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BOYFISTGIRLSUCK, SAMPLE
Friday November 8:
...come on, lubricate my hairy arsehole and force-feed me your forearm, you whore!
We lie here now in the afterglow of our gore-fist-suck-fuck-fest, basking in each other's glory, the gleam of the other seeping into our ravaged bodies and making us shine brighter. We look at each other, faces aglow with pride and love and devotion, our excesses staining the floor beneath us and the walls around us.
I do not care if this is the end, if this was the final act of boyfistgirlsuck or not. If so, I would die happy and fulfilled, sated, my belly and my heart full of her. But I was wrong. This was not the end. In fact, this is just the beginning:
Thursday November 7:
...empty the streets, I say!
And the chilling silence of her is like nothing I have ever witnessed. Cold to the touch, a vibrant icicle of sorrow to me. And I to her? Where is my motivation to kill without you?
The sweetest thing I have ever known. The most beautiful bud but inside those soft petals of compelling innocence lay thorns. Her heart was black as mine, no, blacker still and what shone from her eyes was not the happiness or the lust for life I thought it was but the glint of darkness - the same dark glint that was reflected in my irises.
My God, we were so beautiful. Each stab and slice, each moment of torture and murder and death and destruction were poetry, art. We were artists, yes, that's what we were. Suffering flesh was our canvas.
Let's tear our fucking skins off and dive into this audience of gore-hounds. Let them see us in our full flight. The audience swells around us as the boots come flying in. Horror batterings and facial stampings as our acolytes tear and bite and scratch at any filthy trinket of grease hanging of our rickety frame. Devoured by the science of the hardcore sell and blinded to the truth of infamy. We soar through flesh and glide through bone in a giddy dance never knowing, always tasting.
Come on, lubricate my hairy arsehole and force-feed me your forearm, you whore!
Wednesday November 6:
...you must kill, we understand say the howling pack of BOYFISTGIRLSUCKers, tearing at my eyes, tongue and teeth.
The smell of her again - close - closer. I thought I had lost her for good, thought she had escaped me. But no - she had made her point by trying to leave me, showing me that she was independent, didn't need me.
boyfistgirlsuck
Always that. And she needed *me* for that. She couldn't do that on her own.
Whisper, whisper. And giggle, snigger. And she thought I didn't even know. I knew - I'd always known about it. Stupid bitch she could be.
Boyfistgirlsuck wasn't just for her, you know! Everybody always thinks that *they're* the *special* one.
But enough of this sour madness of not knowing. Are you me or am I you. Tell me now Boyfistgirlsuck. Open up to me like a tumescent rose budding from a throne of knives. Unwind and take me into your care. Pull closed the heavy metal door upon my soft incubation before this rot tears my senses to shreds.
Empty the streets, I say!
And the chilling silence of her is like nothing I have ever witnessed. Cold to the touch, a vibrant icicle of sorrow to me. And I to her? Where is my motivation to kill without you?
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Chimericana Books.
Hellbound Books, Spring 2006
Plus six other short novels (approx 40,000 words each) that I'm looking to publish in a special 6-pack.
