too.”
No one had ever whispered those words before. The recoil spread into her innards like a wildfire. Realizing that her cock was still hard, ready to offer Eel her cum, she wanted to finish the night. Eel then undressed and the dildo lolled around as if playtime. It was bright blue and thick, much longer than she imagined. There was a sole vein running from the end of the shaft to the engorged head, glazed like candy. Coco wanted to choke on it, to trace her tongue around it and make Eel feel like the man he really was.
But Eel had other plans. He pinned her down and began to lick her concave stomach, swishing his tongue into her belly button until he moved passed her groin and reached her penis. He rubbed his face around the shaft, pulled it back and when he let it go Coco heard a slap. Then he sniffed it loudly and let the single pearl bead of pre-cum rest at the tip of his top lip. Now she wanted him to suck her off.
It was time to take risks.
His mouth went over the head of her cock like a tumescent flesh light and there was a fathomless heat index inside. As he jerked her Eel’s fingers were five little ghosts of pleasure. He ignored Coco when she pulled at his hands and arms, trying to save him from the splurge of orgasm.
“Eel, please, don’t make me… ”
He didn’t listen. Tightening his lips over her dick like a vice, relaxing his throat, he took a deep breath and dived. Coco felt his tonsils, epiglottis, and ultimately the twitter of orgasm. It rushed from her balls and on its way out her entire body went rickety. Then great gooey globs flushed over Eel’s lips and Coco couldn’t stop. There wasn’t a trace of it left after he got done wiping his mouth with his tongue.
“Oh, my God,” Coco said.
“We aren’t done.”
He turned her over on the bed and she inhaled the stink of her own sweat. But before Coco could move, Eel had her legs spread and he drove his face into her ass. She felt the hot verve in his tongue as he tried to get it as far inside her puckered hole as possible. Then his rubber shaft entered—fast—but it didn’t hurt. Eel knew just how to enter her without tearing the delicate sphincter.
Coco found herself aroused again and it made her hand grip her dick. The slap of Eel’s hips on her ass ricocheted in the room, and Coco let out wails that woke all of Canal Street. Then Eel yelled that he loved her over and over, and that he was
Eel relaxed and she relaxed. They lit cigarettes and made trails of smoke from their mouths meet in mid air. He kissed her forehead and they curled into one another, both semi-conscious with sweet pleasure. Coco looked up at him, and he down at her, and then rested her head on his chest, listening to the chambers of his heart swish and cluck.
Coco woke up to light filtering through her black curtains. Her makeup burned her eyes, her ass was sore but it felt right. She rolled over to put her arm around Eel, but all she felt was a dent in the mattress and a stack of cash. Then she heard angry sounds from the bathroom, curses and mutters. When she went in Eel was still naked, the dildo stuck to his leg, staring into the mirror. His fingers moved across the wound in his neck a couple of times, poking at it like it wasn’t there.
“Why the fuck am I not dead?” He looked at Coco.
“Eel… ”
“I came here to be like you and I’m functioning in broad daylight!”
“I tried to tell you last night that—”
“Tell me what? That you don’t live up to the
Eel punched the mirror and it burst into silver diamonds. His face looked wrong, angry, made his femininity show.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Coco asked.
“What the fuck are you?”
No answer.
“I asked you what you are, freak!”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I always mean what I say.”
“So then you love me, like you told me last night.”
Eel snapped his head backward and his throat bulged, letting out a guttural laugh. He didn’t stop even when Coco asked nicely.
“You think I love you? I just wanted to be what I thought you were. Now I’m leaving. I left your money on the bed.”
Bulleting words, machine gun speed, left small holes weeping black tears until she was nothing inside but wasteful thinking. She replayed the Eel from last night in her head to calm down, but today he was not the same man. He wasn’t the guy who held her as she slept or the man who had killed for her. His image burned into her skull like a hot wire; she couldn’t hold it anymore.
Then Eel was walking out of the bathroom, snorting his arrogance, and Coco jumped onto his back. He tried to fight, pushed himself into the walls to evade her, but the jagged sliver of mirror was already in his throat, running from side to side. If he wanted a bite, he was going to get it.
Her teeth sank into the skin covering his flayed neck. Eel soon grew vapid as the blood kept running, a fountain of red. She cut and sucked, anger fueled by his mockery. Coco may not have been what Eel wanted, but she knew about revenge, how to protect herself from anyone, and the taste wasn’t that bad. It reminded her of the salt of his tears, tinged with a bit of metal. In turn Coco hoped he got his wish, that the bite was the one he had always dreamed of.
AMONG US
Jenny Corvette
The dead man’s eyes were closed, as dead eyes always were. I found myself wondering what color they were, beneath those glued shut eyelids. Such a morbid curiosity, yet I could not help it. His name was Jerry, at least, that’s what the funeral program said right beneath his picture. He looked much different dead, but then again, who wouldn’t?
I watched enough cable to know what happens to bodies when they die. Aside from the physical reaction of the body’s cells dying, there were all those procedures done by those calling themselves funeral directors, but who were really nothing more than human butchers. Ghastly procedures, if you ask me, hardly believable in the face of the modern funeral. But horror hides. Usually in the basement. And I know that somewhere beneath my feet, terrible things had been done to Jerry’s body.
Not that I cared. I didn’t even know Jerry. I was attending his funeral only because I’m a thrill seeker, living on the edge of life, at least as much on the edge as a 38-year-old divorced woman can get. Granted, I wasn’t exactly jumping out of airplanes, but crashing other people’s funerals produced its own sense of euphoria. Euphoria that Jerry could no longer experience, well, experience in this realm at least. Who knew where his soul was at the moment, and what sort of experiences it might be having.
As for me, I’ve always been partial to the belief that the soul resides in the blood. And if that is so, Jerry’s soul might well be in the funeral home’s sewer at this very moment, mixing with the souls of so many that had been drained down the basin of eternity before him. The irony of death is that it seems so monumental, yet it happens to us all. Its frequency makes it hardly unique. And funerals are like penises. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.
So why do I go to them, you wonder? It has nothing to do with the dead or with the broad philosophical concept of death in general. But it has everything to do with life. Because, standing in front of a corpse, I felt most alive. At any moment I knew I might be subject to the questioning by a family member or close friend. I felt onlookers’ eyes on me all the time. I knew they were wondering who I was and why I was there, looking at their
