The Fairy 

I saw a fairy. 

Might as well have been a fairy. 

She was dancing on a wire 25 feet above my head. 

She had dark red hair, that auburn shine that really looks very nice, always seductive. She had the face of a child up to mischief. Nymth shenanigans, enchanted dust, blown in the wind. She glowed. 

Hellion. 

Scamp. Imp. Rascal. 

There she was. 

I scratched the growing stubble on my face and felt like I was naked. Nude to the world. Exposed to the elements and the judgements of a fickle crowd. 

I opened my mouth to say something but my brain decided to shut it back up and just admire her beauty. I had plenty of time to talk. Why ruin the before. The peace and anticipation. 

“Will you say something now?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“Could you help me find a way back to my friend? You could say that.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I can’t help you yet.” 

“Not yet, so maybe soon?” 

“Maybe soon?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Maybe soon.” 

She smiled. Her lips were thick and refined. Pink. Red. Her cheeks were full, fat you could even say. Her skin sparkled with glitter. Sugar-diamond. 

I wanted to touch her. 

Fuck.

Fuck? 

I hit my head on the glass as hard as I could. I wanted out of this fucking place. I couldn’t stand another year in here. 

I hit my head so hard I cracked it open. Blood. It had been a long time since I saw my own blood. 

There’s this weird worry followed by some kind of relief. Isn’t there!!

Back in the beginning I got in a fight with a guard. Lots and lots of blood then. He whacked me with a stick. I saw my blood, by the gallon, all the time, in those early days. 

I collected the liquid in my cupped hands and brought it over to my desk. I had a month’s worth of writing in five neat piles. I dropped the blood on top. And then ripped and tore and screamed the papers across the cell. 

Who cares. 

I care deeply. 

I had to escape. Or maybe I already had. 

The fairy, I’ll capitalize it. The Fairy. 

The Fairy was wearing a blue see-through skirt, it looked like umbrella plastic. I could see the skin of her milk thighs and a faint dark glow of pubic hair. 

I was falling in love. 

I’d gladly bleed all my blood for you. 

I couldn’t stop looking at her. I have never looked at anything as hard, as determined. To get everything. All of her in my mind. I needed to remember the faint curves of her muscles. The beginning beads of sweat on her neck. The eyelashes, how many, the distance between each. 

I’d never loved anyone so much, so fast. I would have done near anything to have her. 

She had an overt, obvious sexuality that you still needed to constantly confirm. It was fucking devastating. She was a nerd, a geek, a dork. That’s how she presented. But at the same time she had a hyper-feminine hyper-sexualsized power. A beautiful monster born in a lab. But the reality made her even more powerful. This wasn’t manufactured. There wasn’t a hint of it. Of any of that crap. This was nature. Billions and billions of years of trial and error. Of perfecting the perfect female. Here she was. Above my head, out of reach. I could catch her. I must. I had to. 

Her eyes were cups of black liquid, devious glimmers of white hit back at every angle. 

How? 

Could I just take her here? 

Rip off her clothes and see what happened. 

Do they still call that rape? 

What was her purpose in my story? 

Other than an external battery to recharge the will to live. Everyone needs an obsession. That isn’t true. I do though. I need an obsession. Gold on the horizon. To chase. To capture. To consume. 

My gold. 

She was my gold. 

New gold. 

I started feeling sick with emotion. I grabbed my right wrist with my left hand, and then my left wrist with my right hand. I shook my head and slapped my face as hard as I could. 

The Fairy was still there. Watching it all. 

A Dream or Not and Another

I had a dream one dark starless night. A dream I always remembered. This was a dream about her. Whoever she is. Never met her. Not yet anyway. 

Suddenly I was a pirate. Busy at sea. Tonight was a disaster-song. On me to live another day. Alone I was, or so I thought. 

The storm stretched across the planet from end to end. I locked-up deck and went downstairs. 

I brewed a deep wood cup of rich black coffee. Removed my leather boots and drenched clothing. I sat there naked with my feet up high. Leaning back I rocked with the waves in the wind. 

I looked at my old wet cock and balls, shriveled and wrinkled, tight-shut, a white-blue and jasmine-pink. 

How old was I now, I looked older. The seas add and subtract years, in their gift. Whatever the seas mood demands. Tonight I looked like an old man in the mirror. The troughs showing, lines deep as trenches. My wire hair losing ground. I scratched the beard above my lip and below and felt the smooth hairless skin of my jaw and cheeks. 

I heard a sound. A human sound. There was apprehension and emotion. A rattling of footsteps creaking slowly across the floor. 

The stowaway was a girl. Of some age I couldn’t tell. But young. 

I had a vague memory of her. Her face was unique. Beautiful and alluring, but none you’d imagine easily fit those words. 

She twitched and flinched, sitting and staring in fear. 

She was alone in the study, she was supposed to be on land. Safe somewhere, not here. 

I stood there naked. She sat, spine straight thighs closed shut. White apple-shaped ass sticking to the varnished wooden chair. She was naked too. Alone on a ship in a storm at sea. 

Alone on a ship in a storm at sea. 

With a young young woman. 

With an old old man. 

Her 

and 

Me. 

There was something ghostly about her. She reminded me of old lovers. 

She rolled the fading brown pencil with her fingers. Back and forth on the desk. Eyes flicking up and down my body. 

I grabbed a handful of her shining auburn hair. Struck white by the moon in the window. 

Her lips parted and showed perfect hard clean teeth. Thin vertical lines etched into her bottom lip. 

The ship rolled from port to starboard. Waves hit the window glass with a vicious fury. The sea raged at my thoughts. 

Unrelenting. They gave me no peace. I had to have her. Now. Here. 

I placed my hands on her shoulders and with a strong jolt signalled for her body to lift itself from the chair. As she came unstuck, gravity fought to pull her from me. Her body quietly shook. Her eyes were as wide as the full moon out the window. Black and fixed. Her expression, fear. I moved her to the edge of the study’s large bed, turned her to face me, and then laid her down. 

She looked like a dead girl, laying in her dark regal funeral coffin, naked on the bier, on the catafalque. 

Her eyes locked on the deckhead, she let out the quietest little whimper. 

It sounded like a small animal in some faraway jungle realising it’s fate. The snake was there. The fangs were next. It is the way. 

I separated her warm legs, to reveal a wet, inviting mouth, pulsating with desire. She spoke no words of refusal, yet none of welcome. 

Nature was deciding for her. Or I was. Or we both. The same. 

I pushed my hairy thighs against the smooth fat of arse and hovered above her. I let go of all resistance to gravity and threw away the world. 

She screamed in pain or pleasure, and bit my shoulder hard to fill her mouth with blood. 

Some time after. She was smiling. 

I could tell you that was real, I did have that dream. Or I could tell you that that’s how I came to be. Born of pirate rape. Or something. 

But I just really wanted to write that. 

And it was real, somewhere. 

And really, I want to write another. . . 

Back in my school days I liked a girl named Denise. She was a fucking bitch to me and my friends. But her arse was a heart and her tits were big and bouncy. Big And Bouncy Tits. Her face was a little odd. But not in an ugly way. It was an interesting face. And despite her horrible personality, it was a trustworthy face, a warm and friendly one. There was a kindness to it. 

One summer Denise dyed her hair from her usual dirty strawberry blonde to jet black. She changed her makeup style too. No longer pinks and baby blues. Now it was all dark, dark blue and mostly black. Her clothes went goth. She wore black angel wings. 

And her personality changed too. No longer cruel and cunty. She started to smile at me when we passed each other in the halls. 

One day after class I had a spontaneous volcanic eruption of courage to walk towards her – sitting there on a stone bench by the tennis courts, she was smoking a little brown cigar. 

Her eyes bulged out of the sockets, her sticky black-painted eyelids and thick lashes looked far too small for them. It’s crazy how you can actually see through the eyes alone, see what someone is wanting, she had desire, she wanted me. 

It was Thursday night, the school would be open for another few hours yet for the silly little clubs and social shit I never had any interest in. 

We snuck into one of the girl’s bathrooms and entered the middle stool of a line of three. 

Before she swallowed my cock into her mouth she looked up at me with great hurt in her eyes. 

The image is burned into my brain, even now, 27 years later. I can still see it. When I don’t want to see it. The emptying eyes, the carved wrists from the kitchen knife. 

She had the aura of a whimpering forest critter on a big city bench, lost and about to die. 

Rolled up in a wet newspaper. 

The great hurt. 

That moment passed. And she sucked my cock. Sucked it with love and care; her mouth’s purpose was this, from birth to now, that’s how well she did. It was my first blowjob. And probably her last. 

She died the next day. 

Went falling off a residential tower. The tallest in town. She was wearing her black angel wings. 

Maybe. Hope so. 

They probably found my semen in her stomach. Probably not. 

It had probably digested. 

Those are some stories about fairies. Fairy tales. 

I met The Fairy again later in a different form. She was darker. Her body was the cause of a cold haunting wind. I won’t write any more about that meeting. I choose to remember the first and not the last. 

I still think of her. 

Bad Things 

I wrecked my back and my brain closing the gap between us. 

I’M NOT EVEN SURE IF ANYTHING IN THIS BOOK HAPPENED I REALLY THINK THEY MIGHT BE RIGHT I MIGHT BE INSANE I THINK I NEED TO EAT THE FLESH OF SOMETHING INNOCENT LIKE CUT INTO THE BONES OF A SMALL HELPLESS BABY HUMAN STUFF THEM IN A TOASTER OVEN OR SOMETHING OR JUST STAB MANY MANY MANY OF THEM LIKE JUST START STABBING AND NEVER STOP OR UNTIL I FEEL LIKE I’VE BEEN STABBING FOR A REALLY LONG TIME AND MY ARMS MY WHOLE BODY BECOMES TIRED I STILL THINK IT’S ALL TRUE BUT IT’S BEEN SO LONG AND THEY’VE REALLY FUCKING PUT A LOT OF SHIT IN MY BLOOD AND IN MY HEAD I WILL KEEP MY LIFE MY REALITY AND MY TRUTH AND I WILL NOT SURRENDER THIS IS WHAT I DECIDE THIS IS WHAT I CHOSE BUT I HAVE TO ADMIT ALSO THAT I DO SOMETIMES HAVE DOUBT BUT I GUESS DOUBT IS HEALHY OR WHATEVER MAYBE IT’S NOT I PROMISE THEY WON’T BREAK ME I PROMISE THAT REGARDLESS 

I fired all cylinders. Nothing was working. I screamed past a crowd of drunk Mexicans. And emptied my stomach as I did. Sorry. About. That. 

Little Brown was slipping through the cage on the back. If her head fell through the bars, she could easily slip onto the road and be killed completely. I had to do something different. 

I stopped. I don’t know why I stopped. I could tell you I had a vision of the future, of a terrible crash. Of beautiful Brown red blood spilling on the road. But I didn’t. I just stopped. There was no getting her back chasing a modded VZ on a boosted Six, a glorified dirt bike. 

I needed to think. And I had one thing going for me, I knew where the bastard was heading. 

I had some time. Not a lot, but enough to make sure I had no regrets. 

I sat down on the light-grey concrete, legs stretched in front of me, and then leaned my body back. I looked at the top of the bubble atmosphere and searched it for answers. There were none. 

I sat back up and clapped my hands. They were dry and breaking, like those biscuits babies eat. What are they called? Time’s weird isn’t it. 

The book was burning a book-shaped hole into my back. 

I opened FUNK 58 and carefully turned the pages. 

I’d never actually read it. Never actually opened it like this. Page by page. 

Each was a different shade of gold. I’d never seen anything like them before. Some brushed up to the border of another colour, but all remained gold. 

Each page had an arrogant fuck you pride. 

The pages were a waxing but rough paper, I got the sense they were ancient, even though they looked and smelt brand new. And that smell was special, a weaving bright perfume of sweet spice. 

I was lucky to have this. Lucky to have been chosen. That’s what I thought for a moment. And then I realised it. All this madness started when FUNK came into my life. I thought I’d lived an unusual life up until that point. A fucking great and weird one. And I had. But FUNK had spun me through a velecterium. Spinning. I went spinning. 

Hey! Maybe that’s why I was chosen. All my life. All of it leading to this book. 

My stomach was rumbling and I had a paper cut. 

I turned the pages. 

Why did I have a paper cut? 

At the back of the book was a blue envelope. 

OPEN ME . NOW ! 

Here he comes

“I am the The Blinking King.” 

He was The Blinking King. 

His beard extended down his chest, ending at his belly. His presence was a blue smoke. 

You know. 

He looked a bit like Santa. But he wasn’t Santa. 

I’m not sure Santa went around naked, with a semi-erect cock. It wasn’t an ugly cock. I could see why he wanted to show it off. 

He had Chinese tattoos on his thighs and neck. 

I started humming 

Kung Fu Fighting 

by Carl Douglas 

*Twas a wittle bit fright-ning’ 

Everybody 

The Blinking King stood there, growing impatient. 

Cock twitching. 

It kind of felt like he was a bit annoyed that I hadn’t asked him why they called him The Blinking King, or maybe why he was here, or why he had his cock out. 

He started blinking. 

“We’ll now talk of the sword.” 

The sword sat on a mustard-gold pillow, inside a glass case. A single leg of oak held the box in the air. 

I don’t know how we got to this point. 

“This is the sword of an ancient dead clan. They ruled as a collective dynasty over the people’s of many planets. Their name is lost. The story of their brutality is not. This sword is a symbol of their terror. 

The Blinking King stuck his tongue out and widened his eyes. 

“The only thing that can defeat a Time Con is a weapon of memory, overflowing with the knowledge of great evil.” 

“If you bring me CandleLight, I give you my word. The Word of The Blinking King.”

The sword is yours. 

Seemed like a perfect swap. 

What the fuck. 

Only FUNK could steal CandleLight and only a weapon of memory could defeat a Time Con. 

It all made sense. 

I love when things make sense. 

“And you’ll have to find an oracle first.” 

“An oracle.” 

I had terrible GERD. 

Acid was shooting up my throat and spilling into my mouth. 

“I’ll send you out to the green, to the meadows, land of the dead and gone forever. That’s where.” 

There was an open can of coke standing still by a bush. 

I walked over and picked it up. 

I shook it a few times. Fast. 

Nothing. 

“Okay.”