Free Razor Wire Pubic Hair by Iii Carlton Mellick Page B

old and rotten, its warmth gone cold, crispy-black. Pretending I am inside of Celsia’s cold dead cunt.
               
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
     
                "Look at what you’ve done," comes a voice from my cunt.
                I curl my body, tilt-peering over there to my vagina inside the incubator muck.  The eyeballs have found their way inside of my cunt again, ogling back at me.
                "You’ve brought it upon yourself," says The Something That Lives Inside of Cunts from my cunt.  "The rapists were here to give you a reason to live, but now they are dead because of you."
                "I don’t regret the rapists," I tell my cunt.  "I regret Celsia."
                "You don’t know what you are saying," says my cunt.  "You’re goal in life is to fuck as much as your body will allow before your death.  You are a dildo."
                "What makes me different from Celsia?  Tuma? The others?  Why are they so normal and I am just a soulless fuck toy?"
                "You are not much different," says my cunt.  "They are also dildos.  Every living being was made for fucking."
                "There has to be something else to life," I tell my cunt.
                "Everything else is just killing time," says my cunt.  "All that matters is your sex.  All that you will be remembered for is your periods of fucking."
                "I want Celsia back," I tell my cunt. 
                "Celsia is dead," my cunt tells me, "She cannot fuck you ever again."
                And I pluck the eyeballs out of my cunt and flick them out of the incubator, clicking sounds as they hit the blank kitchen floor, my eyes closing tight to remember Her, remember having sex with Her, her beautiful razor wire pubic hair.
     
     

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
     
                "Get out of there," Celsia tells me, waking me from a long-long dream, her voice stained with cramps, like the mornings after drinking battery acid, a hangover.  And I feel quite hungover too.
                "You feel the hangover from your life," Celsia tells me.  "Life was like drinking, physical pleasures made us drunk, but now we are dead and hungover."
                I am dead, and I pull myself out of the incubator. 
                I see Celsia but something is different about her.  I can’t see her body, just a soul without meat, a sphere of energy, and I still want to fuck her.
                "Celsia, Celsia," I groan, trying to reach out to her and rub her breast, but my hands are light and awkward and pass through Celsia’s blob of body like a cloud. 
                She has no cunt. 
                I have no cock, no cunt, no tits.  I am no longer a fuck toy, but a soul.  I am something above the physical.  I cannot have sex.
                "Why can’t you fuck me?" I ask Celsia.
                "We don’t have the parts for it," Celsia tells me.
                "I don’t care," I tell Celsia.  "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."
                But she ignores me.  I want us to still fuck, or try to fuck.  I want her soul to fuck my soul.  Our vaginas still touching in spirit.  But her soul just drifts away from my soul and doesn’t respond to me or fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
               
     

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
     
     
                There’s something not right about being dead.  The fortress is now completely flesh, no windows or doors left, wrapped in dark warm meat and closing us deep inside, into each other.  All the souls of rapists tangling up in the room, swarming each other, sad they can no longer have sex, not ever again.
                This something that is not right about being dead is not only not right, but it is terribly wrong.  I feel just gruesome and pathetic without skin