Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are
under 18- 21 in some localities If you are underage you must leave
now. If you're and curious, this is not the place to get the
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories.
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we
can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain,
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.
Behind Green Eyes - (green.txt) - You flagrant fornicators out
there be warned! You are a danger to the existance of the world. Or is
it jealousy that poses the real threat? The only sex in this mad ramble is
in fevered dreams.
Behind Green Eyes
An affliction? Yes, I can go that far. But not in the sense of a
sickness. Because I will not yield one inch to those who want to say that
values don't exist.
Life needs rules and some things deserve to be sacred.
Especially that most basic bond between a and a woman. I'm not
going to get religious or anything. You don't have to believe in anything
to see that is the center of soceity even at the barest levels of civilization.
You have to see that.
Any breakdown in that most basic unit is an attack on the
foundation of civilization itself. Preventing the foundation from crumbling
is a pretty serious duty. Everyone should be vigilant in that.
Perhaps my vigilance approached the obsessive, but the
impulse was valid. After all, the fall of civilization is a pretty severe
consequence. I may have overestimated how much of the direct weight
of that was on my shoulders, but I didn't shirk the burden. You have to
give me that much, at least.
And I admit that I can't prove that she was unfaithful even once,
but there were temptations aplenty. I'm sure of that. She was an
incredibly sexy woman and every one of them were after her. How
could they not be? I know they slavered over her like dogs over a steak.
Following her like wolves stalking their prey, waiting their opportuinty.
The poor innocent wouldn't have a chance. Sensuous silk sheets,
fancy water scents, a glass of wine- and when she wouldn't drink
enough to get drunk, the drugs-- Laking naked like a sacrifice, her
magnificent helpless under his hands, her rose secret parting wet,
unknowing, her legs dancing in air as he thrusts, the obscene slap of
flesh on flesh as he takes his carnal thrill, the natural dance unnaturally
performed, harder, harder, harder, she moans----
But I have nothing to show for my certainty. Oh no, this is
foolishness, she said. Could she not see how foolish her unconcern was?
They were there. And how could they not want her? Was she shielding
me from scenes she knew would drive me crazy? The at her feet?
Prospective beaus pleading their love? Or was there a darker reason for
me to ignore the court of suitors drooling for her favors?
The truth was obvious! Why else would she deny it? She was
not the unwilling ingenue. She rewarded their attention with her body.
She enjoyed their adoration and enjoyed their trysts even more.
Slinking- back to the wall- to the dirty room where she could
strip and wait for her present lover. Waiting naked so the least time
would be wasted before he throws himself on her, pants no farther than
his knees. Can't she see she is just a vessel for his lust? Or is that what
she craves?
Abrupt, but not hurried, he makes sex the foreplay, all five acts
and the finale. He grunts like an as he brings the meeting to a
close in a flurry of thrusts and one long moan that matches her own as
they copulate like sea creatures on the disreputable bed.
And then it is quickly over. He pulls up his pants and leaves.
She is only moments behind, still flushed with her guilt. So brief. So
base.
But following her never turns up a mis-step in her day. Somehow
she knows not to meet one of them today. Somehow she senses that I
am there. Finally I am sharpening my watch on the restroom. It is the one
place she is out of my sight.
I don't know how he gets past my watch. But that is the only
explanation. It's the only time she has out of my sight. He must creep in
from some service door or conceal himself in the ladies' room before she
arrives. What a need for deception!
But it does not mean it is aimed at me. Perhaps someone watches
his every move. Or maybe I am falling prey to grandiose thinking. It may
simply be that they seek out the toilets, the sewers, the places of offal and
exrement for their own corrupt coupling. So twisted their minds that they
find excitement where others find disgust.
Her mouth stretched wide to accept his member as she squats in
a stall. Functions of elimination combined with the cruel deception. The
private splash beneath her coming in a rhythm of splashes. A rhythm of
elimination keyed to the thickness of flesh bumping the back of her throat
as he starts before she can complete the necessities.
Perhaps that is what is special for them. All the dirty bathroom
functions at once in that stall. I can hear him joke about 'pumping
the out of her' and then turn her around still dripping. Yellow beads
forming tears in her pubic down as he enters her.
But wait! How perverse is too perverse for these? Profaning love
with excrement in stolen moments of forbidden sex means they have
discarded all taboos that give our soceity function. My innocent bride that
is so shy about these things with me has been living a lie.
I see him raise his aim with a chuckle about a turd travelling
backwards and she, the spotless and pure, giggling as he enters the
unclean passage. With another? Too pure for me, but now with this man?
I try to turn off these thoughts, but the sound of her moans and his
insistent slap on her upraised haunches echo in my mind's ear. How foul!
And yet she says there is nothing to my suspicions. I am the one
with the dirty mind. All because she is too clever for me to catch. Only
because her trysts become more covert the harder I pursue. And it is
remarkable she can sin so much with such brief opportunity, but I know.
I feel it. I see it happen in my mind.
What I was sure was only a mistake of innocence, is certainly
more diabolical. Why would she continue to deny what I can feel in my
bones? She must laugh behind my back as I try so futilely to catch her.
How much of her joy comes from that laughter as she allows the
faceless to plunge into her, arching for them to fill her in her shame?
That is so different from her confused, weeping surface. Does
she think me a dolt? How am I supposed to take her lying denials? It
would be kinder if she threw her in my face. This facade of innocence
only ridicules my inability to prove what's all too plain to see.
How huge the betrayal! Not only in the flaunting of the most
sacred bond of soceity, but in the rejection of her vows to me, her love.
How far must she go into the domains of sin? How long have her
pledges of affection been a lie?
Was it that which drove her to deception? Was it the joy of
watching the fool believe the lie that allowed her to seek her whorish
play in others' arms or was it the play that lowered her opinion of me
to one than did not need to be told the truth?
No matter. I am possessed of a whoring wife. All I lack are
the evidences of sin. I know what she is. What would you do?
Pursue her more? I have told you that is fruitless. Beg for the
truth? She only is obdurate in her lies. Confront her with her guilt? Alas,
she is too clever.
It is this quandary that brought on the - we agreed to call it no
more than an affliction, did we not? What other course was there to
follow? What other way to rescue her purity from the cesspool into
which she had descended?
The woman I loved more than life itself was slipping into the
unforgivable darkness. And still she refused the cleansing of confession.
What way to rescue her? It was her soul at risk. That part which forms
the core of our civilization. How could I forsake her in that wilderness?
Her denials were the same. She used her professions of love
as a distraction. No matter how clever her dishonesty, how could she
hope to use the bond she so foully reneged as her talisman against the
truth?
I had to try to save her- from herself, from her evil seducers.
How else could I have acted? For me the bond was still sacred. It was
the fabric of all the peoples at stake.
If only I could stop her one day, perhaps the spell would be
broken. Or like a junkie, one day might lead to the next until the evil
has passed and she would return, a forgiven supplicant to our vows and
bond of oneness.
But the evil was too strong. And it made her too clever. I think
there was an accomplice, but they say he was in my mind. I think they
have been fooled by her craft. They believed her.
They have not seen the tricks she can play. They do not
understand the stealth with which she can cover her trangressions. They
have not followed her only to be left empty of the proof.
But I ramble. The incident, did we agree to call it that, or was it
episode? Made me realize that I was close. Why else would she have
needed me out of the way? I must have been a bother, nipping at her
heels. But look at me now.
She has fooled them completely. I can see the abominations
that go on, even in my own bed, now that I am here. Depravity
unchecked by my knowing presence.
I know I reacted badly when they came. I admit I have an
affliction. We've decided that already, have we not? But they do not
realize the weight upon me that caused it. They do not credit the stress
of a deceitful wife. They will not understand the haunting by the facts
of her infidelities that were such clear visions in my head.
They believe her. But you know I was only overwrought,
don't you? That I will search other ways to return her from err. That
I need to return to stop this evil.
Before it tears the fabric of soceity- before it shakes the
foundations of civilization- stop this thread from unravelling the mores
that hold the together.
It is only an affliction. But not in the sense of a sickness.
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