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Disease

Posted 7 March 2008, 2.58 am by shaggy

The most assurance he had ever received that he was on the right path was purely accidental. When she fell on his knife, and when the smile came across her face, he had not realized it was a spasm.

He watched her face as the glare of life faded from her eyes. He smiled with her and kissed her lips. They felt cold. And they smiled back at him, the imprint of his kiss still on them.

He made love to her after her heart stopped beating. It was exquisite-- no judgment, no complaints. He was neither too rough nor too soft, and she opened up for him easily. When he had finished, he lay beside her, caressing her breasts.

He wondered what it would be like if she made love to him. Would he be as cold? Would he be immediately hard for her if she came to him, as he did to her?

He laid by her side, waiting. And waiting.

After a few hours, he decided that he mustn't be attractive enough for her. He pouted, marched off and lifted weights for a few hours, finally coming back to bed when his muscles throbbed in pain. He looked at her, unable to move. He wondered whether or not he would have the energy to perform if she jumped on him now. But still, she stared at him with those lifeless, beautiful eyes.

He ran his fingers through her hair. She was once so... energetic, and now all she could do was stare at him with those cursed, co-dependent eyes.

It was so frustrating.

He fell asleep, dreaming of her clinging to him. She was suffocating him, and he could not bare it. When he woke, she was there, her breasts taunting him. He couldn't take it, his desire was too extreme, and he made love to her what he promised himself was one last time.

Leaving for work, he felt invigorated. He had closed the book, had told her he was leaving and did not want her in his bed when he came home. Being able to say those words to her was the ultimate freedom, he believed. No longer did he have to feel insignificant, less than a man, unable to please her. No longer did he feel that her approval had waned since that one smile she had given him, and that no matter how hard he fought she would never approve of anything he did.

But when he came home, she was still there, in his bed.

Alexander
on 10 March 2008, 7.16 am
Now you see, if this site was as popular as it should be, I'd have been inundated with complaints about necrophiliac slashfic on the front page.


craig
on 10 March 2008, 6.18 pm
I'd like to make a complaint Mr Alexander. I will not stand (or sit) for this type of content on the Great interweb. There is a time and a place for corpse fucking, and it sure as hell ain't now.

Please remove ASAP.

Thanks.


shaggy
on 11 March 2008, 12.07 am
I'd like to defend my rights of free speech about corpse-fucking.

And to defend my rights, I offer this bit of advice: necrophilia-- crack open a cold one!


Alexander
on 11 March 2008, 11.43 am
Mr Craig, your complaint has been reviewed.

Sadly we are going to disregard it because you are Scottish.


craig
on 30 March 2008, 8.29 pm
Damn... And Black people think they have it tough!!


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A year or so ago I undertook a study entitled 'Faces of Death'. I produced a quite substantial body of work concerning corpses, and faces in particular. I concentrated mainly on victims of murder. This image was produced by rolling a thick layer of ink onto a steel plate and rubbing, scratching and soaking it off with turps. The plate was then pressed onto paper, and this is the result.


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Hey Cris, it's as busy here as it was at the end - which is to say, not at all

I wish I could new you guys was here in the beginning of 2020 LOL

OMG I was feeling nostalgic and I can’t believe that AKP is still here! So how’s it going ?

Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness

Hmph

80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

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