Confessions of a Slut (2) (1415 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.73 on 24 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by SpikeGoddess (View user info) at 2006-04-06 10:25:33 EDT
Continued from http://www.ubersite.com/m/85942
(Note: I'm playing with voice and point of view, and the continuity
between pieces may be limited or entirely non-existant. This doesn't
quite follow logically from the first post. It's more like a cluster
of similar parts of a story but not a cohesive or finished thing.
Comments comparing the styles/voices of one post to another are most
helpful.)
"That's what you had to tell me, Janie? That's your big secret?"
Cipher burst into a laugh that was as bright and sloppy as her red,
smeary mouth. "Damn...it's Clinton and the meaning of "is." It's Marilyn
singing "I Wanna be Loved". It's Lizzie Borden eating pears in the
fucking attic !"
Janie blinked deliberately.
"Cipher, what the fuck are you talking about?" Janie had tried to
sound empathic up to this point, but her frustration broke through the
veil of I'm-in-touch-with-my-feelings-and-our-intersubjectivity that
she'd been desperately trying to affect. Cipher Obscura (which, of
course, was not her real name) was the goddess of 8th Street Buzz, and
she held court from a red throne in the corner of the shop that was
left over from an experimental production of Hamlet that was staged in
the shop back in 2002 when Cipher was obsessed with the environmental
theatre movement. (It never seemed to dent her ego or dampen her
enthusiasm when her grand scemes dissolved into bickering and
obscurity, and she could always blame the disorganization and lack of
accomplishment on the inherent nature of anarchy.)
"It's like you're doing this perfectly fucked-up behavior that's
expressing...expressing..." In place of a word she waved her arms
around in some elaborate hand-gesture, then looked back at Janie. "You
know what I mean?"
Janie sighed.
She wasn't sure how letting the new girl at the open mic finger-fuck
her in the bathroom had anything to do with Lizzie Borden, and she
wasn't sure that Cipher was capable of explaining the link either.
Cipher leaned forward and placed a hand on Janie's thigh, "Stop
kirking out. We'll get to the bottom of this. Of course you're gonna
fuck around on that suit of yours. Nobody knows why you're with him
anyway, Janie baby. See, you're acting out, it's like Freudian
hysteria...remember that photo-play we had here in October where that
chick burned herself and took pictures of the blisters and the---"
Janie couldn't concentrate on Cipher's reinterpretation of Freud, and
she wasn't sure that being compared to a masochistic art photographer
was any better than being compared to Lizzie Borden. She wasn't sure
she liked Cipher calling Jack a "suit." After all, it was well and
good for her to complain about her boyfriend's bourgeois habits, but
quite another if somebody else attacked him. For all of his
predictable, boring ways, Janie loved him. She loved the way he got up
and went to bed like clockwork, the way he made her finish her orange
juice, the way he actually read the paper and got worked up over the
Dow Jones. She loved that he was so different and so captivated with
her, the way he idolized her art and treated her studio like a temple.
She loved him. And she'd fucked up. Bigtime.
Cipher relished the opportunity to psychoanalyze anybody, and she
talked like she was biting into something sweet and juicy, relishing
every minute of it. Janie just kept nodding interestedly but let her
mind wander back to Saturday night. The memories came in flashes: the
whisper-voice of that black-eyed poet and her long red nails when she
threw her hand over Janie's mouth as she came, the cold tile on the
exposed skin on the small of her back, getting sick in her hair on the
side of First Avenue and thinking 'serves me right', Jack's blissfully
ignorant appearence as he sprawled out under the fluffy duvet and the
way his body felt so warm when he wrapped his arms around her and
kissed her neck before falling back to sleep.
She thought back to before the mess, to kissing Jack goodbye. Unbeknownst to her
neat-freak lover, who'd probably been balancing the checkbook or
managing his IRA or engaging in some other equally stable,
business-minded pursuit, Janie had been drinking Jameson steadily for
the previoust hour and her agitation was beginning to soften into the
fluidity of the first stages of buzz.
She didn't drink in secret because she was an alcoholic. She drank in
secret because she was an Artist, a melancholic, and because somebody
in that perfect apartment had to do something messy and inapropriate
every once in a while. She felt so wound up and pressurized with the
off-white walls and the off-white bedspread and the marble countertops
and the fucking ficus tree that it was like being a diet coke can that
somebody shook real hard. She had to decompress. The first drink was
like easing open the screw-top just enough to release the pressure.
The second drink made the bubbles spring to the surface, made her
effervescent and pleasant. The third drink and she was positively
refreshing.
"...that's what Freud says. And it does seem interesting to me that
she was eating PEARS, which look so feminine...Janie?"
She was on the third drink by the time Jack tried to kiss her goodbye,
so she turned her head to the side and offered a cheek instead of her
mouth. (Spearmint gum only goes so far, after all.) He told her to
have fun and mentioned his plan to go to the gym as he gave her body a
quick visual once-over. Janie took the comment to be a veiled allusion
to the newly increased fleshiness of her figure, brought on by her
renunciation of all forms of dieting as tools of patriarchal control.
That look alone made her want to lick icing out of a bowl or dip
strawberries in chocolate in protest. The cab ride was a pleasant blur
of excitement and a quick rehearsal of the outline her free-associated
shaman-trance poem that she planned to perform, and five minutes of half-hearted zen
meditation, (assuming you can call it zen meditation when you're on your
third drink, but Janie wasn't one to get hung up on technicalities.)
8th Street Buzz was packed with the usual suspects, swathed in red
light to evoke a mysterious atmosphere, and pumped with ambient music
accompianied by a live cellist who made orgasm faces whenever she
played a high note. Susannah Jacobs, Janie's best friend who did music
industry PR and had recently made a small fortune working for some
lousy New Orleans band that had become popular after the hurricane
hit, was revelling in her newfound fiscal success by buying drinks for everybody.
She waved Janie over. "I bet she's wearing those vibrating panties with sound censors,"
Susannah observed of the gyrating cellist. She handed Janie a vodka-tonic
and pulled her into the back room.
"So what you should do is think about what it is about Jack that
you've displaced onto the chick, and why you were in the bathroom,
which of course is an interesting choice because of all the shitting
and the vomiting that usually goes on there---"
The time that sprawled out between her arrival and her first step
up to the mic blurred around in her head. One witty conversation
sounded pretty much like another, one decked-out wanna-be artist
blended in to all the others as their wardrobes of expensive second-hand
clothing seemed as interchangeable as pieces of a uniform. There was only
one feature of the night that had stood out. A dark haired girl had pressed
herself up against the wall in the back room, and kept breaking her gaze away
from her conversation to stare right at Janie. Something about those looks
felt instantly dangerous, and a deep throb was steadily building and
pressing itself up against her jeans as if it was trying to break free.
When it was her turn to perform Janie got up to the mic and promptly
forgot her rehearsed outline. It had something to do with implosions
and the World Trade Center, but none of that seemed relevant anymore
as she felt the swirling music wrap around her and the building tension
as that girl dragged her hand back and forth across her cleavage.
Back and forth, back and forth. Janie was hypnotized.
It was the perfect state in which to begin a shamanic-trance performance poem.
She didn't remember much of what she said, of the actual words that built up
to the crescendo of whoops and ululations from the audience and
that would come to be referenced as, "intriguing," "fascinating," or "absorbing,"
by the men who knew better than to try to pick up a feminist performance
artist by saying, "that monologue you did about the cunt---that got me pretty hot."
open open OPEN your warm love-mouth and i'll find a way to shiver beside
oh god the way your body hides herself and
i get lost when you find
something sweet and silken like wet wet cloth
The girl in the back row hadn't moved, but her eyes took on a new
attention, a new focus. She didn't look disinterested anymore. Janie
had hooked her. Feedback loops were initiating themselves, the looks
intensified the trance and the words intensified the looks and the
looks churned out more words and Janie's body throbbed harder and
harder and she vomited word after word:
oh release me hot deception and let in a new perception of a
WOMAN with dark hair and open open OPEN
heart-mouth are you beating something out beside my chest or
yours the creamy mounds of venus and i thought i was
i thought i was a straight line girl until i
i thought i was a straight line girl until i fucked you.
The room erupted in applause. Nobody seemed to notice that Janie
was a lousy poet. You see, in the world of 8th Street Buzz, persona counts
for more than talent, and Janie had built a more elaborate and intriguing
persona than any other artist who lounged around and occasionally presented
work. She'd dabbled in every medium, always to resounding praise and enthusiastic
applause. She'd long suspected she was a fraud, but it all still felt
so good...and the doubt drowned easily enough under the Jameson and vodka.
Somewhere, Cipher was still talking, but Janie didn't hear her. The
force of the memories had wiped the psychobable away.
There had been very little foreplay. They hadn't sat around chatting
and braiding each other's hair and trading make-up tips or asking
each other about their astrological signs. Looks and throbbing, that was
the extent of it. Janie didn't remember following the girl into the bathroom.
As she remembered it, the whole thing was an accident, something that
"just happened."
Janie was washing her hands when the girl came out of the stall and
click click clicked in her high heels over to the door and locked it.
Janie felt her breath quicken and a rush of heat between her legs.
There was no question of the erotic intent behind that gesture. The
door was locked. They were in this together. The girl looked right at
Janie and the throbbing crescendoed so loud that she thought her
pussy might actually scream and she breathed out and then there
was a kiss but who had started it and her body felt so delicious
next to that girl's body, the way their shapes were mirror images,
softness next to softness, the fullness of breasts next to another
pair of breasts, gaping mouth next to another, both of them glossy and
pink, and somehow Janie's hand was touching satin and then her back
was on the wall and her jeans were bursting open and she stood with legs
wide wide apart and she felt pressure on her panties and the girl was looking
at her and the throbbing still was throbbing and then the oh my god my god I'm
coming just cascaded from her lips and waterfall eruption ripples left her shaking
for minutes, long after the girl had gone.
But there was one more thing that haunted her. It was something she thought the girl
had whispered, just at the moment that she was coming so hard up against the cold
tile. Could she really have said that? It had to be some invention of memory, some
fucked-up self-doubt guilt-trip thing... Janie was sure she's made it up, that it was
just an invention of her mind like the kinds of inconsistencies in eye-witness memory
when they swear in court to things that never happened. But still, she thought she'd heard
a low voice whisper right into her ear, just as she quaked and open-mouth moaned through
her climax,
"This is what it feels like to be honest, Ms Artist."
Janie blinked and shook off the memories just in time to hear Cipher conclude, "You see,
the body does not lie, but fantasies don't either. She was eating pears because she
wanted to devour her stepmother. You fucked that chick because you want to
fuck yourself over."
User Reviews
Submitted by mystiamoon (user info) at 2008-11-18 07:45:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome i had no trouble following the story like alot seemed to.
Submitted by Ainkara (user info) at 2006-04-10 08:12:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow.
Submitted by DanielH (user info) at 2006-04-07 22:54:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-04-07 02:46:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah... i didn't even read this... it's way too long for me...
Submitted by Saxon (user info) at 2006-04-07 02:30:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You have written stuff in the past that i have enjoyed. This was a little different and i had to stop reading a couple of times to get the story right in my head but enjoyed it just the same.
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-04-06 19:10:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Durae (user info) at 2006-04-06 12:02:52 (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't have a difficult time following this, and the jumping around was fun. I got really caught up in it.
==============================
Like Durae, I'm having a hard time seeing the faults everyone else has.
I LOVED the flow of this. I love the descriptions, emotions and characterizations.
This is the kind of writing I wish I could pull off.
Bookmarked, Labelled and very much anticipated.
Submitted by cuberat (user info) at 2006-04-06 16:10:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ok...wow.
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2006-04-06 15:25:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ScottPeterson (user info) at 2006-04-06 14:50:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
needs more head-bobbing
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-04-06 14:19:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it well enough.
Submitted by jonukah (user info) at 2006-04-06 13:51:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You heard the cry, too?
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-04-06 12:33:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know where to start praising this and I'm afraid once I start I won't be able to stop.
I think I'll read it a couple more times then come back.
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2006-04-06 12:03:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What everybody else said about the jumping about and formatting.
Still better than most stuff on here.
Submitted by Durae (user info) at 2006-04-06 12:02:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't have a difficult time following this, and the jumping around was fun. I got really caught up in it.
Submitted by BrownEyedGirrl (user info) at 2006-04-06 11:52:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This was a good read...
A little hard to follow but worth it in the end...
This was my favourite sentence:
"Something about those looks
felt instantly dangerous, and a deep throb was steadily building and
pressing itself up against her jeans as if it was trying to break free. "
nice!!
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-04-06 11:26:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I like this very much but it isn't written as well as the other.
I could follow it quite well though even though it is an emotional train wreck, much like the main character.
Nice job.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:57:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by SpikeGoddess (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:52:23 (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks kids.
Davros,
I don't know that there *is* a track, so I'm sorry if I dissapoint you! It's not that I'm ignoring your comment, just that I'm going to be honest in saying that every one of these is a first draft and I don't know where they're going, and I'll adjust as I change my mind. I don't indend for this to unfold as a coherent story from beginning to end. You're certainly entitled to dislike it on those grounds, but just know that I don't intend to 'correct' that aspect of it.
I think the format got messed up b/c I emailed this to myself from another computer, then copy/pasted.
-------------
Fair comment.
Round it up to a +1.5
I enjoyed it, just found it a little difficult at times.
-Dave
Submitted by MichelleNJ (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:55:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it. The formatting has already been mentioned. Also that mile-long sentence towards the end made it kinda of hard to read. But I really liked the story.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:53:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:42:00 (#)
Ranking: 1
This was OK.
I liked the writing, but it seemed to jump from place to place and was really hard to understand at times.
---------
that.
i liked the part about "suspected she was a fraud" and "this is what it feels like to be honest."
to me that's the reason why art's cool but artists blow ass.
Submitted by SpikeGoddess (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:52:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks kids.
Davros,
I don't know that there *is* a track, so I'm sorry if I dissapoint you! It's not that I'm ignoring your comment, just that I'm going to be honest in saying that every one of these is a first draft and I don't know where they're going, and I'll adjust as I change my mind. I don't indend for this to unfold as a coherent story from beginning to end. You're certainly entitled to dislike it on those grounds, but just know that I don't intend to 'correct' that aspect of it.
I think the format got messed up b/c I emailed this to myself from another computer, then copy/pasted.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:51:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
1.5 because of...
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:47:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
needs more anal beeds.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:42:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
This was OK.
I liked the writing, but it seemed to jump from place to place and was really hard to understand at times.
It also really didn't seem to follow on from the previous piece although there were tenuous connections. (Despite your disclaimer).
Mills and Boon is a series of Romance novels to answer a question from your previous post.
Finally, although I didn't rate down for it, what the hell happened to the formatting here?
I like how you write, but others will ignore that and look at the format. (Why am I telling you this, you have been here forever.)
Hope the next part is slightly more on track.
-Dave
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-04-06 10:38:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Packed with all sorts of references.
The only intelligent comment I can make is a throwaway one. Your protagonist strikes me as monstrous and lovely.