Seven7

I'm moving back to Eugene/Springfield come Nov/30 for the Winter school semester at LCC. Going to be getting back into the local community ASAP. Thing is until school starts I'm low on cash and I don't have a place to crash. If someone could be so kind as to let me couch surf for a night or two that'd be awesome. Could pay in chores/manual labor/massages.

Give me a PM if you're able or got an idea, would be greatly appreciated. It'll be good to get back to the OR.

For those watching at home, I'd like to point out three facts that may help you determine reality from my flash fiction:

• I don't smoke.
• I don't drink alcohol. (The number of drinks I have had in my lifetime is below 30, probably less)
• I don't do drugs.

We are fighting, again. Always after eating too, it is very discomforting.

I like to fight, argue, it makes me feel great. She is starting to get more angry, she pushes me even. I'm too stunned to do anything at first, then she does it again and calls me submissive. This time I sweep her hands away, turn her, push her away. Oh, you want to fuck me is that it, she shouts. I guess I pushed her to the bed. She drops down over the side of the bed, pulls down her sweat pants, ugly gray things. She screams obscenities at me, I get angry now. I force myself forward, into her ass. she's growling, trying to hit me. Cursing me, grunting. I finish in her ass, get up and walk to the bathroom. I vomit, then sit down to shit. Scared she's going to call the cops, claim I raped her. After a while she gets up, puts a hand on my cheek. Almost tells me she loves me, the baby gurgles in the bed and we freeze, she didn't finish the word love.

The baby goes back to sleep, we sigh in relief and she and I get into the shower. She gives me a relaxing blowjob, silently tears leak out of my eyes, she never notices.

I am awake and there is nothing to do about it. I roll onto my stomach, I roll onto my side. This just tires me more.

I had a dream about fucking some old gal, I know her name but I can't find the letters or the words. Her and some other broad, and me, fucking like pigs in a blanket. We fucked, they giggled. I spanked, grinning, they moaned and laughed. Joyce wasn't really bright, but she could sure handle my cock. I don't even know what I really mean by that, but it sounds suave. I'm always sounding suave. She had a dancer's ass, which means plump and bouncy. I couldn't balance a beer can on it, but fucking it was like fucking a balloon.

Alright, I've got to clean up, I say in my waking delirium. I know the sex is a dream, the girls aren't real, but I say it anyways as if trying to save myself embarrassment from God, pretending that I'm just foolin around, you know.

Smells like vanilla.

I reclined in my recliner, my bones sighed.

Kate was sitting across the room, into her fourth beer. You're fat, she says with a snarl. I yawn, respond with half open eyes, I'm festively plump. She rolls her eyes and swallows more of her beer, my beer. "You never fuck me." Rolling over in the recliner, I shoot back, "You used to be happy when I took a break."

She drinks, quietly responds, I used to love you. We sit in silence.

It was an epiphany. I put the beer to my mouth, but I could not drink it. My world had been shattered in the briefest amount of time. What else could it be, but an epiphany? The rats in the wall danced, scattered.

It was simple, really. We were all fucked, or going to be fucked. Each of us, bent over a treestump, pants down, tears on our face. We knew what was coming, we watched others get fucked. Some of them get fucked slow, some of us get fucked fast. Not many live, no one survives. Some people, the intelligent and afraid, they get fucked brutal, pipes and shoes. Bleeding, crying, wanting to get off this ride. No way to get off this ride. If you could leave, it wouldn't be hell.

It happens though, that sometimes when you're getting fucked on that tree stump, it's with love and care. When it's gone, it's gone hard. So hard you remember that you're still getting fucked.

My hands, fingers, dig into her skin. She's a bit greasy, like after eating a hamburger. Her shoulders are covered in red dots, some blacks. She doesn't shower. She's fat, god she's fat. We used to shower together a lot, it was time away from the screaming. Each other, the world, ourselves. I stopped drinking, I was a drunk. I couldn't stop drinking.

She was wearing a red skirt, the first color I had seen in forever. She maybe fat, but damn she had an ass. That red skirt was all over that ass. She knew what I was doing, though. Two years she knew what I was doing. My hands rubbed deep into her back, she moaned. She didn't like to say fuck, it made her giggle. God damn I hated that giggle. I wanted to smash a bottle against her head every time she giggled. I rubbed deeper. She knew I just wanted to fuck her ass, that's all I ever did. She would tell me, later, that I didn't respect her pussy. I just wanted, wanted, wanted that ass.

That red dress, though. Could lose your soul in that ass.

He flipped the page. The fork slid down a bit in the plate, he picked it up. The old man jabbed the fork into the potatoes. Mashed potatoes that he had made. He was old, so he ate slow, his eyes wandering the page. He liked to read, read this book. It was the book his ex-wife had written. James liked to look for little snippets of himself inside the lines, the words. She had been dead for a few years.

He ate some more, a piece of sliced tomato in his mouth. He tasted salt, salty juice. He had been crying, hadn't even noticed it. He wiped his eyes, looked at the book. Across the table, plate, fork, hot food. No one there. She had wanted a kid. He didn't. Now he never would.

The untouched mashed potatoes continued to be warm.

Holy shit, I say in a whisper. I sit down on the pale gray bench, newspaper in hand. Jesus christ, I mutter, profanely. The guy next to me breaks out in sobs, the guy next to me is Death. Death, is that you, I ask the sobbing demon. Yeah, he cries, I'm death and I can't do the poor bastard in, he moans. You can't kill him, I question mouth ajar. Who is he, I push, leaning forward to get a look at Death's face under that cowl. He responds with more sobs, it's that Jimmy Cramet boy. I knew the Cramet, good guy. Quiet guy. Why can't you claim him Death, I say in a rasp. Look at me, talking to Death, like I'm some kind of buddy, friend and fella to him.

"He wants to live."

I couldn't understand it, it confused me at first. Then I realized, like a whip, we all want to die. All but Cramet.

Picking up the notepad, pencil flitting between his fingers. Unable to stay still, when he's thinking. Something has to be moving when he's thinking. She grabs his hand, anger in her eyes. He doesn't like that, gives her a hard look. She moves her hand, goes back to watching TV.

Suddenly the front of his brain explodes, fingers slap the pad. The lead streaks across the page. Tips of his fingers guiding the tip of the pencil. The picture starts to form, from the frantic lines. He flips the pencil like he's a pro, showing off. The eraser sweeps away a few lines, he's back to drawing. In front of him the tied up man squirms, "Don't move." The drawing looks fantastic, he's unhappy, nods to the woman.

She stands, "Useless pig." The paddle cracks into his side flab, instantly red. The red pen is picked up, flurries against the page to capture the color, then the darker pen. She takes a hand to the man's face, "Ugly duckling, fucking twit!" She's shouting, he's whimpering on the floor in his bonds. "Dear, do it quietly." She stops, quickly gives an icy stare, she doesn't like it but nothing else comes from her mouth.

He continues to draw the bruises, the man's leather clad hardon, the chub. Her boot heel in his chest.

Marvin picks up the small sake bottle, poor Western imitation. He thinks it's the real thing, he's uncultured. "Honey, I don't feel like going." He waits, drops the sake bottle in the trash. He walks into the room, takes off his tie, "Thanks babe, I just don't feel like going." He doesn't feel like going, a smile creeps on his lips. "Maybe we can...stay home and have some fun. In the sack, hmm?"

He flops onto the edge of the bed, rubbing the sheets. His hand slips across the loaded revolver. His fingers slide around the grip, the leather grip. "I love you, dear." He snaps the revolver up, shoves it into the roof of his mouth, sobs. Sobs into the gun, pulls the trigger. He does this everyday. Since she left. Not anymore, though.

Blood, bullet, and skull slide down the bed. Someone calls the police. He really didn't feel like going.

(More erotica)

"I've had enough of your brat behavior!" I shout, leaping forward, her surprise is only half shown by her sudden onset horniness. She's pushed all my buttons, all my points of contention. She knows I'm going to get physical now, just the way she likes it.

My full body weight comes down on her as I force her to the ground, her arms spread wide. Before she can reach up to feint resistance my shins push them down, my cock hovers directly over her squirming and protesting face. My hand jerks pounds my cock right above her nose. The erotic overpowering bringing me close very quickly.

All over her face I cum, she tries to catch some with her open mouth. I've marked my territory, but I'm not done making a point. With her hair in my hand I pull her up to the bathroom mirror, "Clean it off slut, with your fingers and tongue. My cock goes up her waiting pussy, slowly pumping as she does as I command.

(END)

(Some real erotica from me, god it's been so long but the people demand it. This started as a series on Literotica that won some awards way back in 2002 when I still talked with the owner. Wrote this piece in 6 minutes.)

After hours, the Hotel Sun, the flurry of e-mail correspondence between you and him. The photos had faces blurred, but god did he seem to fit your desires. He purchased the room on-line and you went in first, under his direction.

Your friends know where you are, the cops know that your are meeting a stranger, all safety procedures are in place. Now to get wild, have fun, and contain your excitement. You work over his last email. He's going to knock on the door, say the safe word, you'll run into the bathroom and pretend to be doing your hair.

The knock startles you out of your reading and you wait for those words, "I have two pillows for you ma'am." Those key words send you shivering with excitement and running for the bathroom. Seconds later you hear the door click open, slowly. You're focused on the foggy mirror, from your shower before hand.

As you "finish up" your hair you walk out, the world goes black, or really it goes navy blue. The pillow case completely over your head you struggle, trying to grab for something. He grips around your neck, hand against your spine.

You're pushed forward, towards something hard but soft. The not-so-comfortable Hotel bed. You flail, he grabs, zip ties them behind your back like a professional. He did say he's done security work in the past.

Seconds later he's got you on your stomach on the bed, your skirt is being lifted up, panties being pulled down. You can feel the leather gloves glide up from your calves to your ass and then the sharp pain rains down as he lands blow after blow on your bottom. The crack is audible, you blush as you think of what the neighboring rooms might think.

As if psychic he leans forward, bites your ear, and growls as you moan. "They might hear your pretty little voice." Your panties come all the way off, stripped harshly. They go right into your mouth, turning you on even more.

He grabs both of your moving legs and zip ties the ankles, brings them over your ass and zip ties them to your ankles. Your body remains untouched for a few moments, you can almost see his smirk as he admires his work, but right now you've got a face full of pillow hiding your blush.

He grabs your legs and side and rolls you over, the position of your limbs forces your pelvis and torso into the air, breasts covered by a flimsy shirt that he cuts away (Thank god it was a spare) and your skirt which drifts up your chest. You are exposed to him, sex and all.

He works slowly with his gloved hands, you can smell the leather. A slap comes down on your pussy, making you twitch upwards into his grasp. Suddenly his breath, warm, on your sides, he kisses. Softly at first, then biting. Harsh painful biting as he ascends your torso to your breasts.

Immobile you are helplessly subjugated to his sharp teeth, wicked on your flesh. He bites down your legs, leaving no area untouched from his ravishing mouth. He spreads your legs, exposing your open sex. You almost anticipate but did not expect. He chews his way up your thighs and focuses on the flesh rather than the pearl.

You can feel his tongue now, as he splits your folds with the tip. His thick arms grab both of your legs, keeping you spread despite your wonton need to close your legs as you double up in pleasure.

(Shifting perspective)

She looks so helpless, is so helpless, and that only gets you harder. It's hard not to get lost licking up her cunt, bitting softly on the flesh and pulling just a bit, but you pull back and a moan of disappointment escapes her panty clad lips.

From your pockets you pull out a small zip lock bag full of closepins, the plastic biting kind with sharp teeth. You rest the bag on the bed side post, considering them for later. Your leather gloved hands reach forward and grab her hair as well as her arms. You slowly pull her off the bag, you can feel her breath heavier from the vertigo of moving.

Dragging her to the corner of the room, the rough carpet rubbing her already swollen pussy, you position her against the corner, facing out on her knees. She looks up at you with those eyes, wondering what you're going to do next, why you've taken her to the corner of the room.

You leave no room for question however, you pull the panties from her mouth and give her a sound slap on the face. She jerks her head to the side and winces. You grab her hair pulling her straight and give her another backhand on the face. A moan escapes her face, she mumbles incoherently, "Please...Please..."

It's time now and you unzip your pants pulling out your half erect cock with one hand and positioning her greedy mouth with the other. She tries to rock her head against your cock but there's not much room. You decide to take control, fucking her mouth and becoming fully erect inside, slamming against her throat but being far to big to get inside.

You pound away at her mouth, let her breath, then continue the assault. The overpowering feeling driving you to screw your cock deep into her throat. She gags but quickly dives for more of your cock. "You fucking cock slut." You growl, and her eyes roll back as she trembles a bit. You know that look she's just orgasmed.

With her hair in your hand you pull her forward and take out your knife, cutting the zip ties. You pull her up and slam her against the corner of the room, thrusting a condom wrapper into her gaping mouth. "Cover me." You demand and she quickly reaches up and unwraps the condom, trembling as she wraps it around your cock.

She whispers "Oh fuck." as she finally gets a good look at your size.

(Switching perspective)

And that's when he twist you around to face the corner of the wall. You know where this is going and you can't wait. He's got such green eyes, and that's all you saw under the ski mask. Those green, predator like eyes. He pulls your hips out, you can almost see your full ass looking just like a heart, waiting for him to stab.

He presses his cock against your sex and thrusts in. It's brutal, savage, almost animalistic because he doesn't stop. He's like a hammer in the hands of a professional and more. You feel his cock deep inside you, almost in a painful way. It's a flurry and its' all you can do to keep yourself from just screaming in orgasm.

You might have in fact, because he reaches forward and covers your mouth with a thick hand. You can smell yourself on him. Your eyes droop close as you feel the intense, unending, slam into your pussy.

You feel it then, when he cums inside, you can feel the pumping of his cocks muscles through the condom. He pulls out, gasping and huffing. He runs clawed fingers down your back, sending you shivering. Seconds later you hear the door close, and your phone ringing...

(END)

This is the beat that my heart skipped when we first met. Now that I've heard it, it leaves me with a kind of regret. No disrespect, we just left a lot of people upset and what we had wasn't really what we'd come to expect.

Well good god damn and other such phrases. I haven't heard a beat like this in ages. To miss such a beat would have been outrageous, but when your heart skips a beat its ruthless and aimless.

She caught my attention in her fishnets, then she reeled me in expecting nothing more than kissed necks and quick sex, but that weren't the case with this platinum princess she's attracted my interest, so I wanted to impress.

Upon her all the positive things that come form having more than just a one night fling but that's something that's easier in theory than in practice; Since pick up lines are tactics to get prey to the mattress and this actress is practiced in shunning such theatrics when put upon daily by tactless geriatrics.

So my genuine advances are met with po-faced skepticism throwing complements but she just straight elects to miss them. Her lips were put on this earth for dispersing wisdom. God forbid I suggest she lets me kiss them.

But I really want to know what she thinks of me because I'm loving every idiosyncrasy, but I ain't one to jump through hoops to make a first impression. Been there, done that, learned the worst of lessons. We want to be loved for who we appear to be instead of who we are so our real selves take a backseat behind the pomp and the facade and that's as true of the rude boys, downing pints and acting hard as of the kids shunning convention with clinical disregard.

On the television, wrapped in a soft and cozy buzz of static from worn out old speakers, the next president spoke. From the apartment next to mine I could hear the dulled music of Foo Fighters, Times Like These. It was oddly fitting, considering the way the next president walked up to the podium. Not like a winner, but more like a mule or donkey that was smart enough to know the heavy load was just around the corner. It would be his downfall, most likely. He was far to intelligent, knowledge kills a man's soul.<br><br>

<br><br>The applause was great, he had won the election by a landslide, America had managed to shake most of it's demons off for this election.<br><br>

"We are in tough times, Citizens of America. Our country has fallen down and we've hit a serious economic problem. Without change in our government and planning we won't fair well."

<br><br>The double beep of a parked car pierced the silence as he looked down at his teleprompter. A car door slammed close, the scuffling of drunk drivers and hookers laughing followed. I loaded another .45 into the clip, clicking the metallic angel of death into it's home.<br><br>

"When William Bradford, speaking in 1630 of the founding of the Plymouth Bay Colony, said that all great and honorable actions are accompanied with great difficulties"

A pause, almost deafening, as everyone waited the rest of the words, parallel to John F. Kennedy's speech concerning the moon landing. The clip locked into the Desert Eagle, a thug of a gun, working as intended by factory design. The sleek steel like surface flickered with the TV's soft light.

"and both must be enterprised and overcome with answerable courage. He did not know we would be in this situation, this crisis, when he said that. Instead he trusted, as I do, as you do, in the American Spirit, the spirit of success and hardship, the spirit of change and focus!"

<br><br>The applause drowned out even the static. I could hear even the applause of neighbors and those watching TV's in the shops about to close on the streets. The man knew how to talk, knew how to move a crowd, he was American. The song in the neighboring apartment died down at the applause from other rooms. I knew exactly where he was. Sitting down on the couch, his music playing on a stereo four feet to his left on a table stand, the TV off, and a blunt in his hand.<br><br>

"People of America, I accept your burden, your worries and your troubles..."

<br><br>He had pissed off the wrong people, pushed the wrong guy on the street. It was time to pay, make an example. I walked calmly up to the shoddy made wall. Desert Eagle barrel tip a foot away from the cheap wall paper. I knew where every piece of furniture was, where he spent most of his nights after breaking up with his fiance a week ago.<br><br>

"And with your blessing, with God's graces, we will take Prometheus his torch, we will return our gifts to the heavens and return to greatness, return to space!"

<br><br>The shots echoed around the apartment, two, loud and mean. First silence, then the thumping of his body hitting the floor with a slick and wet squishing as his face rubbed into the chunks of brain that had fallen to the floor. The drop of a wine bottle to my left, a scream. She had come home early, why? She looked absolutely shocked, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. She had always locked the door! How could this happen?<br><br>

"...Good luck and good night..."

<br><br>I ran, for the window, it was only a story up. The gun in hand, tight, three bullets left. Window glass shatters oddly, when a human body impacts into it. Large chunks at first, slowly fracturing into small shards that cut and lacerate. The parka protected me, the Cadillac broke my fall. The police wouldn't be around this part of town for another twenty minutes.