Do you think this is funny?

"Do you think it's fucking funny rubbing my cock with your hand, in front of everyone? Embarrassing me in front of my friends. Do you think that's fucking funny you stupid slut? Look at me. Answer me. Do you?"

Mascara drips down my face. Liquid fear in my eyes. Cheeks red. Breath so short and desperate. He smacks my jaw with a hard open hand, and my teeth score into my tongue. I can taste blood in my mouth.

"This isn't about you. Get on the bed. This isn't about you. You can touch yourself you desperate slut. You can come if you want to. Come. Come back. Look at me. Are you happy? Are you happy that you've made me do this? Why are you smiling at me? Do you think this is funny? Are you going to come for me? Come for me. Do you think this is funny? It's not."

The comedian - metal machine

I inhale your second hand smoke as you blow white tendrils of it into my face. The air is cold on my skin as you run your fingers down my exposed spine.

"This must be humiliating for you"

In front of so many people. It must be. It could be. It makes me pulse. In front of so many people it makes me wet. As a state and as a memory.

You hang my body like a carcass off your hand, as I leak out streams of white sticky fluid.

You fuck me desperately. Harder. Hardly here or there. You screw me and it makes my cunt ache, and it makes my heart race, and it makes my bones hurt.

I come for you so many times. So wet. So near and so far away. In pain and in anguish. In pleasure and froth and desperate exhalation. Moans and cries.

Thighs clap together, like hands. Clap hands. Blood on my legs. Spit in my face. You hold on tight to my delicate throat. It makes my ears ring. Smack. Harder. Smack again. It all becomes a blur with you. It evolves like a metal machine. Why can't we just play nice? Why would we.

Funny. Period.

You push your fingers into me, pull them out and draw a thin red line, down my sternum.

I am leaking. Come and blood and embarrassed excitement. Every time you touch me it feels like a shock. A blistering burn.

My body, my blood, my lack of control.

It begins with your cock in my mouth. It starts to unravel from there.  Gag and wretch and drool and dote. You kneel up and play with my breasts. Heavy and soft in your hands. I sink down and you tower over me. You pin me. You smack me back and forth across my little cheeks.

You tell me that I'm disgusting. I am. You tell me that I'm bleeding.

You throw yourself inside me. I can feel it. Do it for me. Lose yourself. You fuck me on my back and on my knees. You plunge your sodden fingers, into my mouth.

Rag me by my hair. I look at you and I spit blood at your face.

It drips off your chin
And down your neck.

I can see the anger heat you up. The sheer disbelief. You gob spit all over my eyes and mouth and force my head back onto the bed.

Strands of perfect red and white ooze from my body. I am ecstatic and perched on the edge. Just sitting, sat there. Riding on it, as you force me to ache.

Blood on my back, bloody prints on my hips and arse. Blood on my hands. There's blood on my hands. We climax in a magnetism. Stuck together and forced apart. Primal and raw and full of disgust. We come and crash like rivers. Rapid and barren and wild.

Red
Your hands
There's blood on your hands

We smoke a cigarette on the porch.  It never tasted so good.

Funny ha ha, funny peculiar

You hand is clasped around my mouth. You're calling me a slut and a whore. You have your fingers between my legs and I am soaking. You tell me this isn't about me. You tell me you don't even want to look at me. What a thing to say.

I could have died then. I could have. I could have crumbled into absolute dust.

You tell me to get up and go to bed. You tell me to take my clothes off.
You tell me that you're going to fuck me.

I spread my legs for you. I comply with you. I need you.

You fuck me so hard. You cover my mouth tightly with your palm. You berate me for being wet and climatic. You make me come so fucking hard.

I free my mouth. I gasp for breath. You drive yourself into me painfully. I bite you. I scratch you. I tell you that I hate you and I pull you into me so close. I pull you in.

The comedian - anticipation of pleasure is pleasure itself

Sitting in crowded bars amongst friends. Hands intertwined with each other. You reach into my sleeve and twist my skin until it burns. I maintain your gaze. You slide you hand underneath my jacket and pinch the soft flesh of my waist, through my thin chiffon shirt.

Just because you can. Just because I'll let you.

You push your body into mine and I can feel how hard you are. You dig your nails into the back of my neck. You push your knee between my thighs, whilst we sit on tall bar stools. It makes me seep.

You blow cigarette smoke in to my face. You curse to me, under your breath. You pull threads out of my heart - make fun of of my feelings for you. I threaten to take them away. You slide you thumb into my mouth and I suck on it like a babe. You berate and compliment me in equal measure. But I am sure of how you feel. I know exactly what you want.

Anticipation of pleasure is pleasure itself.

Funny times

You say such things to me. Such amazing things. You smack me hard across the face and stop me from rolling my eyes. You grit your teeth and snarl at me;

"Where are you fucking going? Come back. Look at me. Fucking look at me. You're a cunt. You're a slut. Feel every fucking inch of me. You're so wet. Am I hurting you? I don't care. Beg me. Beg me to let you touch yourself. Beg me to let you come. Are you enjoying this?"

Yes. Yes I am.

The break up #2

Standing in the middle of the road. I have our cases at my feet. One is yours, one is mine. All the baggage that we ever owned. I can still just about see you, in the distance. Half way down the road. I'm half way back. I can still just about see you. As a shadow, as a mirage.

Just not. Just about. It almost feels like a dream. The ground beneath my feet is hot and you're really far away now. You're not coming back. I can still just about see you, as a ghost and as a vision. Sad and inhuman. As sorrow and loss.

I can still feel you as pain. As a sound, as a whisper. As a ghost and as a vision and as a loss.

The comedian again.

I cannot wait to feel you. You push your body into mine, and I can taste sweat on your neck, and it drips down my spine. You fill up every single hole and I come and go, so many fucking times. It feels so good. So intimate and visceral and innocent and it feels so good. You talk to me, stitching fear and desire into my flesh and wetting my lips. You make me talk to you. I chat in my usual apocalyptic drawl about nothingness and the pursuit of my own dissolve. My acid bath. It hurts, when you fuck me on my back, and it makes me hope I'll bleed.

You are such fun. You chastise and berate me and make me feel like a very desirable whore, like a fleshy ball of sex and shame, a cute sweet innocence. An equal player in a game. You make me drool. You push your fingers into my mouth. You make the room beat and sweat. You shake my flesh and smack my cheek. You stall my breath. Every time I talk to you. I stall my breath

The comedian

Sweet, you are, the nicest thing, right now and that's the way it always starts and never ends.

That anticipation laden thick like butter between my lips and it's heady and needs to begin.

I am so soaking wet. So wet. Desperate to get what I want out of you but it doesn't quite feel that cold this time. It doesn't quite feel like that. It doesn't quite feel like nothing.

You slide your fingers between my thighs. I stare at you in desperate grace and stifle cries, whilst I cover my mouth with my hand and we fuck and we sleep.

The break up

Why would you tell me that you're in pain? Why would you tell me that you're sad? I won't tell you that I'm suffering. I won't share. I was never very good at sharing anyway...

I never knew that you would hurt. I never knew it. I hoped that you would. I hoped that it would burn. The loss would scald you. The regret would smart. You cannot sleep. I hoped that you'd feel sick. Throw up. Mop up.

I hope that one day I can purge you from my body.

One day you'll stop being in my head.

The first thought that I have in the morning. The last thing 'I think about at night. You've already left my dreams. You've already left.