Obscenity

I’m nearly finished with a second read of Gorges Bataille’s Blue of Noon, I didn’t rush through it this time, and gave the narrative a lot of thought. And this time, I realized what he was attempting to do with the language. He was using it to disgust the reader. To make every possible sensations obscene, to pronograph-ize the emotion. And then it occurred to me that anything in this world can be obscene, it’s just a matter of how you look at it, or how you get other people to look at it.

I’m actually quite amazed at how you can turn anything into pornography, if you truly wanted to.

***

Dirty

I was filthy and upset. I had no idea when he had removed the condom, but at some point while subjected in that visceral position that required me to be on all fours, he had insolently pulled it off his dick. I heard the sudden snap of rubber as it came off, and felt the splash of hot liquid fall onto my lower back, before his naked penis made a re-entry into my pussy.

He was raping me. I was having sex with regret as an afterthought, knowing full well that the clinic for STD’s would have to serve for Tiffany’s at breakfast the next morn. It was rape.

Something detonated, and he came all over my lower back. And with the repugnant white liquid, he lubricated my arsehole and proceeded to fuck it with what had felt like his fist. I was almost worked up to orgasm through my bowels, and might have. I felt disgustingly self-conscious.

He picked my filthy little corpse up and straddled it across his waist, and made a successful attempt at transposing it to the bathroom. I was to be made clean, just as was mandatory for all pretty little corpses.

He stuck me under the shower and scaled my skin. His fingers burned on my pussy as he soaped me down with shampoo the flavour of Clorets.

It was then that I pissed on him. He knew it, my urine was hotter then the water, and far from pure. I wanted to command him to suck me dry. I loathed myself for wanting to allow him to fuck me, and I wasn’t capable of consideration when I hated myself.

I wanted him to piss on me. I found my collarbones erotic, not to mention extremely erogenous. I wanted him to piss on my collar bones, but I couldn’t ask. Instead, I cracked my kneecaps while falling down hard against the ceramic floor, wincing as I jammed his penis into my mouth. I chocked myself forcing it down my throat, the gagging feeling like pleasure. He continually muttered words of appreciation for the texture of my gullet.

Then he told me he was going to come. I pulled my lips away and rubbed the head of his penis against my collarbones, and he came all over them.

Xoxox