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the web-zine with a sense of (warped)
humor
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| The Sickness by L J Blount | |
“What are you thinking about?” Gilmore clutched at the ragged acorn locks that hung just above his ash colored eyes. He stared dolefully at his faded Levi’s; they were the same ones he wore last time. He hadn’t bothered to wash them; he would just dirty them he would argue. A splattering of blood still dotted them around the small scarlet hand print that reached up from his thigh. The smell was there too; the smell of death that laced each fiber of his blood stained jeans. He tore his hands from his locks and planted them hard around the steering wheel of his 1976 Dodge Dart. Squeezing hard, he ran his fingers and palms over the vinyl sending a squeal through his tattered interior. He eyed the crack on his dashboard with disgust. It looked to him like the insides bursting from a separation of flesh. The black vinyl being the skin and the spongy material protruding would be an intestine perhaps. Maybe a brain from the back of some little bitches head. It didn’t matter to him really. The same scene unfolded throughout his car. The faded vinyl had long since dried and cracked, leaving a look of a hundred arteries scattered without reason. The same vinyl that screamed out when ever he slid his denim covered ass across the skin of his Dodge. He hated the car, the displaced monster from an era long since passed. It was a peace offering from his mother, a graduation gift and a token for all the years of emotional abuse. It was a symbol of her hatred, a symbol of a youth submerged in the cesspit that was his life. His mother used to call him a faggot, a fairy boy who’d surely expire from AIDS before his eighteenth birthday. It wasn’t his fault, he like girls in fact he loved them. They just didn’t feel the same way about him. Besides if he dared to bring one home mother would surely run her off, calling her a whore or little slut. She had done that before, when Gilmore was nine. Nikki Bain was her name and she was Gilmore’s best friend. He could tell her anything and she wouldn’t judge him. Then it wasn’t so much that she was a girlfriend in the teenage sense of the word. She was a friend, she lived next door and the two would always walk to school together, that was until he invited her in to play. The two sat at the edge of Gilmore’s bed; he can still see it all unfolding in his mind. Nikki’s bright smile as she watched with equal excitement as Gilmore revealed his baseball card collection. His father had left it for him, left it before he died. Gilmore felt that he willed himself to get cancer so he could get away from the bitch he called his wife. Mother found the two laughing, bouncing on the edge of the bed. “Gilmore, what are you doing with this little bitch?” “Mom?” “You ain’t fucking no slut under my roof!” Mother grabbed Nikki by her ponytail and dragged her screaming and crying from their house. When Mrs. Bain came calling Mother called her a fucking whore who was raising a “slut who’d be pregnant before her twelve birthday.” She claimed she caught Nikki on her knees in my room, He didn’t know what she meant until latter. Nikki never spoke to Gilmore again and she was the last girl who ever did. Gilmore Stanley was a homely child as he is now a homely man, a womanless man. He wasn’t a faggot; in fact, he fucked as often as his measly paycheck would allow him to. He’d buy pussy as sure as he would food as long as his paychecks would allow, which wasn’t very often. In fact, it had been four months since he last bought a piece of ass. Mostly he sits in his apartment above the diner where he busses and pulls on his cock all the while thinking about the Carin. Four months of yanking it or burying his cock into the soft fibers of his pillow just didn’t seem like enough. Carin was a waitress down at the diner. A lovely woman and the woman of Gilmore’s most intense fantasies. But like most women, she paid Gilmore no mind. Gilmore pushed down hard on his crotch, the thoughts of Carin had made him hard. He pictured her perky breast as they pushed hard against her uniform, pulling the zipper nearly apart. His thoughts followed the curves of her body to her perfectly shaped hips. He could picture himself, hands on those hips pulling her over his aching member. He smiled at the thought of her long slender legs flowing elegantly from beneath the mid- thigh hem of her uniform. She was perfect and all the men at the diner knew it and lusted after it. Gilmore sucked in a deep breath and released a long lustful sigh as his thoughts moved to Carin’s face. Visions of her crystal blues eyes and her full wet-painted lips brought his erection near its’ peak. He groaned as he felt a dab of precum leak out into his boxers. “Carin,” he whispered rubbing himself faster through his crowded jeans. “What are you thinking about?” “Shit!” Gilmore shouted, balling a fist into his crotch. He looked around quickly; no one had noticed him. Then no one ever did. “Fuck, calm done Gilmore.” He whispered to himself. He looked out over the faded gold hood of his Dodge Dart. His eyes fixed across the way at the schoolyard, turning back at the business at hand. He watched specifically a single little girl. She had auburn hair, hair like his mother’s. He noticed nothing more about her. He watched her hair as it flowed in the breeze. Her auburn hair glistening in the morning sun, beautifully. “Gilmore?” “Yes, mother?” “Get your gay ass in here boy. Put down that dildo you’ve been pounding in your ass and brush my hair.” “But mother I wasn’t?” “Don’t you back talk your mother boy! I can smell your shit, I know. Now get your ass over here.” “Yes mother.” “One hundred times, Gilmore. I want my hair to be radiant, mother has a date.” “Yes mother.” The little girl’s hair was radiant like mother’s. “She must, a hundred times?” Gilmore |
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