Stars and Stripes
Posted: Tue May 22, 2012 9:19 am
Hey, all. Total Destruction here, and I can't believe I'm about to post the first fan fiction I've done in... Oh, man, it's been a minute. A long minute. The stone age days of junior high, maybe? Wow.
I write an awful lot. Mostly just pure catharsis, you know, tryin' to stay sane and whatnot, but sometimes weird things get in my head and won't get the hell out. It's been one of those nights, and I'm not quite sure why this happened, but it did. Maybe I'm projecting and Freud loves me? Yeesh. Hope not. Anyway, I've been working on doing more with less lately, and I wanna see if I'm doing it anything close to right. I see a lot of you here at the KS forums are pretty gifted, and I feel like I write better if someone has a shot at tearing me to shreds, even if it's just me posting some random exercise to a bunch of anons on some forum about crippled broads, hahah. So rip me apart and tell me my taste in music sucks.
***
"If you're feeling sad, full of shame
You better find someone to blame
Feeling good, feeling strong
Maybe I'll just carry on
Maybe I've got stubborn ways
Have to do for today
I'm holding out, feeling strong
Tell myself there's nothing wrong."
- Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, "Nothing Wrong"
It must be very late at night, perhaps early in the morning. I lie awake and once again find myself listening to them. Listening and thinking.
The feeling that what they do is wrong has never once crossed my mind.
Of course, I'll readily admit that it's not terribly right, either. Doesn't make an ounce of sense. I don't even think they understand it, really. I don't think either of them knows why they do what they do, or what attracts them to one other. I strongly doubt either of them knows their role, or even acknowledges one. Sometimes I don't think they even think much at all. Part of me is furious, while an even greater part of me is envious. It seems like I'm the only one with questions, and I hardly deserve answers.
What I do know, however, is that what they share is involuntary. You, I, they can't help it.
Theirs is a beautiful picture with many, many imperfect parts. Or so the metaphor goes, as I've never quite seen a picture before, but that's another musing for another day.
The first time I heard them, I was shocked, to put it bluntly. Not quite disgusted, which, in hindsight, I should have been, and very well should be, but rather surprised. And curious. And very much afraid. Afraid for what would happen if someone were to find out. Afraid that they and the circumstances between them would one day cripple them beyond repair. Afraid that I would never be able to find anything or anyone like that for myself.
I am unsure if they are aware I know. Neither of them have inquired as such, and quite frankly, I am terrified to even mention it to them. All I can do is lie here, awake, and think.
And listen.
I hear the rustling of linens. I hear tongues entwine. I hear hearts race. I hear tender caresses, hard thrusts, and ragged breaths. I hear an uncharacteristically feminine mewling from her, coupled with a low grunt much more befitting his father. I hear a prayer to God. I hear an affirmation of release. I hear... I hear love.
Long after they drift off to sleep, I still lie awake, listening. And thinking.
That next morning, I ask her how "the boyfriend" is doing. She laughs and tells me that he's just fine, if not a little tired and overworked. I hear what must be her ruffling his hair in the way she does, and his annoyed whine of protest gives way to an underlying tone of... something else. I think she knows that I know. I think he might, as well.
Theirs is a tenuous balancing act across a frayed rope, stretched over an expanse of gentle slopes and sharp, sudden drops. And contrary to what I should be thinking, I pray they never fall.
I smile and quietly take a sip of tea.
Never fall. Nothing wrong.
I write an awful lot. Mostly just pure catharsis, you know, tryin' to stay sane and whatnot, but sometimes weird things get in my head and won't get the hell out. It's been one of those nights, and I'm not quite sure why this happened, but it did. Maybe I'm projecting and Freud loves me? Yeesh. Hope not. Anyway, I've been working on doing more with less lately, and I wanna see if I'm doing it anything close to right. I see a lot of you here at the KS forums are pretty gifted, and I feel like I write better if someone has a shot at tearing me to shreds, even if it's just me posting some random exercise to a bunch of anons on some forum about crippled broads, hahah. So rip me apart and tell me my taste in music sucks.
***
"If you're feeling sad, full of shame
You better find someone to blame
Feeling good, feeling strong
Maybe I'll just carry on
Maybe I've got stubborn ways
Have to do for today
I'm holding out, feeling strong
Tell myself there's nothing wrong."
- Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, "Nothing Wrong"
It must be very late at night, perhaps early in the morning. I lie awake and once again find myself listening to them. Listening and thinking.
The feeling that what they do is wrong has never once crossed my mind.
Of course, I'll readily admit that it's not terribly right, either. Doesn't make an ounce of sense. I don't even think they understand it, really. I don't think either of them knows why they do what they do, or what attracts them to one other. I strongly doubt either of them knows their role, or even acknowledges one. Sometimes I don't think they even think much at all. Part of me is furious, while an even greater part of me is envious. It seems like I'm the only one with questions, and I hardly deserve answers.
What I do know, however, is that what they share is involuntary. You, I, they can't help it.
Theirs is a beautiful picture with many, many imperfect parts. Or so the metaphor goes, as I've never quite seen a picture before, but that's another musing for another day.
The first time I heard them, I was shocked, to put it bluntly. Not quite disgusted, which, in hindsight, I should have been, and very well should be, but rather surprised. And curious. And very much afraid. Afraid for what would happen if someone were to find out. Afraid that they and the circumstances between them would one day cripple them beyond repair. Afraid that I would never be able to find anything or anyone like that for myself.
I am unsure if they are aware I know. Neither of them have inquired as such, and quite frankly, I am terrified to even mention it to them. All I can do is lie here, awake, and think.
And listen.
I hear the rustling of linens. I hear tongues entwine. I hear hearts race. I hear tender caresses, hard thrusts, and ragged breaths. I hear an uncharacteristically feminine mewling from her, coupled with a low grunt much more befitting his father. I hear a prayer to God. I hear an affirmation of release. I hear... I hear love.
Long after they drift off to sleep, I still lie awake, listening. And thinking.
That next morning, I ask her how "the boyfriend" is doing. She laughs and tells me that he's just fine, if not a little tired and overworked. I hear what must be her ruffling his hair in the way she does, and his annoyed whine of protest gives way to an underlying tone of... something else. I think she knows that I know. I think he might, as well.
Theirs is a tenuous balancing act across a frayed rope, stretched over an expanse of gentle slopes and sharp, sudden drops. And contrary to what I should be thinking, I pray they never fall.
I smile and quietly take a sip of tea.
Never fall. Nothing wrong.
