I Was With Her While She Was Here
We met up and made love in a hotel room. It had smooth glossy floors and thick curtains for keeping out sunshine and bullets and prying eyes.
She was beautiful, and topped with pink frosting; imagine a girl-shaped cupcake, waiting to be stripped naked and devoured. Imagine something that’s so colourful and sweet that it hurts your teeth and blinds your eyes. Imagine a warm, dark room, with only you and her within it.
Outside a world war of wind is battering against the walls. You can almost hear the glass bending against the pressure, threatening to give way, transforming itself into a billion little shards. Outside the rain turns to sleet, the sleet turns to snow, and the snow turns to hail. Imagine weather that hates you. All day long.
I recognized her voice from her blog. I recognized her body from my dreams. I recognized our desire as being the sort of thing that motivated porno-movies and emptied bank-accounts. I thought of her as some sort of drifty-eyed dream that downloaded while I was snoozing at the keyboard, but now, I’m not sure what she’s supposed to be.
She smiles like a whip and blinks like gunshots going off in the night. She cums like we’re cracking the firmament of the earth, like we’re peeling by the sky to let the stars come down.
She holds my hand, and pushes me off the bridge.
Struggling To Sparks
I stripped off my meat, and pulled on my robot body. I replaced my elbows with pistons, my fingers with metal clamps and claws, my heart with a red-hot glowing lump of molten metals.
I stripped out my soul, and replaced it with well-formatted software that was programmed to give me plenty of clever things to say. Yeah, my bio-mechanical responses were going to be sexier and smoother than anything the flesh-me had ever been capable of.
My sexuality became a positronic haze of impulses and intensity; viewing an image so close that it’s just a collection of meaningless pixels, blinking and sweating in front of your eyes, gyrating, suggesting subconsciously of fornication and ferocity.
I tore myself to bit, and replaced every piece with metal and plastic, with circuitry and cruelty and the cold compassionatelessness of cyber-cerebellumism. Yeah, I’ve got a pocket calculator for a moral code, the ruthlessness of numbers, adding up and counting down.
I laughed about nothing and tore apart clouds with my fields of electrical interference.