9. Sucker 2.0
It’s different now of course in a land of endless possibilities, a land devoid of my ill tendencies. There are two pricks that jut out like a sore on Planet Earth which clouds our judgment; first, it’s death and the mystery of afterlife, our frail human form. It screws us with fear. The other, our insecurity in life; we’re fat, we’re ugly, we’re not rich, all that crap. What will others think? The two demons pound into our fragile egos, creating a crater. An emptiness resides that can NEVER be filled. Mankind is born into paradox. His mind and body are at odds. It is strange, for he can fantasize of his eternal self, but his flesh is doomed to decay.
In contrast, my enlightened being knows no contradiction. I am cool, as Jai-I puts it. We are gods after all, and suffer not from inferiority. We are beautiful. We are Omniscient, the rivers of information flow within our souls. There is no big empty, no loneliness; we are entwined in the matrix of every life.
I am happy. I do things because I enjoy it, not because I need to cover a hole. I have sex now, not just a fingering fool. Women, men and all creatures of dark and light want me; I am desirable. They taste of chocolate, champagne, caviar, strawberries; like sushi served on a naked girl. They smell like oranges, vanilla, the seaside, or simply a morning in the Swiss Alps. My disgust for mixing DNA fluids is now a cocktail pleasure of secretion. Love. Due to love; I love them all.
When they reject my pursuit, I can always recreate them in pocket spaces (similar to Sparta), tiny worlds designed just to cater to a particular whim or fancy. For example, a proud platinum Playboy bunny parading champagne coloured areolas once snubbed my seduction; it was like a knife to my erection, but I went home and reengineered the situation and fucked her till kingdom come! She cried for more…and when I was done, she was in tears. Ravished and tortured, her remains jittered on the floor.
This was a private escape. The bitch obviously didn’t know of her fate unless I shared… And sometimes I do, inviting others to partake of my fantasy. A new world is grown, on God’s family tree. However, often I merely mix and match my own caprice. This girl with that, lingerie and leather, sexy carwash show, hot pants, stilettos, soaked tops seen thru, no bra, giant nipples protruding, a boyfriend that looked like a girlfriend…yeah…
A place I opened to public was the Horny Hound. It’s a tribute to my idiosyncrasy of old. Habits die hard. I still enjoy shooting outside of an orifice. Inside, strippers and topless waitresses shake you dry. You can also go solo. Goddesses not of this seedy profession too frequent this joint. They participate as amateurs, or merely bask in the wet arousal of the predominantly male crowd. Occasionally one may pop a tit to the glee and amusement of both strangers and friends.
The Horny Hound is also a premise where a man can masturbate another man without being tagged a homo. I enjoy watching my brothers climax even as their countenances contort to a chimpanzee’s, grunting in excitement. Often we cum together; bonding a brotherhood in which sisters cannot share due their lack of apparatus.
Males are superior. Women are inferior; they do not have cocks. We have cocks! I have a COCK! I am superior! I am a Man! A yanking man.
Urrrgggghhhhhhhhh…I’m coming….oooh…oooh…oooh… arggghhhhhh…
I look like a monkey.
“Pathetic,” I hear her laugh at me.
Tuesday is Midnight Mask. Only men will conceal their faces. (I still want to know who that sweetie is pleasuring me.) It’s surreal. You see Darth Vader, Death, Presidents of the United States, Frankenstein, Dracula, etcetera whipping their dicks.
You see monsters, clowns, demons and creatures jerking and combusting to finally spout a little fountain out of their mushrooms, while their mouths make muffled moans.
I think ladies find this titillating. Unlike us, their complicated biology responds sexually only to intellectual, meaningful and intimate surroundings. They’re always aroused by mystery and drama; and you got to admit, you can’t get more mysterious and dramatic than seeing a room full of grown men in ridiculous disguises bursting their pipes together.
“Pathetic,” I hear her laugh again.