Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Head Rush

DISCLAIMER: You might remember a while ago my writing in response to an assignment from the good folk over at the House of Sternberg. Well here we are again … the assignment as follows;

Using first person narration from the gender perspective opposite your own, write seven hundred words about unrequited love using the title: HEAD RUSH. And just to make it more interesting, your character must have some deformity, imagined or otherwise.

DISCLAIMER II: No need to read this one, Mum.


“Sure Baby, I’ll have another gin. Thanks Gorgeous”, I drawl as his silver beard slobbers on my cheek before departing towards the bar; the lingering memory of raw onions complementing the visual of his huge form waddling across the disco lights reflected in the polished floor.

As always, in order to keep my revulsion under control, my thoughts wander dreamily to Ang; that perfect, golden, hairless chest rising from his rippling abdomen – just perfect! I love the way he lets me caress his torso; run my tongue across his nipple, and I adore how I loll-off slightly as he whispers in his deep, but almost inaudible voice – hypnotized, my whole body tingles sleepily as I enjoy the comforting, dampened, buzzing in my ears; strangely electrifying and meditating at the same time – God I love him.

He’s back now … this Barry. He’s banging-on about the days when he used to play football. I wonder to myself just how long ago that must have been as I look at how his stool has completely disappeared beneath his enormous gut, and how his plump arms seem to protrude grotesquely from the front of his trembling body rather than from the sides like everyone else.

I’m saying all the right things, “Mmmm … you must be one strong guy … I love big, strong men” but I’m not even thinking about it, and in fact I’m starting to disengage mentally as he starts to rub his beer-sticky hands up my inner thigh. As he slobbers on my neck, I cope with this the only way I know how … I think of this afternoon … I think of Ang.

In the heat of the day, when all the rest of the girls are out shopping and working, he comes creeping through the darkness, and I rub his knotty back. He caresses my hair and we make love. He is always shy at first – his gentleness a familiar game, before we become more and more needy; our desires for each other growing frantic and urgent.

My thoughts have the usual, unwanted, shameful effect. My hideous deformity impossible to hide as this drunken, slavering hog finds what he’s been searching for and mistakenly chortles with self-congratulation at what he thinks he has done.

How many more times will I have to endure this? I start doing the sums in my head … five times a week for another six weeks, I figure – as I get caught up in the calculations, my heavily breathing companion starts to get agitated. He growls his annoyance and I am forced to refocus.

The effect, again, is visible, and I all but blush (not quite, though, that’d be bad for business) when I recall Ang’s anguished confusion as he looked at me dressing that first day. How I hated myself as he looked away from my abomination. The distaste in his eyes still returns to haunt me every day, just before 2pm, as I lay in the darkened room in my underwear, waiting with anticipation for him to come creeping into the cot beside me, feeling sure that today he has met another – one who is not hideously disfigured, who he will follow to another darkened room. I hold my breath as I wait, as if that would make any difference, but I know I would never breathe again if he didn’t come … the thought of being without him is as hideous to me as my distorted body is to him.

The sweating heap of lard beside me is literally panting now with exertion. The back of my neck is soaked with drool … thirty-four more times I will go through this before I have enough bhat to pay the doctor, and then Ang will come to me in daylight – he will look me in the eye, and he will whisper to me, making me tingle all over, and tell me that he loves me.

I want him so much, but for that I need to be healed. The truth is, thirty-four times is not too many; I would go through this sixty-eight times if it means I will have my Ang … I just hope he will wait.

12 comments:

Stewart Sternberg said...

Okay, call me sick, but this was great! God. You really grind it into the reader's face, and while giving us a taste of the obscene, you never completely give it all away, building tension as the reader senses there is something else here.

This was strong, visceral writing. I am not going to stop and talk about character development, setting, or anything else. I will let the your story speak for itself. It is a raw piece.

Thanks for participating. I will link to the story on Thursday.

Peace

Nurse Blonde Vigilante, RN said...

Impressive. I always love your story telling.

Um, we know your mom had sex at least once. I think she can handle it. ;)

DonkeyBlog said...

Thanks Cakey - yeah, actually, she had sex at least a few more times ... but not gay street sex, I think!

JR's Thumbprints said...

Very impressive. I admire how the momentum of the story carries the reader along, anticipating the main character's deformity.

SQT said...

My brother lives in Thailand and I assume this is a take on the lady-boy phenomenon?

Really good job. I also like how you describe the characters feelings when she looks at herself. The feelings of shame, calling part of it deformed or an "abomination" makes it more real to me.

Susan Miller said...

I may need to take a nap before reading any others because without the comments I would have never gotten gay street sex or as SQT puts it the lady-boy phenomenon.

This has the exact same anticipation of another assignment you did. It flows between the day and that night very nicely and keeps the reader intrigued.

I love it!

gugon said...

This is good story - I was completely pulled into it. The sweaty blob of a man drooling over her gave the whole story an icky desperation.

And what I really liked about it was that you never quite give away what the deformity is. The imagination goes wild.

Christina Rundle said...

Powerful. I was immediately attached to your lead character. The desperation is so raw.

Lucas Pederson said...

Sickeningly stubendous! Wonderful writing, I was hooked from the beginning. Good stuff!!

The Editor said...

yeah but... re 'the deformity' if this is gay sex then is that strictly a gender reversal?

DonkeyBlog said...

Ah, yer all tops!

Mr Sternberg: Thanks – it’s true that there is plenty of room for better character development and attention to setting, but the word limit kinda restricted me a bit, and I was quite busy trying to put together a gritty reality. This type of piece, though, I think has to be a short piece, or else a short episode in a much larger story – still, t’was good fun to play with.

JR: It’s interesting to now have read others’ pieces, and seen how effective coming straight out at the beginning and letting the reader know what the deformity was. At the time of writing, I couldn’t see any other option than to keep the reader guessing … so that’s a good lesson.

SQT: Definitely girly-boy … but the interesting thing has been that you weren’t quite sure, and others seemed to have missed it altogether – which illustrates that there’s room to be a lot more astute in the telling. Definitely the lead character is not a well person; priorities all mixed-up and grasping at happiness straws – certainly someone who would have major body image problems, which is what I was really trying to get across. Thanks for your encouragement.

Susan: I always get warm fuzzies when you say nice things – yours come as the highest of complements. Thanks.

Gugon and Christina: I was definitely going for raw, and a bit base - it’s very different from the way I normally write, hence this piece was a bit rough, and could use some tidying up.

Lucas: thanks.

Mr Editor: well that was all part of the fun, as the lines between gender can get pretty blurred nowadays.

sabrina said...

Wow!...really...wow!