She was
shaking, her thighs were tired of holding her up.
She was
sweating, her back burned even in the cold and her shoulders dropped down
slowly to let the salt slide down her spine.
She was
dehydrated, she tried to gather her spit but it was white and hard and hit
walls against her teeth.
The uppers
made her wanna be around people and talk about things, music mostly or food.
She could say how much she loved pizza a million times and never get bored.
But
The
downers made her wanna hide and not admit she was a human, carrying a human,
sucking on a human. How inhumane she thought. She was more like a commodity
anyways, she thought. Like a tiny foam dinosaur someone put water on to make it
grow its shape. Her make-up, her clothes, her hair, photo-shopped, cropped,
edited, dipped in shine and lube and cast into the window of the internet. Full
of form, encapsulated.
She
untied her shoes and somewhere out there a million people watched her bend
over.
She
pushed her hair behind her ear and somewhere out there two million people
watched her take herself to orgasm.
She
stared shyly at her phone while just a website away a thousand comments vied
graphically for her attention.
Right now she looked like the bad part of town but inside their dream she was the shine of all the city lights. She lit up entire corners of the internet, she was the soft glow of a million computer screens tucked away in the dark corners of rooms everywhere for the world to see.
She watched commerce ebb and flow with the heave and sigh of her breasts.
She watched commerce ebb and flow with the heave and sigh of her breasts.
The
boy's eyes on the other end of the room made her light up, she watched him as
she slid up and down. He half hid his face behind the microphone but she could
see him thru the lights, watching. She wanted to be him, watching her. She
wanted to feel him, not the way she usually felt boys but the way he felt
himself, with his hands thru his own jeans. She imagined she was him and closed
her eyes. She told herself it was his microphone stand inside of her, picking
up the sound of her heart beating against a life of weight and wind. When she
went to open her lashes she could feel a comet crashing down on her, a volcano
crushing her, a million ways to die living on her skin.
The boy
turned off the lights, packed up the microphones, the crew filtered out of the
room and into black minivans and red mustangs.
Now she
was old again, a cold, empty dinosaur lying deflated on a leather cushion and
they were a tribe of conquering warlords with no decency to consume what they
had killed.
And
The
world watched her dying a hundred billion times and never said a word. She was
their secret pleasure to consume.
When
they ate her they tore less at the flesh of each other.
Their
pleasure made her smile and after each little death she slept so good knowing
she was making porno for peace. She just wished someone had stayed to talk
about pizza, she had lost her appetite but wanted to hear the words.
She
hummed the word pepperoni over and over again to herself until it had lost its
meaning.
She was
zen.
photo I took of a penthouse pet |
photo I took of a porn location |