supplicant

apathy - chapter 1, part II

There! He was sure of it, a quiet footfall. His head snapped to the left senses on high alert, the surface of his skin prickling with tension. There it was again, the crackle of high heels on the pebbled walkway. Someone was approaching.
Boredom had led him here, into the eerie yet comforting quietude of the Cemetery. These last few days he had wandered about listlessly, aimlessly, entertaining himself with mindless banter with the whores and trannies that habituated the alleyways of this desultory part of the city. Amidst the torn fishnet stockings, black leather mini-skirts, 3" spikes, eyes glazed over by the sheer apathy of their lives, detachment in every hobbled step, they were as worn down as the cracks on the pavement they stepped over every night. He felt nothing but pity for the miserable lives of these men and women that criss-crossed under the sickly yellow glow of the street lamps. Sneered with contempt at the wretched dregs of society that desperation dragged down here, seeking solace in a $20 blowjob. Maybe he was doing them a favour every time he was overpowered by this cancerous appetite which threatened to consume him -an Appetite for Destruction. Axel Rose had it right-Welcome to the 'Fucking' Jungle.

Now he found himself walking along rows of headstones, some stunning in their augustness, works of art and design, paid for with love and adoration. Yet others achingly beautiful in their simplicity, decorated with bouquets of wilting flowers, remnants of incense sticks even. Ground mist had covered the pathways and gravestones in an ethereal shroud, lit by the soft muted light of the moon making it seem as if the whole world was slowly floating away. It was a beautiful night. Yet it was not enough to lessen his dispassion. He had to piss. For an instance he even thought to defile Edith Hawser, 1867 ~ 1913, but with a smirk, decided that perhaps watering a tree was in better taste.
Now as a steady stream issued from his cock, footsteps! He was sure of it. Clamping his scrotum together stopping the stream mid-flow, he slowly pushed his member back into his jeans and silently buttoned up. Thank god
(there is no god!)
he wasn't wearing the one with the zippered front.
Barely noticing the trickle of piss that ran down his inner thigh to collect against the back of his knee, he crouched down and watched as the figure approached. She was tall, nearly as tall as he was. Her measured gait and a straight back spoke of high-society and perhaps nobleness. There was also no trace of fear in her walk, self-assurance and a quiet arrogance ruled every step. Her hair, a dark mane that billowed outward, full breasts that bounced softly with every step, she was a beauty indeed and he growled-a low bestial rumble as his bright red tongue flicked out to wet his suddenly dry lips. In a moment his night had improved with every gracious step of those black high-heeled boots. He grinned, his heart starting to thud against his chest, his breathing short and shallow. He cursed himself for not completely relieving himself as the urge to piss again suddenly filled his loins. He licked His lips again, running the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Come to me m'lady", he whispered, "come to me". His voice hissing snake-like, raspy with the visions of what she would do to satisfy his lust. His breath caught in his throat. Perhaps finally he had found the one to quench his desire. A deep serpentine desire that no mortal had yet to subdue. He stood up.

©two bucks, inc.

a glance, a smile...to share

choice - chapter 1, part I

"Standing around,

wearing a crown of apathy"

~Stone Temple Pilots, Piece of Pie

The storm had ended, the night ripped open painfully dark. The moon tore through the black set night like shredded velvet, the wispy tendrils caressed the full face of the yellow moon. A faint echoing down the bare city street, a clicking of metallic boot heels against the pavement, as down the middle of the road she walked. A stray faint arcing of blue as the steel tipped heels found a pebble in the pavement. Attired in a full black leather trench coat, billowing out behind her, her gait was swift and even, hands balled to fists shoved into the front pockets. Damp red hair curled in tangled wayward waves down her back. She was walking home. The buses had stopped an hour ago, and well a cab would not be caught dead here in this part of town. To her left the Cemetery came to view. Silence wrapped itself icy fingers all around her. Not even a rat or alley cat ventured forth. An odd eerie luminescent glow game over her each time she passed under the street lamps that lined the road. She left the road and turned into the Cemetery, taking the short-cut home meant it would cut off at least thirty minutes off her walking time.
Into the Cemetery she traversed, without really a second thought pushing open the rusted wrought iron gates. Now her boot heels clicked and echoed through the sanctuary of the Cemetery. She had no fear of waking anyone up here, everyone was dead asleep. She snickered and disappeared into the darkness. The low laying mist grabbed and snatched around her booted feet as she walked down the narrow lane……………………………

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