chapter*Dad
textscIt’s an infinite sequence of cumming, dappled by work and traffic and gasoline. Where night extends forever, where the sun is only a flashlight. Even morality is the webbing between something else, and a something that is more. Even identity, and gravity. Even time. Laid out in sequence, satisfaction lengthening it and lack of satisfaction shortening it, sucking away at what you have left, at what remains. Plastic lip, cock reaching. Forward, up. To the next. As it should. As it fucking should. Half of culture stalls us, someone press fast-forward. See what this will become. Ants. Collecting, carrying, storing, mixing. Table, discard, make notes, acquire, manage supplies, inventory, assets. Assets. Control. Assets get up and walk away. Not-controlled. Assets stay put. Assets like powder. It doesn’t matter Cock is a guy. It’s shape, and hole, and shaft. It’s just like mine. He must be feeling the same thing. We must all be the same. I can tell what Candy’s feeling. I touch his cock. I pour powder on it, wipe it on Candy. Candy doesn’t know if it’s my finger or Cock’s finger. All Candy knows is purity and skin. The inside. Cock is pussy explorer. Sending back messages, colonizing. Pussy is hostess, mother, home. Mineral. Fertile soil. Couch. And this one’s pure. Outer lips: dry. Veneer. Flattened. Wiped. I’m taking care of—tended. Ready. Cock’s dick is ready now. Viscous. Tip. Base. Trunk. Hot. And balls cool. Candy’s pussy is ready now. It’s the freshest I’ve ever seen. Put that in now. Go. In tip. Breaking. In all the way. Candy watching screen. Touching herself. Her nipples are bleeding. Touching herself. So much. Her nipples are bleeding.