|The Story||The Authors|
As in any other situation when danger threatened, Hickey dissociated into a
mystical realm where he was simultaneously hero, lover, voluptuously ethereal
hermaphrodite wind-dancer, and stalwart procurer of mystical rare orchids,
traipsing through an innerscape composed of bits and pieces of predictably and
poorly plotted action and fantasy films — think: Rambo meets Pete's
Dragon with a dose or nine of "the little guy always defeats the Evil
Empire" copped from Star Wars and an impossibly buxom and willing
Claudia Schiffer unzipping her rubber body-suit at the end of it...
Sadly — or fortunately, depending on which side of the analytical fence one is standing - such psychological misroutings of reality possess half-lives comparable to the functionality curves of the remote controls included with mid-priced Sony CD players. Which is to say, as time passed, heaping love upon death, insult upon injury, Matthew found himself less and less able to dissociate via the standard model, even in dreams. A buzzing as of a swarm of gadflies sounded in his ears and the muscles of his face as he became aware the bearded old sea-salt was yet intoning his peculiar, briny sage in the tided meter of the days when giants sailed the seven seas. The sea-serpents regarded him with great round eyes suffuse with adoration as he continued his poem:
[The Rime of the Ancient Moron: being an excerpt from the poem]
"...and as we o'er those foam-topped wavelets
did skim as if perched 'pon Triton's broad back
and Porpoisissimus did school in our wake
frolicking with the mer-maids who tossed
the wonders of their submarine empire: strange elfin globes
and doughnuts of so shiny an appearance, and light
as if filled with air, yet bearing strange nipples,
by which they might be collapsed of their shapes, and squozled
into a tinyness which man hath ne'er before seen,
not even the wily Switzerman with his jeweler's eye
beer into the whirring depths of his automata...
And as we continued o'er those crystal waves
did we see a stranger isle than the one which we had left
filled with polystyrene cups and plastic forks
and yes, even some oven cleaner
And then some psyco monkeys fell out of some trees!
wait a minute islands suk!
STUFF IS COOL!
And then some psyco monkeys fell out of some trees!
wait a minute islands suk!
STUFF IS COOL!
So entranced had Matthew become by the sonorous poetry issuing from the Ancient Moron's cracked lips that he failed to notice the very significant transformation which was occurring among the sea-serpents floated coiled at the old man's feet. And then he looked down and saw that they had all turned to... yes... severed penises... a knowledge, a something-which-refused-to-be-denied, rose up in him and he gulped, eyes to the crowd, not wanting to look at the old man, for he knew, oh no, say it ain't so, oh, but of course it was, and he could not keep himself from the certain knowledge, bursting blushing his pulse quickening and tears rising from the corners of his eyes as he looked up and saw brine-hardened flesh drop away from the old man to reveal, obviously, the manically giggling figure of Jeremy Crink, waving a certain familiar severed member teasingly before Matt's horrified eyes and inquiring, in his sinister mocking tones, "So, Hickster — what'll ya give me for it? What's your own penis worth to you?"
"What, no not that, anything but that!"
|Jeremy grinned malevolently. "Yes, Matthew: you stand before me a eunuch. Sexless, and still only in your teens, dude: think about it: your sexual prime — useless! A non-entity. You can watch stag films till the end of time, you can eat more pussy than a big game hunter, dude, but for you — nada! Never the satisfaction of shooting high up into a woman while her legs in the small of your back milk you for dear life! Never the delicious joy of blowjobs from dirty unseen sailors as you casually stroll along the piers. Nothing! So Matthew, I ask you to consider, and consider well: what is your penis worth to you?"|
Matthew thrashed beneath the restraints of the hospital gurney trying to grab
at the small shriveled bit of flesh that Crink waved gleefully before his still
semiconscious eyes. The effects of the Morphine and aenesthetic clogging his speech centers so that all he could manage in his anger and agony was a frustrated gurgle. "Give it back, you asshole! he wanted to scream. His meaty sausage fingers clenching the much bleached bedclothes in rage. But all that came out was muted strangled sound rather like a wet goose fart.
Jeremy Crink danced merrily around the bed waving the thing dangling in his hand with increasing agitation. "What'll you give me for it, Big boy? What'll you give?" and he roared off in a spasm of evil laughter.
Deep in his groggy brain Matthew tried to calculate anything and everything he had of any value. a complete set of "Flaming Carrot" comics in mint condition. A lock of Bon Scott's pubic hair. The original video tapes of Pamela Lee and Tommy. (not that he'd need them anyway if he couldn't make a deal with Crink.)A pint of Keith Richards' unfiltered blood from a tranfusion/exchange in Switzerland in 1971. He had to have something that Crink wanted.
""Gurgle gurgle schzaarrgh!" he cried desperately sending Jeremy into deeper crippling spasms of laughter.
Stifling a still palpable giggle Jeremy leaned once more over Matthew's raging and restrained body. "Well, Well, me laddie (and I do use the term loosely) it looks like we can't come to an agreement." Hickey lurched desperatley against the leather straps. " I guess there's only one thing left for me to do then," said Crink with a truly malicious grin. And leaning in extremely close to Hickey's reddened raging face he waggled the little fleshy bit once more and promptly popped it into his mouth, chewed it a bit, and swallowed.
Hickey felt all the life in him drain out like a great turd being flushed. His future spread out before him in a great empty and unfufillable yearning. At nineteen his life (and his as yet properly begun sex life) had been hopelessly snuffed out before his eyes. And He began to weep unconsolably.
It was at this point that the nurse, one Nurse Doetzer, entered the room to check on Hickey's bedpan. "Crink!" she barked, "Stop bothering the patient, And For Godsakes leave his breakfast Alone! He needs all the protein he can get to build his blood supply back up and he won't get that if you keep coming in here and gobbling up his eggs and sausage like that. If you're so damn hungry, then go to the cafeteria and eat. So get out of here NOW! while I change his dressings. If this transplant doesn't take I'm going to be the first one to suggest you as the replacement donor."
At that Crink slunk out of the room.
|Crink slunk into a broom closet on the left, and waited. He had an appointment in 5 minutes, and where better to wait than here. Suddenly, from behind, he heard a noise. Jumping around to face whoever was sneaking up behind him, he came face to face with|
|a naked dog.|
|the nurse, however this time she was mad. "That's it", she screamed and she tore his clothes off of his body, while shredding her own. He could only stare at the breasts which hung off of her body.|
|the nurse, however this time she was mad. "That's it", she screamed and she tore his clothes off of his body, while shredding her own. He could only stare at the breasts which hung off of her body. Grabbing her buttocks with his hands, he pulled her tight to him.|
|At least he tried to. His hand passed through her body and he felt nothing there. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again she was gone. "Goddamn hallucinations!" he said to himself. "I thought we weren't going to do this anymore!" He shouted and shook his fist at the ceiling. He felt his heart begin to race as he anticipated another flashback episode.|
|Then he bought a beer|
|He thought it was safe to drink beer in his closet, boy was he wrong. He quickly realized that his beer was too hot, so he decided to throw it away. But he didn't know he was in a closet. So he threw it in front of him, and the bottle went back on him and knocked him out.|
He fell to the somewhat floor beneath him in balled up heap.Covered in sweat
and dirty clothes he suddenly awoke feeling disallutioned of where he was.He
suddenly realized and tried to open the door with his slowly adjusting eyes.
Its was dark around as he opened the door but he could barely see a mess but around him.In his messy shirt and cheap sandels he stumbled over heaps of people and empty bowls.
THE SMELL WAS STAGNATING,AS HIS STOMACH KNOTTED,WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING?
HE HAD DONE NOTHING TO ENDURE THIS LIVING HELL THAT WAS THROWN UPON HIM, FOR ONLY
BELIEVING. ALL OF HIS LIFE HE HAD LIVED THE SAME, NOW THEY WANTED TO CHANGE
ALL OF THAT,ONLY FOR THEIR EVIL. HE WOULD NOT CHANGE! HE WOULD ONLY LIVE
THE WAY HE ALWAYS HAD, BY HIS OWN RULES, NO MATTER THE PUNISHMENT HE WOULD
|And he cried not for the heartless bitch, whore that stole away with his child. Pain, suffering and he would return the torture|
but whenthe torture came he could bare it for he had his toe nails ripped off
and when this happened he screamed like a mother in birth
for it hurt so much he could bare it
he was also flogged for good measure
but it was not so
he found his kids
saved them from the poontang whore
and he was forever good
but he never got his toenails back
|instead he grew another set of finger; Thes with claws, large, black and sharp.|
|Actually, you can't grow another set of 'finger'. It generally helps when you are writing, especially for publication, if you can spell and if you know what correct syntax is. However, who am I kidding - this is the internet, no?|
|Thusly did Jeremy Crink's guilty conscience flop about like a freshly hooked spotted perch on a pier. Sometimes even he had a hard time believing the awful cruelty with which he treated the ever tempting Matthew j Hickey. It wasn't even that he really savored or enjoyed it all that much, it was more like it was just there like some savory cherry pie on a windowsill. It just seemed to be the perfect thing to do.|
|After all, when Matthew walked into his life, how was he to know his attraction for him would grow day by day? He couldn't acknowledge it without admitting to the terrible, formless *thing* that just grew in the far reaches of his mind; it was the name everyone called him, before he stopped all the rumors cold. Amazing, really, how easy it was to get a girl in this neighborhood... Jeremy wondered about the way he treated them... and Matthew. Would he ever manage to acknowledge how he truly felt about all the painted female faces that swarmed in and out of his bed, cold and emotionless? The passion that only emerged when he felt the bite of iron or leather against his skin. . . or theirs? The darkness that enveloped him when he touched the handle of the whip. . . would he ever tell Matthew about the deep desires of his heart? Or would he continue his verbal cruelty, day by day?|
|Yes he probably would continue but who was he to care...|
|There was something about their relationship of the Eternal Opposites, yin und yang, a Gemini as a single unit more than as the twainness of two separate beings, locked forever in bonds which were almost molecular, mused Jeremy to himself. In other words, what would I do without him, heh-heh-heh? Faust was as doomed to summon Mephistopheles as Mephistopheles was to consign the good Doctor to Hell... Only Gretchen was the x-factor thrown into the mix, ultimately the instrument of his salvation, but — well, let's just say, I've snuffed out any chance of Matthew ever finding himself in that sort of trouble. This way I can have him all to myself, for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever — At this thought, Jeremy smiled a toothy smile to himself in the mirror and, noticing a stray bit of meat from his lunch protruding from between his two front teeth, extracted the rotten morsel with the prehensile tip of his tongue and savored its rancid tang burning on his tongue a moment before consigning the thing to his stomach.|
|Matthew on the other hand had refused his meal once again, much to Nurse Doetze's dismay. He was a miserable creature, wallowing in self-pity. Matthew Hickey believed without a shadow of a doubt that his life was over. What kind of man (not to mention rock star) could he ever hope to be now that he'd lost his very manhood? He cursed the wretched animal that had done this to him. He cursed the surgeon for not trying harder to save his severed member. He cursed Jeremy Crink just for being Jeremy crink and he cursed his parents for having brought him into this God forsaken world in the first place. With all his hopes and dreams of fame and fortune shattered as his testicles were being digested, Matthew no longer possessed the will to fight the inevitable and he resigned himself to become a cop, to follow in his father's footsteps like his mother had always wanted him to.|
Hopelessly Matthew chased the spectral phantom of his grievences with Jeremy
Crink like a man chasing his hat on a windy day, forever just beyond the reach
of his fingertips. he couldn't exactly place the blame for all his suffering
squarely on Crink's shoulders but the two seemed eternally Siamese-twinned in
his mind. And here it was yet again with Mother's untimely passing by her own
A half mile ahead of Hickey's cruiser Crink in his ambulance lurched drunkenly around the light backroad traffic, siren's blaring. Hickey kept pace but didn't try to overtake him. He still had a lot of figuring to do. He also knew that he'd never actually get Crink. Thirty five years of Crinkly experiences had taught him that much. But the chase, just the chasing, that always felt good, hopeful even. The very idea that he might this time bring his nemesis to ground. Just this once.
Today this whistfulness was mixed with the grand new found sense of impending freedom that Mother's death promised. It was a strange and discomforting feeling. Like walking up a dark stairway and missing that nonexistent last step. Hickey's mind hung there in that moment of temporary panic between the footstep and phantom. His future lay spreading out before him in a panoramic vista of the possible, and he just began to realize really began (or would end) with Jeremy Crink.
Hickey gunned his cruiser.
This would be somewhere in the hundreds of dead bodies Hickey would see. They
say you never forget the first time you see someone die.
For Hickey it wasn't actually a person, it was a deer that was just crushed in front of him in the road. However, that didn't kill it.
Hickey slammed on the brakes as the Toyota hatchback sped away. The young buck was left lying in the drainage ditch, obviously in some frantic deer shock. Hickey went back to his car and pulled out his newly acquired Blue Steel magnum and spent a round.
It was the most God-awful sound imagineable. The deer's head jerked back and then came this hissing like a tire going slowly flat. Near the end was this gurgling noise. That was blood pouring out of the wound in the mammal's neck.
Fuck! Hickey though to himself. He had missed the beast's head and put a clean shot through it's larynx. Hickey inched closed to the dazed deer and fired again, this time accomplishing his mission.
He always remembered that deer. With each hit, everytime he saw a dead guy; there was the image of that damned deer.
In all actuality the first time Hickey saw a man die was before he had been corrupted, when he was the point-man on the SWAT team. It had been a suicide. The guy walked out after a two-hour standoff, hands raised, and stuck the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth before pulling the trigger.
Hickey hardly remembered that, but he could remember the vivid details of his deer killing. He even remembered how the blood had turned its white tail dark red.
He was thinking of the deer when he crashed his van into the side of Crink's Honda. And just like that, Crink was dead. His head hanging lifelessly out of the driver's window. The smell of urine mixed with the leaking gasoline made Hickey gag.
Then he lit the match.
Hickey indulged himself with trancelike reveries as he sped along after the
fleeing ambulance with Crink at the wheel.
But even these idle fantasies couldn't completely distract him from the awful chafing of the prosthesis between his sweaty legs. To be sure the thing was an inspiring and crafty bit of engineering (paid, naturally at the hospital's expense).A real thing of beauty (It certainly helped overcome the embarrassment of the communal police showers), but it was not always comfortable.
In the wake of the original accident, once it had become apparent that his original member was not going to be able to be reattached the hospital upper management had gone into overdrive. Even before the initial effects of the anesthetic had worn away Matthew had found his in his groggy hand a pen and in front of him a release. In return for not suing the hospital he would receive an expensive prosthetic replacement for his severed penis, a lifetime of free healthcare and a cash settlement to be determined later. Not fully comprehending, Matthew signed. The small pen wrapped in his fist like a child's crayon.
The device was ingeniously made and almost fully "functional". A certain adolescent vanity in him had made Matthew choose a model a full three inches larger than his original equipment and modeled after a popular porn star's prodigious unit. From the large purplish head (circumsised)to the detailed sculpting of veins and downy pubic hair (carefully harvested and selected to match the color and texture his own in all but DNA)every nuance of reality had been examined. Hidden deep within the remarkably lifelike folds of the scrotal sack a small valve pumped fluid into the larger portion to achieve tumescence. A tiny watch battery (not supplied) could even be used to make the thing vibrate and thusly enhance the owner's partner's pleasure. Matthew made sure he got all the options.
For many weeks after the final fitting he'd sat in front of the mirror admiring the faux penis from many angles. For hours on end he practiced activating the valve in such a way that it looked natural. It truly was a shining beauty of a manly member and in a hundred and fifty ways better than his original equipment. Save one.
Had all the sensation of a brick.
He'd only been moved to use it thusly only twice. Her name was Sherri Wheaton. He'd been moved to woo her more or less out of a secret need to prove to himself that even with the daily testosterone injections and prosthesis he was still a man. They'd met at the Dairy Queen. After a long and gentlemanly courtship and a long soulful talk about the matter she asked to see it. She touched it. they kissed and itwas all downhill from there.
She loved it. From the flawlessly smooth skin, the near perfect length (big, but not too big.) and a craftily designed curve to stimulate just the right spot it was all that Sherri had ever wanted out of a penis. When Hickey hit the vibrate switch, over the edge she went.
Unfortunately, for Matthew it was not so fun. It was an effort that reminded him oddly of shoveling snow. Backbreaking exertion with no real pay-off. All through the act he looked down a Sherri as she thrashed and moaned beneath him. She looked so ridiculous. He felt detatched from the whole experience. She was experiencing sensations he would never have again. And Hickey began to hate her for it. The hopeless sham of it all washed over him like an ocean swell. Deep inside him the itch he would never be able to scratch again throbbed. pain, jealousy and hate filled him. When Sherri had had her fill, Matthew silently got dressed and went home. He never called her again.