves all over her body, pulling on her clothes and trying to strip her. I suppose this continues until she hasn't a single thread left on her come and sweat-stained body. And let's not forget her tears and her juices."
"Yes. And when she emerges from the labyrinth, what does she find?"

Ticket to Ride

2007-08-31T02:07:00.000+08:00

To be honest, I was dead tired and all I wanted was to do was to get into my car, drive home and sleep. But when she propositioned me and said, "I want to sit on your cock," I knew resistance was not an option.

"What about him?"
"Don't worry about him."

The paranoid part of me did suggest that perhaps there was something fishy, but I was frankly too tired to care. Cross the bridge when you reach it, as they say. So I followed her upstairs, leaving the din of the late night diners behind us.

"I know you're tired. Just relax and lemme do all the work." The first thing she did was to pull off her shorts and panties together in one movement. Her pubic hair was thick beyond belief. Very black and grown close together, nappy as a Rastaman's goatee. When I felt my rod getting fat, I was so impressed I almost laughed out loud.

"What?" she said as she started unbuckling my belt, pulling down the zipper now.

"Nothing, it's just that...nah, forget it." She gave me a look which was half-coy and half-suspicious, but her deft fingers never stopped moving. I had felt like laughing because I found it amazing that my libido was not stooping to fatigue. She had it out by then, and cradled it in her palm for a moment before nudging it against her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth parted slightly to reveal white, perfect teeth. Perhaps tonight she'll finally let me come in her mouth, I thought as she began sniffing the part where my cock was joined to my crotch.

"Mmmmhhh...I love the way you smell..."

I wanted to ask her if he didn't smell the same way, but I didn't. Though I was fully erect now and twitching involuntarily to her manoeuvres, I remained tired. The couch I was resting on became increasingly comfortable. I must've dozed off momentarily, because the next thing I knew, she was already riding me, going up and down as if she had every right to do so. Somewhere down below I heard the rumbling sounds of a lorry pulling up. Probably stopped by for a couple of cold ones before heading home. I wondered how they would react if they knew what was going on upstairs right that minute.

It felt good being fucked like that, but I was too tired to care. I vaguely wondered how it would end this time. Was she going to come in this one position, or was she expecting me to nail her from behind? She lifted her t-shirt and her small breasts with those long, snout-like nipples popped into view. I looked at her face and seeing how pretty she was, imagined what she must've looked like when she was twenty. She smiled at me, and I got to see those lovely teeth again. I decided that this was a good enough incentive. With my cock still deep inside her, I wrapped my arms around her waist and stood up, lifting her with me. I turned around and placed her on the couch and started fucking her from a kneeling position.

She reacted more forcefully to my thrusts from this position. I sped up the pace, and before long she started coming. I leaned close to her, trying my best to tune in to her orgasm. I stuck my tongue into her ear, and like a switch, she shook and shivered, after which she let out this long, wistful sigh. By that time, I was practically falling asleep against her shoulder.

"Hey. HEY!"

I snapped awake and when I pulled out of her, my trusty rod was harder than ever.

Good night.

The Sinister Mr Pimples

2007-08-30T13:02:00.000+08:00

excitement appears to me in different forms every day. across the street, she was walking past the dental clinic, her breasts sticking out like rounded torpedo heads. everything in this world is held together by a series of precise checks and balances, from the most important decisions in the world to the minute creaks on the chair that you're sitting on.

It scares me a little that sometimes, upon waking up, it feels like I've just woken up into a different world. It happened again yesterday after an afternoon nap, and more often than not, it usually happens after afternoon naps.

The dream took place on a narrow street flanked by two long rows of low-cost terrace houses where each unit held within it secret family feuds and quarrels, shadows of nondescript crimes and miscellaneous neuroses, psychoses. In real life, I had a friend who lived in one of these houses in one of these streets. I remember that the narrow street ended in a dead end, and it was always a pain if you were driving, because you had to do a precise three-point turn to get back into the opposite direction.

Anyway, in the dream she and I were walking back to our house and as we were walking, we cheerfully noted the uniqueness of each house. How quaint they seemed, with all the potted plants, bicycles and motorcycles. We were at the front gate, waiting to step inside when I noticed something going on in the house across. It was a bukkake scene, wherein this seemingly endless supply of nameless, faceless men were spilling and spurting their orgasms all over this struggling girl in the middle. She was spread-eagled --- tied, I believe --- and it was an especially wretched scene, and as the camera closed up on the action, seeing how the thick gobs of semen ornamented her face devastated me. It was so unbelievably arousing and yet, I had the distinct feeling that there was something terribly wrong about it. It was as if all the porn that I've watched in the past had come back to haunt me.

There was a cut, and I realised with dismay that what was happening was not a video but in fact happening in real life. As the camera gently pulled back, the fourth wall collapses and I realised that the whole scene was happening in the porch of the house right across from where I was. She has somehow stepped into the house and I presume she hadn't see what I had seen.

Soon, the bukkake session was over. As the nameless, faceless men were pulling on their denims and trousers, they crowded their way towards a man. His face was covered with hideous acne scars and he was paying the men with wads of cash. As I watched the scene unfolding before me, I realised that the man had noticed me. There was something singularly sinister about the way he regarded me. It had a lot to do with his repulsive acne and the ugliness of his job. All of a sudden, I was struck with a terrible fear. I kept thinking how he must've seen her, and what if he decided to kidnap her and subject her to a gang rape and pay the same men to do the deed?A sick sensation bubbled forth from the pit of my stomach and I was hit by a violent fit of nausea. Mr Pimples kept staring at me as he doled out the cash and it was then that I woke up, and felt as if I've woken up into a different world.

it's amazing what these girls are willingly to do on camera. after they had sprayed her face with come, they started urinating onto her pretty face and into her tiny mouth. you could see that she tried her best not to choke as she swallowed mouthful after mouthful of semen and urine, muttering incoherently in Japanese as she did so. At this point I ejaculated too, and in so doing, joined the brotherhood. As I wiped the come off my belly, I wondered if the post-ejaculation sense of disgust was mutual.

the wind cries irony

2007-08-21T14:45:00.001+08:00

i was sitting in the patio of a café this afternoon when irony appeared to me as a conservatively-dressed woman. Wearing a maroon-coloured blouse that was buttoned up to her neck, she was hurrying by with bags of groceries in tow. A strong gust of wind blew, and i saw the clear outline of her left nipple, round and hard as a raisin.

where's your modesty now, for even the wind is not on your side.

walking around with cocks and pussies in my brain

2007-08-19T13:40:00.000+08:00

i have a self-inflating cock that gets hard whenever i become restless. her ass going up the stairs, her hand on the banister and the jade bracelet around her wrist reminded me of many things. so last night i couldn't sleep, and found her on all fours in the bathroom. i shut the door gingerly. it was 3am and everyone else was sound asleep. i walked around her and nodded sagely as i marvelled at what a fine piece of meat she was. her skin was moist to touch and her tied-up hair was moist from the humidity. i wanted to light a cigarette but i didn't like how the smoke would cling to me. i got down on one knee and whispered to her: how long have you been waiting here for me? as i touched her hair i saw tears welling up in her eyes. perhaps it was a trick of light, but no matter, i was glad i found her first. somewhere in the distance, a turbo-charged car roared down the streets. then silence, me and her, and that occasional drip in the sink. should i fuck you first or let you suck me a little? i got up and pulled down my shorts, relishing the fact that i had jerked off just hours before and stank of fish. i fattened myself by rubbing it all over her face. she kept opening her mouth wide as i did this, trying to catch a piece of the action. as soon as i became suitably hard, i let her have it briefly. then i knelt down and gently slipped into her from behind. the firm, spongy grip of her walls held me in place as i tricked out the lubrication going in and out. as i fucked her i thanked my lucky stars i had found her before someone else did. they would've played rough and damaged her, the way i used to damage detuned sex dolls when i was younger. i concentrated on the fucking; noting their textures and sucking up the sensations into my brain like nicotine.

i never did come that night, and went to bed hard as a rock. i had a dream, and in that dream, i dreamt that i had a blog where i wrote down all the cocks and pussies fucking in my brain.

the next morning, a surprise was waiting for me.

God's Algorithm

2007-08-16T12:33:00.000+08:00

my morning wood knocking against the door of my libido. the cigarette tasted so good i couldn't let go. listening to music on shuffle leaving the playlist to the randomness of god's algorithm. and for once, i came face to face with that elusive bush that i've only seen from behind. her hair tied up for the shower, the fine hairs on her neck and the gold necklace around her neck, the light bouncing off the links and the tiny sounds they made with each and every one of her movements. the filthy things that she did behind closed doors, exposing herself to the four walls and everything within them, the imaginary semen of strangers spilling upon her thighs and clothes, squeezing them out like cream from a tube, strings upon strings of it squirting out in a mad rush all over her face, into her greedy mouth with its wagging tongue. she sprays her ass and washes her cunt, and i wished she would get down on her hands and knees.

Detour Titty Show

2007-08-14T00:50:00.000+08:00

Due to road repairs, the two-lane road became a narrow one-lane path. The flagman directed traffic into a tiny suburb, where I grew up and spent years ogling and jerking off to my busty neighbour.

And then I saw her, just like in the old days. Bent over a bucket of wet clothes while wringing them dry, her pendulous breasts and that deadly cleavage on full display. There was a choice of either enjoying the show afar for free or paying a buck for a closer look. I chose the latter and eased my car into a makeshift parking lot. Ongoing construction of a larger lot told me that business was looking up. I stepped out, all of a sudden too aware of the fact that I had grown so much since the last time I saw her.

And so I appeared to her that afternoon as a fully-grown man, no longer the pimply and scrawny bespectacled boy who jerked off endlessly to the memory of her large breasts and deep cleavage. A number of mostly elderly men crowded around her, gesturing excitedly amongst themselves. Some were armed with cameras and these folks, I later found out, paid an extra five bucks for the privilege.

I stopped about ten feet away from where the crowd was, trying to decide what I should do next. I couldn’t make up my mind. My thoughts stopped me from going any further. What if the situation worked itself into a non-sex bukkake session? Do I really want to see her being splattered by the flaccid orgasms of a bunch of middle-aged men? Is this why I had come here for? I had considered the possibility of talking to her, to catch up, so to speak, but what was there to talk about anyway? She wasn’t even my friend. She was just another neighbour whom my mother was chummy with and I was merely another horny kid who was obsessed with her breasts.

I lit a cigarette in an attempt to clear my thoughts, and soon as I took the first drag, some sort of commotion started. There was some clapping, and then some hoots. I took a few steps forward for a closer look. She had lifted up the hem of her cotton nightdress and what stood revealed now was her peachy ass wrapped in a pair of white panties. Seeing her this way made me wonder why she was doing this. Perhaps she needed the money. Or was she doing it for kicks? Where was her husband? One of the old men tried to cop a feel but she playfully slapped his hand and chided him suggestively for the indiscretion.

As I stepped closer I realised that I have seen most of the men before. The old man who tried to grab her ass was a newspaper vendor, and the man standing next to him was the shopkeeper of a sundry shop. I wondered how far she would go. Would she eventually pull off her panties and show off her pussy to them? And most importantly, would I be interested in that?

I wanted to just walk back to my car and speed off. And at this moment, I'm still deciding.

the pink and dark flowers of sweet girls

2007-08-08T14:32:00.000+08:00

he spreads her apart, and her cunt opens up like a pink and dark flower, its petals thick, moist and swollen. he tries to resist the urge to stick his tongue into her, but succumbs to temptation. she begins to heave even before the tip touches her flesh, and as he pushes past the juicy pulp, she begins to squirm, gritting her teeth, knuckles turning white, her proper upbringing straining and struggling against those unbelievably bad feelings that feel so impossibly good.

ghosts

2007-08-07T02:06:00.001+08:00

perhaps she is more complicated --- for better or worse --- than a million split-personality disorders. well, you can have, and in all likelihood you already do, the half-flesh, half-spirit part of her. me, i'm just content with the all-ghost part of her. see, i've never had a nightmare about ghosts. ghosts in dreams do not touch me, because i've made a deal with them since i was real young, probably seven or eight, maybe even younger. i told them that i've never wronged you, so don't you come scare me, because then it'd be wrong. and so they left me alone, even if they do make an occasional appearance in my dreams. asian horror movies still scare me, but i have a gut feeling that what truly scares me is the intangibility of ghosts made real. there are only two kinds of ghosts that appear in my dreams: a kind of darkness that envelops everything, and the green, glowing kind that keeps me company when i'm trapped under the stairs or some other claustrophobic geometric arrangement.

when she and i are relating to each other, i'm not sure if i'm sinking or raising myself to her level. perhaps it's the same thing, either way. but one thing's for sure. regardless of what she is to you, i love her for the way she is to me ---> intangible.

nobody watches porno like i do

2007-08-04T01:15:00.000+08:00

i woke up this morning with a soft-core porno playing in my head. in the darkened theatre of my mind, i saw moving images.

fiona being friendly with me.
fiona looking me in the eye as she spoke to me.
fiona in a sexy, cliché-trimmed funereal dress.
fiona squatting down in front of me and not turning a hair when she caught me reacting to the softness of her breasts.

i continued the narrative.

fiona bummed a cigarette off me and we stood there smoking in the broken stairwell until i broke the silence and said: "when perverts see your cleavage, they will want to rape you. molesters will want to grab you. but all i want is to beg you to let me photograph you, and then waste my seed extravagantly on those captured images of you in the privacy and comfort of my own room."

she smiled, almost wearily, and said: "sure. would you like anything else with that?"

and before i could answer, she had hiked up her skirt and in one smooth motion, pulled down her panties, crouched down and started urinating, the burning cigarette still clamped between her fingers.

i didn't know where to look.

the contents of her bra that were threatening to spill, or the widening pool of urine on the cement floor.

"well?" she enquired.

i fumbled for a moment before i got the settings right and captured ten downshots of her in that almost perfect light.

on being mentally promiscuous

2007-08-01T14:23:00.000+08:00

for me, the compromise between a voracious sexual appetite and the wisdom of safe sex is this: when someone catches my eye, I take her home and fuck her in my blog.

trio trips over the jello

2007-08-01T04:22:00.001+08:00

farmer sex, fighting his amorous daughter with the signs of agricultural warfare. barely three kilometres away, pigkeeper lust lost to the sins of his daughter caught struggling in a bathtub with a loathsome squid. things soon became a whole lot worse when the fruitkeeper banana made a live broadcast of the invisible fruits which were under the care of his daughter. skirt lifts up, revealing heavy metal boots powdered with fetish leather. eyes large as saucers, kinkylube came by with his pet rubberstinky and rubbersticky and together the trio tried to suck up the whole scene. little did they know that they were bound to trip on those naughty, naughty jello wires which alerted the entire community.

"thank goodness that we had our rubbers on," kinkylube remarked as he dusted his sticky gloves.

"bloody right," rubberstinky and rubbersticky said in unison, for they were idiomatic twins.

fucking my brother's girlfriend, editions of m

2007-07-29T15:23:00.001+08:00

Having looked at the mountains for so long, they remind me of how karma used to be: far, distant, unmovable. But today, karma descended upon the world like ponderous storm clouds threatening to rip everything apart. It has been raining for days on end. And today, I daydreamed about the day when I could sleep like fog against the cliff.

But in truth, the more I look at the mountains the less I understand the things we do and the reasons we give or do not give ourselves for doing them. I had thought that it would never happen, that I would never do it again, that is, indulge in a spinoff of that episode with m.

To me, what was particularly striking about this most recent experience was this: when confronted with an opportunity to cuckold someone this close to me, it felt neither like a conquest nor a means to satisfy my sexual urges.

With m, there was definitely a delicate blend of both. She had a marvellous brown body from which extended long limbs, an ass and the kind of breasts that I enjoy looking and touching. Though admittedly, sex with m wasn't great, I'd even say lousy, but I found the one-upmanship immensely satisfying. After all, on more than one occasion, his words and behaviour made me want to crack open his skull and stomp his pompous brain all over the hardwood floor of his town house with my boots.

But that was m and her tiny man of a husband, he, who had taught me a great many things about art, music and literature. Oh, and certain pleasures of the good life as well. If I hadn't met him, for instance, I wouldn't have become so well-informed in tube amps.

In the case of my brother and his big-assed girlfriend, the situation is different. First, I had no reason to prove that I am better than him. Perhaps it's got something to do with age --- I found two greys amidst my crown of jet-black hair while looking in the mirror this morning --- since lately, I've been finding it increasingly easier to keep my opinions to myself in the company of the unwise. Second, while I would say that her ass does look pretty appetising on that skinny frame of hers, I'd venture to say that I've seen better, with titties to match. I've observed her for close to a year now, which is how long they've been together, and my 51%-reliable gut feeling still insists that she's got the hots for me. And this afternoon, I found out for sure.

It's strange sometimes, how life seems to be exactly the same way Shakespeare had described it, not just in regards to the macro, but the micro as well. They have their exits and entrances.

I woke up at around one this afternoon, and soon as I made my way out from my room, somewhat groggily, neko told me that she had to go to the hairdresser's and that my asshole mother was dropping her off since the mall is on her way to her mahjong place. Well, okay, fine, whatever. While taking that long morning piss, I casually wondered if my brother and his girl were still asleep. They probably were, those big city people. While brushing my teeth, I thought: or perhaps they had gone out. Then I went downstairs to read the Sunday newspapers.

As I walked past the guest room where they usually slept, the door was shut and I assumed they were either sleeping as I had thought, or quietly screwing under the covers. I went downstairs and headed to the kitchen to fix myself a hot drink. Then I made myself comfortable on the couch and started going through the newspaper. I was engrossed in an article about an ongoing murder trial when I heard: "eh, you didn't go out?"

She made me spill my drink, and seeing this, she said, "Oh I'm so sorry," and then giggled, which reminded me, once again, of Juliette Lewis. "You fuckin' startled me," I said, trying my best to sound amused. The use of expletives was nothing new in my conversations with her, in case you were wondering. Seemingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she slowly walked down the stairs.

"Is he still sleeping?"
"Oh no, he's gone out."
"Huh? Where to?"
"To meet some friends."
"I see. Business friends? Or former classmates?"
"Business friends I think."

As she headed towards where I was sitting, I suddenly became self-conscious of the fact that I only had a pair of briefs on and swiftly placed a throw over my crotch.

"You didn't have to do that. Are you afraid that I would steal it from you?" Catching me completely off guard, I turned to look at her. Then she laughed, and said, "What?" At that precise moment, it suddenly struck me that there something quite irresistible about her. Perhaps it was the uncombed hair that partially covered her face. I pulled out the entertainment section and passed it to her. She took it and sank further into the couch, her night gown brushing against my right arm as she flipped through the pages. The closeness induced a keen sense of déjà vu in me even as I tried to resist it. Her gown, which wasn't that long to begin with, started riding up, and though I couldn't resist looking, I wanted to say something, but then wondered if I should, vacillating back and forth before finally deciding to say something after all, which turned out to be a real fucking mistake.

"Hey, why don't you sit properly?"
"Huh?"
"I said, why don't you sit properly. Your gown's riding up."
"Oh really?" Still holding the newspaper and in that half-sitting, half-lying position, she looked down absent-mindedly to verify what I had said. Then she placed the newspaper on her chest and pulled up the hem of her gown for just a split-second before smoothing the fabric. She wasn't wearing any panties and I pretended not to have noticed.

"Did you see that?"
"See what?"

She gave me a look.

"My hair." Somehow the word for hair, as in pubic hair, sounds so much lewder in Cantonese. In hindsight, I didn't think I was really thinking at that time. I was merely reacting. I became defensive, and so did she.

"What are you trying to do?"
"What do you mean what am I trying to do?"

Freud would've had a field day analysing the scenario at hand. My superego wanted to admonish her for the sheer impropriety of her behaviour and yet, my id wanted her. It was only later that I realised that it was a trap and I had fallen headlong into it. We glared at each other for a moment before she leaned over and stuck her tongue out which, for all my sense of righteousness, couldn't resist. The moment we broke from the kiss, I asked, "When is he coming back?"

"He said he'll call me. We're supposed to do a bit of shopping later in the evening."
"Okay."
"What about your wife?"

I didn't like her tone at all, but at the same time, it proved what I've been suspecting all along. I considered putting an end to the whole thing. After all, we've only stolen one kiss at that point.

"She's at the hairdresser's."

She resumed flipping through the newspaper, in a manner that I could only describe as a combination of nonchalance and insolence. I had the impression that she wouldn't have turned a hair even if I told her that neko was upstairs or in the garden.

"So how do you want to do this?" I asked.
"Do you really want to know?"

As she reached over for my bulge, she said, "I want to play with your cock."

This time it was me who leaned over to initiate another kiss. I wanted to take my time because sex loses its flavour when it's rushed, especially in a time like this. I wanted to juice her up nicely before taking the plunge. Somehow I miss those times groping in the dark with my first girlfriend. I was seventeen then and the furthest we went was me rubbing her cunt through the thin material of her panties. She became so wet she had to wipe herself off. And so I took my time to savour the kiss. She was a pretty decent kisser, and I wondered if she sucked just as well. My cock was getting impatient, but yet I wanted to eat her out first and find out what she tasted like. I changed my mind the moment her fingers slipped past the elastic band of my briefs and firmly got hold of me.

I had no choice but to let her have it. She seemed to have this preference to let her tongue go round and round the head, and I wondered perhaps that was how my brother prefers it. In a sense I was glad that neko is a far better cocksucker than her. It's impossible not to notice the difference when someone new is giving you a blowjob. After all, not all blowjobs are equal. She was a little too gentle, and I had to straighten her up or else I might start to wilt.

"Use your teeth. Squeeze the head." It felt good barking orders to her and she seemed to dig it too. And one man in his time play many parts. She complied, and my cock became harder. I noticed a barely perceptible lull in her sucking, and knew it was time for the main course. It's amazing how instinctively efficient we are when it comes to the arrangement of sexual positions. I had wanted to take her there and then, with her in that lubricious, half-seated, half-lying position the way neko and I usually did whenever we did it on that same couch. But I wanted to see her ass in front of me as I'm fucking her, so I entered her from behind as she stood with one foot sunk deep into the couch.

Every cunt feels different, and hers was no different. As I went in and out of her, I made a mental note to have a closer look at her cunt, to remember what it looked like. I was pleased to see that she was the kind of girl who closed her eyes during sex, like she was meditating on something so deep and profound she had to start moaning to herself. Seeing how she was creaming all nice and thick, I placed a foot on the couch and pushed her forward till her face was against the wall. The way she was holding up her negligee set off several lustful tingles somewhere in my cock. Her ass was truly beautiful. I twitched, and when she turned around to regard me with that familiar look of hurt and hatred, I knew that she must have felt it too.

"Are you coming?" her voice trembling a little against my thrusts.
"You come first." I guess the battle of the sexes will never end.
"You can come inside me...I'm on the pill..."

In all honesty, I truly wanted to, but decided against it. I mean, there we were, fucking, but I still couldn't get past the feeling that she was a sly, calculating bitch. "On your face, is that alright..." I practically grunted, and as soon as I pulled out the spurts started coming. In a flash she was below me, catching as much as she could of that thick white stuff on her face and hair. As she milked me dry like they do in porno, I was reminded of the following as I stood over her with arms akimbo: sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow.

porn sex

2007-07-22T14:49:00.000+08:00

many hands of men all over her body, making her do things with her mouth and hands. they rub their cocks all over her face, caress her hair and nibble her ears. one of them starts eating her pussy. she responds, or rather, her body responds. she squirms and tries to wrench herself free, but not quite. she makes a show of not enjoying it, but then she's now sucking on a cock while stroking another. with a mouth stuffed full of cock --- her cheeks bulging grotesquely as he fucks her mouth --- she enthusiastically tries to articulate the effect of subjugation. her eyes convey a look of hatred and helplessness to the one above. 'look at what you're forcing me to do,' they seem to say.

was it possible that she was forced into it?
but then she could've have resisted or fought back. bite off his cock, for instance.
perhaps they were threatening her.
with what?
threats of death, bodily harm.
then she should have opted for death.
but...that's your daughter.
i have no such daughter.
you're disowning her?
i'm not you. i cannot tolerate this.
are you angry because she's enjoying it? it's still possible that she was forced into it.
but she didn't resist enough to stop it.
maybe she was afraid.
of what? death? what she did is worse than death.
do you mean to say that pleasure is wrong?
no, i'm not saying that pleasure is wrong. i'm saying that it's wrong for a girl, especially such a sweet girl like her to be doing what she did.
it's just sex, albeit a little more varied than regular sex. plus, they used condoms.
that's not the fucking point! it's not about whether they were wearing condoms!
then what is it?
good girls don't do things like that.
slutty things?
yes.
it's fine if sluts do it?
yes.
but not okay if it's your daughter.
because my daughter is a good girl, and good girls don't do slutty things.

after she left, i poured myself a glass of scotch and sat there thinking. let's say you have an incredibly adventurous sex life and your parents found out the kind of sex that you had. wouldn't it be natural for them to feel the same way that she did?

the first thing she did when she reached home was to open up a new bottle. after drinking three quarters of it, she stumbled into her bedroom and switched on some porn. she was pretty drunk, so she was listening more than she was watching. her fingers found their way to that spot between her legs, and soon, she was masturbating furiously to the memory of what she had seen in his office. how she seemed to squirm in delight as they touched her. what made it so much worse was how she played the tart while pretending that she was being violated. but the cream that dribbled out doesn't lie. she was enjoying it, having the time of her life, that stupid cunt. As she fought back her tears, she came in the most violent way that she could remember.

walking in frames per second

2007-07-22T03:39:00.000+08:00

i'm sitting at the station now, waiting to board that express train to dreams. but i'm too early, so i'm having a coffee. my eyes are droopy, and the first thing i will do when i arrive is to wake up. a hot, sunny afternoon, and the street jazz festival's tomorrow. before the snow, comes a wet, chilly night lit in neon, where i watched a sad movie by myself. a snatch of words, a fragmented thought, waking up in a scene halfway through. the rumbling of a lonely streetcar. wet streets. that store on the corner. it's the same scene but the plot has moved elsewhere.

baker's hands

2007-07-19T01:21:00.000+08:00

during yesterday's lunch hour with neko, i spotted yet another jailbait in a pinafore. her ass was so full and round they jiggled ever so slightly when she was walking away. the hands in my mind went ahead and did what my real hands would never do: lovingly kneading those fabulous, God-baked buns till she screams out in outrage and slaps me in the face.

i want __________

2007-07-16T01:46:00.000+08:00

they say that men are only after just one thing, and so i ask, what is that one thing? is it sex? fucking? if it is fucking that men want, is it precisely the sensation of cock wrapped around in cunt? or perhaps it's the in-out movements?

The In-Out Movement. What a great name for a Sex +Ve Movement.

ejaculation and an orgasm? the smugness and reassurance that female company brings? an antidote to time-lapsed insecurity? what is it?

eat will eat eatself

2007-07-15T06:23:00.000+08:00

the smooth surface of the marble tabletop reflecting light. i close my eyes and zoom down a tunnel of people writhing and playing in the dark, ejaculating spurts upon spurts of lukewarm porridge --- grit and gruel --- upon her pretty face. (she is prettier than my wife)

"why are we born to disgrace and degrade ourselves with the things that we do, with the toys and games that we play?" the father asks the child. and of course, the child answers in some completely and agitatingly zen-like way, something along the lines of: "i'm hungry. fry me some spring rolls."

i close my eyes again, and this time i see shapely female bodies equipped with sockets and appendages engineered for tingling, crashing sensations. some of the bodies came with faces too, and they were pretty faces at that. well-shaped eyebrows, shiny, silky shampoo hair, porno-perfect bukkake features. i want to want them, but my cup is only a quarter full. i am hungry as well, and the child in the second paragraph is me.

cliché clique

2007-07-15T05:14:00.000+08:00

there's something really sad about a really ugly girl trying to look really pretty. she becomes the sight/site of a bad joke, and boy am i glad i didn't start the previous sentence with "there's nothing sadder than..."

is sex different if you look different?

2007-07-15T04:56:00.000+08:00

at a café today, i observed many, but there was this fortyish woman whom i paid particular attention to. there was nothing much to look at actually, but she did have a rather big ass which, despite not being especially sexy, made me think about what it would be like to peep at her while she's taking a shower.

i must apologise for being so fixated on peeping at middle-aged women having showers.

anyway, there's more than just her oddly-oversized ass. her hair was limp and tired-looking, she wore glasses, and behind them were these big, rounded eyes which seemed to be on the verge of some impending household panic. then i thought about how she is when she's having sex, not with me, but with her husband. she was obviously married, and i knew this because a kid called her mommy.

Gay Fags

2007-07-15T02:13:00.001+08:00

I pulled out a cigarette and another stick tried to follow. God only knows what those fags have been doing in the pack.