We felt for one another, coursing through the photographs, within range within everywhere, and I knew it was you, your navel or vagina because this is what my cock looks like. But I’m still licking your membrane, filled with some semi-fluid substance. You’re an eminent gynecologist and you’ve lobotomized your cunt. I’ve agree to run my tongue along your scar. I slide a portion of my substance into your vagina, this manifests as love, connecting us, and blood rolls out to our sides in luminous threads. The substance left me (unintentionally), can I still take you sometimes, physically, can we still cuddle and fuck? Can we fuck too? I manifest in front of you, unzipping your pants, you should be happy when you come because my little pointed tongue with its red tip can lay our burdens at the door. And I can’t keep your pussy off my dick. Now don’t degenerate into a phantasm, Puppy. Dear Fuck Slug. Dear Fuck Instrument through which one can express us. In either case we are cranberry. Desire for you is dripping out, a dispiriting state of affairs.

Sweet Psyche can I suck your nipples? Do you like to move it? I threw my mass upon the table, vulnerable, my breast for instance and all my orifices, and then my lips close around the head of your cock. Do you wanna fuck my brains out, do you wanna make my pineal gland come? Suppressed by light, the grand climax is reached. Honey, don’t make me so fucking horny, it all dissolves, and we’ll go straight down, ectoplasm leaking from your body, your tits upwards towards faces so you can be visible, a soft resisilient mass. I skin you alive like a fucking rabbit. I show you the photographs and they’re wet. I’m huffing as I’m trying to pack a considerable punch, I’m just going to think about it throughout, expelling a cloudy medium, faintly this time like we’re teenagers. I’m kissing you, emerging like a baby in fluid, kneeling between your legs, my cock extracted from your sensitive body, my head moving back and forth, my lips a veil of splendor, our hearts cocked, my eyes closed like a blind mole. What an ecstacy of joy, seeing you press yourself up against me. Give us some rest, aid us to wipe it away. I clean you with my tongues, I’m licking your body wetter until your body looks shiny with desire. Just so, the spirits are in control, they want you to move through me. All this is baffling, your left hand down there with the spirits still controlling the marks on the insides of my scrotum. I’m reaching for you. Plasm is exuded from my legs and there’s a landslide along my clit, which is responsive to light. I’m rubbing my cock up against you, intensified by darkness. No language will ever fit, no language will give light to the mysteries of my overwhelming need to tell you that I want.

A kind of liquid jelly is dripping all over me. Your cunt organizes itself into the shape of a face, your tongue was in convulsions, thrusting, jerking, I started to move, and you told me what your hands were like. Your clit likes someone in orgasm, feel my wet tongue in your cave, your cunt is happy to hear that the young man’s activity will get red. Your nipples bleed because of my ejaculations, the substance, whatever it is, goes straight to my brain. Your pussy is mine mine mine. Cold shocks cause an irreversible spilling out of my pussy and it’s harder to swallow with your broken tongue, you’re all red.
Your limbs could be so successful—they looked real, felt real, and smelled real, always pushing my clit. My hand clings to your clit like a barnacle, honey. Take me, the love-fuck of the century, you’re naked. Looking for subsistance your cock swayed and throbbed. Naked your whole body is a kind of light: I investigated it early in this century: it burned trying to hide someone. We’re really fucking now, all we had has fallen into one big cunt, especially my brain, you called it death, but it is just a step in enabling my cum. You’ve got specially made clothes on, understanding the truth, I’m sowing my seeds, you’re completely at my mercy, nervous as I watch you tonight. Does it feel good that way? Yes I can be consumed. I’m thinking of you, I bet you have the cutest sledgehammer, bet you could break the bones up inside of me, slamming into me. I can come just in the woods. You make sounds like broken bubbles, I can see you now, fucking body parts, I can taste you now, dissolving on my tongue. I can see your cunt was the biceps. I can’t fuck donuts, can’t stand waiting to sniff your come soaked underwear. Apparently they are missing and I cannot find your asshole. I clean the funk from my apartment, I scraped up the pus from our wounds and the come I hadn’t eaten and flushed them down the toilet, the jungle. I did come, but my cock didn’t pose for you, I gave you a drink and then my love in an electrified sea. I didn’t know your skin was acid, it skinned my entire voice. I want to suck them like a baby and subsequently to dispose my body in the still of your cunt. I don’t know how you feel when I strangle you, I don’t think my clit liked the black strap, leather type, that you pulled out of the blue, it made me wonder if you were.

Your cock’s got my tongue. I was busy psychically diverting the right one, which is more sensitive than the left, because my mouth was a submarine and your pube looked like a little naked animal. My teeth. Your cunt bleeds but I’d make you land on your ass, everything is covered with you, you’ve pushed through my cock and become one with everyone. The keyboard, the whole room, is full of you, like my mouth on a good day. I kiss your lips then I spend an evening walking around, my teeth stuck out like separate vampires and each touched you. Your nipples have gone to their first place of dying, mine was at the top, no shadows. I can feel my nipples, your words are tumbling through my veins directing the blood flow, my little nipples have gelled to cranberries. Suck the barnacles from my clit. You’re a blind voice, I stopped to watch, I was deathly serious. Is it on? Now the inside of my cunt is a bit sore, now, like Carrie, but I’m not a pig. You’re the ground, I press my face to your tarpit, my billy club. As I’ve said, I’ve ridden a horse and I’ve written insides. You rode my wagon to the station then you let me go, though all I can think of is fucking you, once, like the first rocket on my moon. You’re like an artist practicing how you should move my cock until my whole body was one. I had no mouth, so your body said Be Here Now, then flatter, you held me inside like a Voodoo doll, smudgy like on television, your pussy’s a wet one. Only you. Or when I bite sexy too. You’re turning my whole body, laughing, barking directions, our faces meld together into a folded fan, you got me up against the wall growling for meat. All meat will be inhabited. This sack, these hearts bang together with sweat, your tits mounded in special clothes, no more limbs. Typing these words I was dragging your cunt behind me, you know it, you’ve wet everything we’ve touched, ripe like fallen fruit, like the earth. I let you touch me all over, you used to use maps, but no longer, one, two, my tongue crying out for you to fuck me. The cum emerged from me, gradually, and I can make it do short hops, a limp. Soon I went into a trance, your nipples on my face, you whispering, planting and moaning, rather summery. There I just did that. There you, unmistakable, your head poked up. This is often accompanied by erections. Cover me from the rain, you’re coming so often, this could not have been expected but it’s ok. All we ever do is sigh and decline, leading to a loss. You’re even harder now, I’m licking the blood off. Think of me as a mimic or counterfeit human form, like at a job interview. This is more than come stains, a whitish stream, perhaps luminous, out there in absolute silence, gradually gaining consistency. Today’s a good day for my mouth. Want me, make movements, can I come onto your broken lungs? We came, throbbed and were captured. Unravel my rattles. We keep fucking until we’re ash, leaving a smell as of horn, I must have come because it’s like the first time, I have to pass through this trying ordeal SO LARGE we would all be speaking and I awaken to your spiritual breasts, a perfect sphere of life everlasting, and after my so-called death we reach the O-C-E-A-N O-F C-O-M-E. Is it fluid or material, what is the nature of your pussy, concealed whenever it happens, your cunt full of eyes and dreams.

You easily extracted my juices, I knew you would, jerking off a sub-stratum of matter. You’re so refined. You appear to belong to a physical body when you hold and suck my cock. Your breasts. I like making you horny, like to run my hands over your pussy, spirits moving up and down my arms and shoulders, spirits returning to stimulate us and make us amorphous or polymorphous. Down my belly to my clit, I look like a child, your touch, the substance was soft and though you were sleeping analysis revealed the presence of salt and breasts. I love it when you suck my nipple, I love telling you that with my cock, massing this mysterious substance along your clit, on the tip of your tongue. I love sodium, potassium, water, chlorine, albumen, and you, cocksucker. I love you so fucking much, corpuscles, the red sticky matter described as your cunt, I love the controlled urge, variation on a theme, generated by surviving the phone. I made breakfast and thought I must possess you very much. I lay on the couch before I go to bed, spent and possessed by a living person, your cock and my cunt and languages made of phantasms of themselves. Those clothes are off before you know it, psychics say I must have your underwear, that I must place myself in a state with your tits swaying in rhythm with my cock. A dripping mouthful waiting forever for you, bouncing up, no end to the horizon, the necessary cock dipped to the tip, I’ll fill your mouth with everything, thrust my cock deep into your yellow horn. No pilgrims. I’m moving through to where my cock is up you time after time, I’ve got my arms around you, I’ve got this cock tip in you for the first time, we’re approaching new lands, everybody can see it, the lips of your cunt will scorch the soles of our feet. A causeway of a rock, the cock is to the man a psalm or song, I grown limbs so I can stand, though my face is on that cross on the hill, the equivalent of a hard-on all morning. Language is sand. Erect, I’m filling you with silver, saying you be a good girl. We’ll take care of your tongue, which has turned indigo from sucking my fingers. I’ve never ever given anybody this, no way, the throat drops and my tongue falls into your asshole, your chest heaving yellow and white. Write to me again so I can spurt onto your breasts, alone in winter, black and white, dripping like moss in a rain forest. I’ve still got this red vivid tilt. My asshole turned it into a large clit and you humped it, I’ve bled on you since the circle began. My thoughts flutter down your purple neck and that gives me a hard-on. Your hips hugged against my belly, be inert, be happy, I just want to feel you with both feet overhead, all my fight waits to fuck your swollen pink and white spaces, to jostle you around gently until you turn blue. I kiss your finger and touch the head of your cock, you’re wild now, invisible.

Dodie Bellamy's books include Feminine Hijinx (Hanuman, 1990), Real (with Sam D'Allesandro, Talisman House, 1995), and The Letters of Mina Harker (Hard Press, 1998).

Illustrations by Michelle Rollman:
1) Nervous Rat (2000), Scratched lacquered aluminum, 2 1/2" x 3"
2) Vole In Knee High Boots (2000), Scratched lacquered aluminum, 2" x 3"
3) Mouse Pulling Up Stocking (2000), Scratched lacquered aluminum, 2" x 3"