as seen in the pages of SANTOS SISTERS + art / text pieces rejected by HONK! Magazine (18 Certificate)
TISSUE PAPER DOLL
by NCP.
Took in the Juvenile Siege label showcase gig at Undisclosure. Favorite band of the night was Prepare. They play that kind of penetrative hardcore you get from a band like Convictions, but with the emphatic basslines of a weirdo grind band like Gas Chamber, topped off with vocals that reminded me of these videos I’ve seen of a preacher delivering loud sermons through a blown-out PA system, inadvertently performing a harsh noise set.
Wasn’t too keen on dropping thirty bucks on an eight-minute cassette (what Juvenile Siege calls “a sale”), so I didn’t pick anything up. Did run into Floria, who was all cozy with her new boyfriend; blackout-tatted scenecore “royalty” who I refuse to acknowledge by name, whose auto tuned Emmure knock-off group is way more successful than our shit will ever be.
It’s high school all over again; me deluding myself into thinking I had a shot at the super cool, life-ruiningly gorgeous robo-babe because our tastes intersect, goon-fog obscuring the inevitable, that being the better built, better financed, better curated, better-timed variation on my theme. He’s not smarter than me, or as nice… or as interesting… or as open with his sexuality… but why would he need to be? The aura his presence radiates will get them almost all the way there. It’s the mid-range anti-fuckables like me that have to upgrade ourselves every time we get our dicks knocked in the dirt, fussing with our look, our interests, our philosophies, our beliefs… fumbling in a desperate scramble to lock on to that one thing that put them off and/or that one thing that might turn them on.
We exchange pleasantries, inquiring about each of our next shows. Of course she’s going to be out of the country for a while. Of course Ragout shall be accompanying boyfriend and his vanity project Two Syllables Too Many or whateverthefuck on a tour of Japan. Meanwhile, Prepare might just hook up Brumephitis with a spot on their next show, which if all goes according to plan, will take place in the warehouse space of Dust Hunters; a new bookstore that specializes in Japanese comics, videos, and magazines (there’s those crossed streams again).
Store a lot, vent a little.
Yeah, that didn’t work this time (the scrote-rash on the train blasting "Stupid Girl" by Cold through his phone didn't help any), so I took an illegal after hours stroll through Hawntag Park, where (allegedly) one of the night watchmen stashes his hot wife in a specific stall of the men’s bathroom.
A thick roll of twenties and a silly magic word later, the stall turns into a racket ball court. She’s compact, with long strawberry blond hair, bangs covering her eyes, placing further emphasis on the mint-green lipgloss rolled heavily across her partially sneering mouth. I pull out to cum on the wall next to her head. As it drips down, she gets down on her knees, flattening her tongue against the tile. She glides her tongue upward to meet the drip, licking the cum off the wall. I am still hard, so I get down on the floor with her, fucking my cock into her cunt one more time, holding her head to the cum stain on the wall as I spank her ass with a closed fist. I pull out to shoot my cum across her asshole. I eat my cum (and her grease) out of her ass, swirling it with spit and drawn-up phlegm, before hocking it into the toilet. The cocktail gob floats in the toilet water. I aim to break it up with a sharp stream of piss, which she blocks with her mouth. Urine fountains out of her fluid-dampened face, splashing into the toilet to batter the DNA gob. She rubs her cunt to orgasm while I fuck my cock into her face, a scant remainder of cum hitting the back of her throat. I sit on the toilet to catch my breath. She stands in front of me, squeezing her tits until the nipples bead with milk. Instinctively, I open my mouth. She squeezes her left breast first, training the thin white spray of lactation to splash against my tongue. She squeezes the right breast, the stream of milk hitting my left eye before running down my cheek in gossamer tears. I cum one last time... hands-free launch reaching the faint overhang of her belly.
Another roll of twenties and a “come back anytime” later, and suddenly I feel stupid for believing I deserve even this.
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