There is no sensation that compares to an orgasm.
This was his earliest deduction. Even before he was mature enough to experience the physical effervescence of ecstasy, he had a notion, a primal sense that there was an ultimate pleasure in life that he would one day taste.
He felt its warm breath whisper in his ear as a child, when he sat on the toilet, watching his cousin’s friend in the shower. He felt its gentle fingertips caress him when he spotted the perplexing yet enthralling photograph on the back of the rolled up magazine protruding from beneath his father’s side of the bed. He felt it pulse inside him when he lay in the grass beneath the silver birch at the bottom of the playing fields with Cassie Smith, and kissed her warm, sherbet-frosted lips.
He captured it for the first time in his dreams at the age of twelve, and was truly in love from that moment. A week later he had learned how to consciously summon his rapturous mistress. His life from then had been dedicated to her pursuit, in all her wondrous guises.
It occurred to him two years ago that he had exhausted every conceivable facet and form of orgasm. There was no depth to which he had not stooped, no depravity left untested, no perversion unindulged; and this deeply saddened him. When one finally captures the nymph they have so lustily chased, they invariably break her wings.
He had found the limitations of physicality, and was caged by them. Patsy claimed she could stack her orgasms like dominoes, then let them all cascade throughout her being in a waterfall of ecstasy. And he’d seen it happen. The trembling contractions she was seized by as he’d glanced up from between her legs were unlike anything he had experienced. Her pleasure was otherworldly, deific; and he envied her with a sulphurous spleen.
So William began researching. He stole books from museums and libraries; he joined ancient secret societies; he communed with atrocious entities through diabolical séances in his pursuit of the answer to the ultimate sensation. A human being is allowed a vague glimmer of what it is to be divine, what pleasures the greater senses of a god may feel, in that one transient explosion of ecstasy. So William sought to escape his flesh’s shortcomings and become a god.
He doesn’t know what went wrong. All he knows is that he will kill himself some time soon, for his despair is absolute. Dawn begins to bleach the bedroom and throw pale blue light over the loose pages of notes scattered across the floor. The sunlight will soon fall across the crooked archway in front of the bay window to highlight his failure. He weeps as Patsy snores.
He had calculated every minute element of the archway in conjunction with his abstruse studies. The angles had been exact; the weight was correct; the organic liquids were balanced; the flesh had all decayed to the correct levels; the colugo’s vocal chords had been pulled until they reached the unearthly tone required, and then had been amplified to the correct number of decibels. The celestial alignment had been perfect as he crawled through the structure at exactly seven minutes past three that morning, clad in exactly the right materials to allow him to pass into a state where his soul may cum for this first time; where every part of him may become a living orgasm; where everything he’d known until then was nothing more than tepid foreplay; where pleasure was infinite and where gods may be.
And now he sits in bed, still a man, numb to divinity. Above the stench of decaying viscera, he can smell the vinegar and cake dough of Patsy’s sweat. His tear-shattered vision drops to the cigarette burns he scarred into her bosom two nights ago, and he thinks for a moment that her very presence may have unbalanced all of his carefully placed elements and made him fail. His hands contract into trembling fists. She was just another toy; she was never supposed to be here on this sacred night. He pulls the sheet down to her midriff and squeezes her breast angrily in his hand. Her nipple erects, though she still snores. He pulls her hair, yanking her head up from the pillow, forcing her fat greasy lips against his own. Now she is awake. She seems startled at first, rigid. But she soon becomes malleable beneath his weight, and he pushes her thighs apart.
And then he jolts as though he has been stung, and tumbles backwards from the bed, trembling. His body falls into the archway, sending each perfectly placed structure into a cascading chaos.
Patsy sits up and crawls towards the edge of the bed. She is saying something, but William cannot hear her. All of his senses are fixated by the semi-engorged prick swaying between her legs. She grins, and as she reaches out to touch him, her phallus twitches with excitement. William recoils, pulling the duvet over himself as his bare back falls upon the bone, metal, wood, urine and other debris behind him. Patsy sits back on her haunches with a confused look on her face, but it is her cock, sat with hideous majesty on its scrotal throne that William cannot look away from. It seems to watch him with its one knowing eye, daring him to face the brewing madness in his head. He puts his trembling hand on his navel in answer to the phallus’ goading. His skin is slick with sweat, and his palm slides quickly down to his own loins.
He screams.
__________
©2010 Gary Bewick-Raven
Gary crafts nightmarish worlds and lures us in to stay as long as we dare. The British author is published both in print and online, and is currently working on his first collection of stories entitled Red Mass.
Tags: Gary Raven
January 18th, 2010 at 5:59 am
Wow that has never happened to me as a reader before. I was really drawn in right from the hook. I delighted in every word right up to “sulphurous spleen” and smiled and smiled…then…..the rest….oh my g a w d …. the sick, twisted rest….
….laughing…..but I had to know how it turned out….. what a nightmare world you have created for this poor character Gary. Pardon me while I gather my jaw up from the floor now and move on with my day.
Amazing read.
Karen :0)
January 18th, 2010 at 5:01 pm
This was a devilishly deliciously fresh treatment of what is frankly a bit of a worn out theme. And a sumptuous treat of language to boot. Loved in particular ’sat with hideous majesty on its scrotal throne’ and ’summon his rapturous mistress’. Great stuff.
marc nash
January 19th, 2010 at 7:28 am
Fantastic prose, sir. First line snared me and got tighter around my throat until the breathtaking end. Beautiful madness.
January 24th, 2010 at 9:39 am
Thanks for taking the time to read my tale, and for all your kind feedback!
July 1st, 2010 at 10:15 pm
great stuff here! keep up the great work