280 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
280 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #395 !!
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#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "House of the Rising Sun: !!
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##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: Innsmouth, USA" !!
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..:::::..::::.....::::........:: by -> Squinky 12/28/98 !!
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!!========================================================================!!
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We heard about the Innsmouth Special from a trucker we met in the
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Haven Brothers' Diner in Providence. At least, he said he was a
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trucker, but his huge hog outside forced me to suspect he was just
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another doped out biker from Warwick or Smithfield. But he described
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the specialty it with such meticulous care that we knew that part of
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his tale, at least, must be true.
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The tales of Innsmouth filtered in with urban myth. We knew about
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the grave of Mercy Brown and Nellie Vaughn, we knew of the Devil's Foot
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rock in North Kingstown, we knew of the scared Narragansett Drum Rock,
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and we knew of the haunted tower in Warwick Neck. Of Massachusetts we
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knew very little, but we always heard of Innsmouth.
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But never of the Innsmouth specialty, which our interloper now
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related to us, our ears peeled back with interest. "Yuh wanna know
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where the good action is?"
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"Sure," I said.
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"I'll tell yuh where the good action is. Is alla in Innsmouth!"
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"Isn't that where those people live?" asked my brother. My
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brother actually had seen Innsmouth, once, from a distance.
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"Yeah, yeah, thass parta the special, man, thass parta the
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special. Yuh see, they got what yew call a Brothel there, a real
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fuckin' brothel, inna middle uh town. Yew go there, and yew get a real
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specialty act, man, a real fuckin' specialty act. I mean, yew think you
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been inside it all?
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"You ain't been in shit till yew got the Innsmouth special, man.
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It's freakin' crazy."
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"What's so special about it?"
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"Man, they got this girl there, Eliza, Eliza Marsh, the things
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she can do with her body make a man weep. Damn. Yew really need tuh
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check it out."
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We talked with him a while longer, getting explicit directions to
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the Brothel, and the card, so they wouldn't hassle us at the door. My
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brother hit him up for concise directions to this house of ill repute,
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for he longed desperately to experience something new and unique in
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this recycled world of Graeco-Roman antiquity. All we needed now was
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transportation.
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So we headed back from the Downtown area to our Fox Point
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apartment on Williams Street, taking in all the benefits of a stroll
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through the old city, changed with modern intrusion, but still ancient
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and weird as ever. My brother and I discussed the Brothel, and I
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expressed my apprehension, assuming it would only be yet another
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unsatisfactory sexual experience in a lifetime of unsatisfactory sexual
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experiences.
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"We've done it all, mon fr<66>re," said I, "all the specialty acts
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under the sun that I care to think of. The trans, the bi, the gay, the
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black, the asian, the freaks, all of it. And all of it left me feeling
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hollow and alone. Am I a beast? Is this why? I am an adequate lover,
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no doubt, but, should I really keep doing this? Why will this be any
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different?"
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"It may not be different," he said, "I won't lie to you. But
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we've got to try, because somewhere, I know, somewhere out there,
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meaning waits to be discovered. And this is the only possible avenue.
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Even if it doesn't succeed, at least we can release some of the awful
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tension of being a man.
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"Plus, I want to see Innsmouth. Don't you?"
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I had to admit that I did, having heard the legends of the
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degenerate town. Incest and demon worship. Who could say no?
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We went back to our apartment and found our roommate, Jeremy,
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asleep from a night of alcoholic splendor. "Let's take his car," said
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my brother. I nodded, agreeing. We found a map of all Massachusetts,
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and managed to locate the town. We planned the quickest possible route,
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and loaded up on caffeine pills and amphetamines, ensuring an optimal
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driving performance. Speed.
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My brother drove the whole way, refusing to let me drive once he
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started, screaming out oaths and curses, damning me to Hell anytime I
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suggested taking over. The stimulants kept him in good control of the
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wheel, and he averaged about ninety-five miles-per-hour. We made
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Innsmouth in two hours, and parked our car just outside the city, near
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some woods, and walked the rest of the way like the biker in Haven
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Brothers' told us to. Apparently, the citizens of the fair town of
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Innsmouth, in this year of our lord, don't drive much and tend to look
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down on those who possess the motorized abominations. Innsmouth is so
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silent at night that any car echoes into every single quarter of town,
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waking and alerting those who might better remain dormant.
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We stalked cautiously through the town, seeing vague movements in
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the shadows, never directly encountering a resident of the town.
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Strange sounds came from boarded up buildings, dilapidated and on the
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verge of tumbling over, but we walked on. The directions the biker gave
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us seemed to be accurate, and we soon found ourselves in the center of
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town, looking directly at something called The Order of Dagon Hall.
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"Ok, we're supposed to turn left here, and then head towards the
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East Side of town."
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"What's Dagon?" I asked my brother who shrugged his shoulders in
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response. I peered into the Hall and saw a strange figure in the
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doorway float past. It wore a crown on its head, and for a brief
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second, looked at me. The smell coming from the Hall left a disquieting
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effect on the rest of our journey, because it seemed to follow us
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wherever we went. I waited for it subside, to leave me be, but it
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followed no matter where we went. I now wonder if it had been there
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before we reached the Hall, but remained noticed. Was it the smell of
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Innsmouth? Did it really originate in the Hall, or come from somewhere
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else?
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I could tell my brother laboured under the stench, because his
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face lost its calm amphetamine serenity and he began to breathe out of
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his mouth, avoiding usage of his nose as much as possible. We walked
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fast, I suppose, and soon we found the southern waterfront section of
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town, and knew the Brothel couldn't be far away.
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My brother began to shake with anticipation. I, on the other
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hand, shook with stimulants, not terribly concerned with the coming
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experience. I knew it would be the same as all the others I'd gone on
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with him, profitless and degrading.
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Boarded up buildings, inhabitantless, greeted us on all sides,
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showing us the lonely and miserable desolation of the legendary town.
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Soon, though, we saw the building which had been described for us. My
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brother shambled up to the door, and gently knocked three times (a sign
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we had been assured would gain us entry). There was a pause, and the
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sound of some rumbling behind the door, and I was filled with the
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queerest notion that we were being observed by someone in the building,
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even though boards covered all the windows. Someone slid a bolt behind
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the door, and it slowly opened.
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My brother pushed his way in, and I followed. Before anything
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registered with my reeling brain, my brother handed the card to
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someone, and the tense air left the room, replaced by a breezy relaxed
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one. In the light, I could only see the dimmest outlines of things, but
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the girl who took the card seemed to be suffering from a strange malady
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in its earliest stages.
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Quite frankly, she looked like a fish. I've seen the look before,
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with underfed RISD students, but never so advanced. Her coarse grey
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face and the bulbous eyes all disgusted me, and I hoped that I would
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avoid her at all costs. I only wanted the specialty. My brother, on the
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other hand, seemed to take a delight in the idea of bedding this
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wretched creature. He grabbed her and kissed her, saying, "We want
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love."
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I said, "I've heard much of this Eliza Marsh." Then, hoping it
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wasn't true, I asked, "You aren't her, are you?"
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The girl replied in a slow, thick voice which reminded me of the
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sea, "No. No. Yew'll be looking after Eliza, then?"
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"If it can be arranged. We've got the funds, if that's an issue."
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"I can tell yew gentl'men have funding. I can spot `em, I can."
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"Well then, where is she?"
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She giggled a little as my brother fondled her, and started
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pulling her towards one of the empty rooms surrounding us on all sides.
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As he dragged her in, she said, "Yew'll want the last room on the
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right. She's there, alone. Waiting, fer yew. Heh heh heh." My brother
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pulled her into the room and the door slammed. I wondered how much this
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spectacle would cost us, but like any sex addict, dutifully went
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towards my prize, regardless of consequences.
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I walked past open and closed doors, catching glimpses of
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movement and strange moaning. Since it was dark and poorly-lit, the
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movement didn't disturb me as much as the sounds. The sounds coming
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from men seemed in concordance with the experiences they were
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(presumably) undergoing. But the female noises, if I can call them
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that, were hideous groans. They sounded like the low groans of the
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starving.
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I shook as I turned the doorknob to Eliza Marsh's room, fearing
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what I would find on the other side. There were no lights on in the
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room, and I coughed a little, hoping that the sound would evoke a
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response from whomever was in the room. I met with success, for the
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room filled with the sound of a strange voice, even thicker and
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bubblier than the voice of the "girl" my brother now made love to. "Wut
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is yer name?"
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I stammered out my name, and she said, "That shore is a nice name
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yew got. So do yew want to make love wif me?" I said that I did, and
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she said, "Come to the bathtub."
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"Bathtub?"
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"We make love in the watur."
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Sure, I thought, just part of the specialty act. I moved blindly
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in the darkness to the bathtub, using the sound of her voice and the
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splashing water of the tub to guide me towards my erotic destination.
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When I got to the edge of the bathtub, the smell kicked me in the
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teeth, and I said, "What the hell is that damned odor?"
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"Oder?"
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"Yes, can't you smell that?"
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"Oh, that's the watur. It's salt watur. We make love in the
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salt watur."
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More specialty, I guess, so I started taking off my clothes. When
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I was naked, I slid into the tub, and moved myself up towards Eliza. I
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touched her face, and immediately recoiled. Her skin felt rough like
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unfinished wood, and each pore seemed the size of a crater. I couldn't
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even be sure of her hair, what it was like, but I thought of seaweed
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strangling me. She giggled a thick gurgle, and I gasped.
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She moved over me, and even as I protested, even as I screamed,
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"No!", I felt myself growing aroused by the idea. I knew with what I
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slept, and it appealed to me. She descended.
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I met my brother in the lobby. The girl he'd slept with giggled
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and played with his hair. I noticed her hands were thick and webbed
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like Eliza's. We paid the whore, and left the brothel as quickly as
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possible. He seemed worn out and exhausted, speaking little until we
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well out of the slum.
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As we walked back to our car, he said, "Well, screw it. I'm
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never doing this garbage again."
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"Me either."
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"What a rip-off. What a damned rip-off. She was the lousiest
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whore I ever slept with. I think she thought I actually liked her. You
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were right, you know. These whores are worthless. This isn't the way
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to find that meaning we're looking for. This isn't anything but a good
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way to catch something fatal."
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I nodded my head and said nothing. I wanted to scream at my
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brother, but I didn't. I knew how fruitless it would be. So I shut up
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and drove us home, wordlessly. My brother went to his room and I went
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to my own. I sat back on my bed and I recollected.
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What I had wanted to tell my brother was this: that I had finally
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achieved the meaning that he and I had long sought for all these years
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in our decadent whoremongering. When that. creature and I consummated
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our lust, I had finally seen a way out of the static of modern
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antiquity, that yesterday and today could be escaped and the future
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could really be embraced.
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Her gills moved with passion, breathing, and her eyes stared
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unblinkingly, and my mouth filled with nausea and my nose with stench,
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and she and I became as one, for a brief splitting moment, I knew who I
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really was in the grand chaos of the entire universe. A glimpse into
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the universal. Her webbed paws moved up and down my back, trailing
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slime, and her thick voice moaned out the sounds of battle. She and I
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both saw the truth.
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And finally, when it was over, I left the bathtub and I put back
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on my clothes, which stuck to my wet body, and moved away without
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saying anything. I walked to the edge of the room, to the very door,
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and turned on the light. I looked back at what I had just discovered
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myself with and saw a creature more frog than human, grey and sick
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looking, rolling in the filthy waters of my lust with her nude, scaly
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flesh and webbed limbs. She tried to smile at me, to express a similar
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discovery of her own meaning, but her facial muscles atrophied over
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time, and her fish face made a horrible grimace.
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I shut the door behind me. My brother was right, he really was.
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We can never go back to whoring. Never.
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!!========================================================================!!
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #395 - WRITTEN BY: SQUINKY - 12/28/98 !!
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