Room 213 (474 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.77 on 11 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Vicousness63 (View user info) at 2006-09-23 01:04:03 EDT
I guess you could say I root for the underdogs, and I'm certain you'd say that I have no morals. While in theory pedophilic acts stem from a deep, underlying mental condition, I can assure you Freud would probably just hypothesize that all pedophiles wanted to fuck their young moms or something. Prison really blew, though I remember pretending like it wasn't all that bad when my son came to visit. Two years after they found me guilty of possession of child porn (child? Hardly. Who considers 13 a child?) I was released on parole. Reagan was up for reelection, but I had my money on Hart for the democratic nomination. He seemed like the type to enjoy some good old fashioned kiddie porn.
This condom drying to my fairly small cock is really beginning to itch. I can still smell the rank stench of her cigarette stained hair. Her yellow nails and comparatively more yellow teeth remained in my vision as though presented before me. She wore cheap clothes, smoked cheap cigarettes, and put a cheap price on herself. Fifty bucks for a fuck. Twenty for a blowjob. I went with the blowjob. Her technique was impeccable, which somehow made it all the worse for me. Her obvious lack of innocence, her apparent deficiency of shame... Like a wild creature of famine she hungrily devoured my weakened mind, my throbbing cock, and my expensive DKNY black leather wallet.
Even more vivid in my mind is the look that will inhabit my young wife's face when she finds out out. Jolene's wide brown eyes will open impossibly bigger, and a translucent sheen like rain on a windshield will sweep over her lenses. Her pretty round cheeks, not childlike but virtuous, will flush a red reminiscent of dry blood. Her lips will retain an almost sexy pout, wet and moistened with tears and saliva. She will fling herself angrily on our bed, as if she were a five year old throwing a tantrum over bedtime. Her tiny fists will pound angrily, and try as I might, I will get no response more productive than "fuck you" for the rest of the night.
Of course, I reasoned, I will deserve the consequential repercussions. She will kick me unceremoniously out on the street the next day. My nosy neighbors will all stand by their fences watching this metaphorical chariot dragging of my charred passions with sickening interest. She will yell of course, ask me when I'm going to grow up, beg me to supply her with answers. But I will lay unresponsive on the hood of my car until she casts the last of my possessions from the front porch.
Now, alone in this seedy hotel room, with a used condom still dangling from my limp dick, I am even more unsure than before of the answer. Hasn't she given more than enough sex? Hasn't Jolene loved me like no other? The questions are here. The answers are all relative. I tried to cry but somehow, couldn't force out the tears. A sharp knock on the door and this reverie snapped shut like a new book.
"Come in. It's unlocked."
A younger girl, roughly 19 if I had to give an estimate, came stumbling awkwardly into the room. She was chubby but not unattractive, with pale blonde hair and black roots, A tawdry latex outfit hugged her rounded figure and it was obvious that she wasn't accustomed to walking in six inch heels.
"What do you do?" I asked, flashing my wallet.
"Anything."
"Prices," I demanded.
"Eh, twenty for a handjob, thirty for a blowjob, sixty for sex, seventy five for..." Her nasal voice began to grate on my nerves. I tuned it out subtly and grew hard imagining myself beating her to a bleeding, fleshy pulp.
"Hey, how about this. How about three hundred."
"What are the conditions?" she asked suspiciously in that whining shriek of a voice. I threw the money at her.
"You let me fuck you three times."
"And...?"
"I get to scratch, bite, hit, whip, whatever. I get to do it all, as hard as I'd like to."
"What if I say no?" she whispered hoarsely, backing up towards the door.
"I'll throw you down and make you. And then I'll ritualistically disembowel your chubby little stomach and play with your entrails until someone complains about the stench and I get carried away by the cops." I enjoyed the way her face paled pleasantly, as if someone had suddenly spilled milk under the top layer of her already porcelain skin.
"Are- are you kidding?" she breathed, her eyes darting about for a weapon.
"Of course I am you fucking failure." She nodded as if she had never truly believed what I was saying, but watching her hands relax significantly betrayed her vacant head gesture. "So are you going to do it, or do I have to call someone else?"
"I'll do it." She said timidly. "I'm saving up for college," was her hesitant addition.
"I don't really care, goldilocks."
An hour and a half later she staggered dazedly from the room, blood seeping sickly from underneath the back of her tight dress and trickling stickily down her inner thighs. Her blonde hair was streaked red. Her thick lips were bruised purple. Her regret, her guilt, it hung thickly in the air like moisture on a humid day. She stumbled drunkenly to her car and took off.
I watched from the window in a sex induced psychosis. Scrawled on the walls in varying shades of red was a simple six letter word. I fell back on the still wet bed and breathed deeply the vaporized cocktail of decadence. The coppery blood, the spicy smell of sex. My head spun. It spun and spun and spun and abruptly I could not fucking think. I could not move. My eyes burned. My head felt heavy. As if reduced to the state of a five year old, I began to sob loudly and unabashedly into the unwashed pillows. I ripped angrily at my own unkempt hair. I pushed and pulled and tried desperately to remove the sickness from myself.
As I gazed at 'Jolene' scratched garnet into the walls, I realized that there was nothing to remove from myself. I would always be like this. I would always be sick. I would always want to rip and shred bodies like paper.
As sore as I was, I decided to revel at last in myself. I called the escort service back and demanded two more girls. "Young as you have them, this time." I grunted perversely into the phone. The gruff woman's voice assured me she would send two fresh ones, and I sunk contentedly back onto the bed, touching myself with all the gentility of a murderous cat.
User Reviews
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-10-02 10:36:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by morontian (user info) at 2006-09-25 11:41:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Bob_Dole (user info) at 2006-09-24 11:49:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent writing. Well spoken. If this had been an ubermaddness post, you'd have gone a long way.
Submitted by kybernetikum (user info) at 2006-09-24 10:55:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Cracked_out_cali (user info) at 2006-09-23 01:37:20 (#)
Ranking: 2
Is it wrong that I was aroused afer reading this?
Yes.
Submitted by Cracked_out_cali (user info) at 2006-09-24 10:36:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene
Im begging of you please dont take my man
Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene
Please dont take him just because you can
Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green
Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, jolene
He talks about you in his sleep
Theres nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, jolene
And I can easily understand
How you could easily take my man
But you dont know what he means to me, jolene
Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene
Im begging of you please dont take my man
Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene
Please dont take him just because you can
You could have your choice of men
But I could never love again
Hes the only one for me, jolene
I had to have this talk with you
My happiness depends on you
And whatever you decide to do, jolene
Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene
Im begging of you please dont take my man
Jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene
Please dont take him even though you can
Jolene, jolene
--------
Dolly Parton...WOOT!
Submitted by viciousness63 (user info) at 2006-09-24 08:56:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks for your comments guy.
Submitted by goferforhire (user info) at 2006-09-23 12:40:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
moo
Submitted by Falconer (user info) at 2006-09-23 11:29:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-09-23 11:00:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Room 213 was the number of the apartment belonging to Milwaukee serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, who killed 17 young men and decapitated them, then had sex with their necks.
Auto +2 Jeffrey Dahmer.
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-09-23 01:57:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great, now every time I hear this song I will think of this story.
Jolene (Ray LaMontagne)
Cocaine flame in my bloodstream
Sold my coat when I hit Spokane
Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes in the early morning rain
Lately my hands they don't feel like mine
My eyes been stung with dust, I'm blind
Held you in my arms one time
Lost you just the same
Jolene
I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in the ditch
Booze on my hair
Blood on my lips
A picture of you, holding a picture of me
in the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene
Ah, La, La, La, La, La
Jolene
Been so long since I seen your face
or felt a part of this human race
I've been living out of this here suitcase for way too long
A man needs something he can hold onto
A nine pound hammer or a woman like you
Either one of them things will do
Jolene
I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in the ditch
Booze in my hair
Blood on my lips
A picture of you, holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene
La, La, La, La, La, La, La
Jolene
La, La, La, La, La, La, La
Jolene
Submitted by Cracked_out_cali (user info) at 2006-09-23 01:37:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Is it wrong that I was aroused afer reading this?