TEXTS
FOR BRUCE LaBRUCE’S SKIN FLICK
STORY OF A BETRAYAL
Oh, if only I were the son of a regiment, a little Soviet partisan with a protruding little ass and a moist, crimson orifice! I would give all my tiresome regimental lovers with their stinky cigarettes and shit-stained underwear for a single whiff of a fascist cock! And then, being filled up to my throat with German sperm like a miraculous elixir of youth, I would spend the rest of my days fucking the brains of retarded Soviet schoolboys, moaning in front of them with a runny nose: WHERE ARE YOU NOW, MY FELLOW SOLDIERS (MY FUCKING BATTLEMATES)?! Where-where — in pussy hair! Knowing what true male comradery is about. Knowing that my war-time lovers slaughtered one another at my beckoning. Knowing that this terrible military secret will irrevocably die with me. There were no witnesses, and this unheard-of villainy will leave my hands like all the other shit I've committed in my life. Remembering to the end of my days the groaning and moaning, the spasms and convulsions, the suffocating bitter smell, the dull hardness filling my zeal-numbed mouth, the tight fiery streams and drops settling in my ever-hungry throat...
Hey, I just remembered a funny thing! Our guys used to curse at me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ASSHOLE! THAT'S NOT A HANDKERCHIEF, IT'S YOUR RED FUCKING ARMY TIE! But what else was there left to do? During the war, where was I to find a handkerchief or toilet paper? So, I was obliged to use my tie – for hygienic purposes, so to speak. I re-tied my tie and went on my way, sucking soldiers' cocks, chewing the cheese off from under their unwashed callused foreskins.
Sometimes the buffoons would get drunk on moonshine, wake me up in the middle of the night, fondle me, push me around – getting ready to have fun on top of me. They would position me doggy style and ram their filthy peckers in one after another till my intestines swell up. They wouldn't let me peek, I couldn’t even see who’s turn it was to plug me. I would only get yelled at: ALL RIGHT, BITCH, GUESS WHOSE DICK IS IN YOUR PUSSY NOW! If I guessed wrong, they would force me to blow them, filling my mouth with the taste of my own shit. (“CHOCOLATE WAFFLE”!) I’d almost throw up. Back then I got a generous helping of my own shit – there was enough to feed a party of ten! Then they'd piss in my mouth and mock me: ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS!
The Germans were more refined, they smelled of cologne, changed their underwear and took sex more seriously... They would gang-bang me and then feed me Belgian chocolate. After the fifth or sixth fascist cock I wouldn't care anymore. The pain would go away and I’d simply watch the bloody sperm dripping out of my torn bunghole – Nazi German sperm mixed into a fucked-up cocktail with my Communist Russian blood. Watching the goings-on from outside of my tortured flesh, thinking of millions of microscopic swastikas inseminating me, I’d feel intolerably calm – my evil soul and my fucked-up spirit – calm through my awareness that this is indeed my destiny… my preordainment…
People will tell me, of course: YOU FASCIST BEDSPREAD! WHERE'S YOUR GODDAMN PRIDE?! WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING PATRIOTISM!!! A military tribunal is crying over me, and I'm crying with joy, smearing tears, sperm and snot across my face with my sticky hands. Oh, sweet treason! Oh, disgraceful infidelity!
GET YOUR VILE TENTACLES AWAY FROM ME! – I whispered, surrounded by cretins and fuckheads. — I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!!! I AM TREASON!!! INFIDELITY IS MINE!!!!
I treacherize like God. I betray like Satan.
TOILET DREAMS
When I was a kid, I wished I were the son of rich slave masters in ancient Rome and that my parents would give me a pretty slaveboy my age. His life and body would be undividedly at my disposal. He would sleep between my legs like a dog. I wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night and run to the pisser because my little slave would perform the function of a living toilet and I would piss in his mouth. Not only piss, by the way... I would wake up in the morning, and my sleep-hardened cock would find shelter in the hot, enveloping vagina of his mouth. I would forbid him to wear clothes and feed him only my sperm and feces. He'd eat and swallow all of it, without any leftovers. Later, when I would get tired of my slave, I’d ask my parents to search out another living toilet for me...
[MY LIFE WITH A LIVING TOILET]
When I was a kid, I wished I were the slaveboy of a pretty son my age of rich slave masters in ancient Rome. My life and body would be undividedly at his disposal. I would sleep between his legs like a dog. I would become his living toilet and wake up in the middle of the night because he'd piss in my mouth instead of running to the pisser. And not only piss, by the way... In the mornings I'd wake him by inviting his hot, strong, sleep-hardened cock into the vagina of my mouth. I could no longer survive without it. He'd forbid me to wear clothes and would feed me only his sperm and feces. I'd eat and swallow all of it, without any leftovers. I'd quickly get used to this diet and wouldn't even think about other food. I wouldn't know what to do when he'd tell his parents that he got tired of me, and that he wants another slave. I think I'd kill us both, starting with him. I’d shove my arm up his ass to the elbow, dismantle and tear out his innards and eat these wriggling, squealing entrails. Then I'd die of nostalgia and hunger...
[MY LIFE AS A LIVING TOILET]
STORY OF A BETRAYAL
Oh, if only I were the son of a regiment, a little Soviet partisan with a protruding little ass and a moist, crimson orifice! I would give all my tiresome regimental lovers with their stinky cigarettes and shit-stained underwear for a single whiff of a fascist cock! And then, being filled up to my throat with German sperm like a miraculous elixir of youth, I would spend the rest of my days fucking the brains of retarded Soviet schoolboys, moaning in front of them with a runny nose: WHERE ARE YOU NOW, MY FELLOW SOLDIERS (MY FUCKING BATTLEMATES)?! Where-where — in pussy hair! Knowing what true male comradery is about. Knowing that my war-time lovers slaughtered one another at my beckoning. Knowing that this terrible military secret will irrevocably die with me. There were no witnesses, and this unheard-of villainy will leave my hands like all the other shit I've committed in my life. Remembering to the end of my days the groaning and moaning, the spasms and convulsions, the suffocating bitter smell, the dull hardness filling my zeal-numbed mouth, the tight fiery streams and drops settling in my ever-hungry throat...
Hey, I just remembered a funny thing! Our guys used to curse at me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ASSHOLE! THAT'S NOT A HANDKERCHIEF, IT'S YOUR RED FUCKING ARMY TIE! But what else was there left to do? During the war, where was I to find a handkerchief or toilet paper? So, I was obliged to use my tie – for hygienic purposes, so to speak. I re-tied my tie and went on my way, sucking soldiers' cocks, chewing the cheese off from under their unwashed callused foreskins.
Sometimes the buffoons would get drunk on moonshine, wake me up in the middle of the night, fondle me, push me around – getting ready to have fun on top of me. They would position me doggy style and ram their filthy peckers in one after another till my intestines swell up. They wouldn't let me peek, I couldn’t even see who’s turn it was to plug me. I would only get yelled at: ALL RIGHT, BITCH, GUESS WHOSE DICK IS IN YOUR PUSSY NOW! If I guessed wrong, they would force me to blow them, filling my mouth with the taste of my own shit. (“CHOCOLATE WAFFLE”!) I’d almost throw up. Back then I got a generous helping of my own shit – there was enough to feed a party of ten! Then they'd piss in my mouth and mock me: ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS!
The Germans were more refined, they smelled of cologne, changed their underwear and took sex more seriously... They would gang-bang me and then feed me Belgian chocolate. After the fifth or sixth fascist cock I wouldn't care anymore. The pain would go away and I’d simply watch the bloody sperm dripping out of my torn bunghole – Nazi German sperm mixed into a fucked-up cocktail with my Communist Russian blood. Watching the goings-on from outside of my tortured flesh, thinking of millions of microscopic swastikas inseminating me, I’d feel intolerably calm – my evil soul and my fucked-up spirit – calm through my awareness that this is indeed my destiny… my preordainment…
People will tell me, of course: YOU FASCIST BEDSPREAD! WHERE'S YOUR GODDAMN PRIDE?! WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING PATRIOTISM!!! A military tribunal is crying over me, and I'm crying with joy, smearing tears, sperm and snot across my face with my sticky hands. Oh, sweet treason! Oh, disgraceful infidelity!
GET YOUR VILE TENTACLES AWAY FROM ME! – I whispered, surrounded by cretins and fuckheads. — I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!!! I AM TREASON!!! INFIDELITY IS MINE!!!!
I treacherize like God. I betray like Satan.
TOILET DREAMS
When I was a kid, I wished I were the son of rich slave masters in ancient Rome and that my parents would give me a pretty slaveboy my age. His life and body would be undividedly at my disposal. He would sleep between my legs like a dog. I wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night and run to the pisser because my little slave would perform the function of a living toilet and I would piss in his mouth. Not only piss, by the way... I would wake up in the morning, and my sleep-hardened cock would find shelter in the hot, enveloping vagina of his mouth. I would forbid him to wear clothes and feed him only my sperm and feces. He'd eat and swallow all of it, without any leftovers. Later, when I would get tired of my slave, I’d ask my parents to search out another living toilet for me...
[MY LIFE WITH A LIVING TOILET]
When I was a kid, I wished I were the slaveboy of a pretty son my age of rich slave masters in ancient Rome. My life and body would be undividedly at his disposal. I would sleep between his legs like a dog. I would become his living toilet and wake up in the middle of the night because he'd piss in my mouth instead of running to the pisser. And not only piss, by the way... In the mornings I'd wake him by inviting his hot, strong, sleep-hardened cock into the vagina of my mouth. I could no longer survive without it. He'd forbid me to wear clothes and would feed me only his sperm and feces. I'd eat and swallow all of it, without any leftovers. I'd quickly get used to this diet and wouldn't even think about other food. I wouldn't know what to do when he'd tell his parents that he got tired of me, and that he wants another slave. I think I'd kill us both, starting with him. I’d shove my arm up his ass to the elbow, dismantle and tear out his innards and eat these wriggling, squealing entrails. Then I'd die of nostalgia and hunger...
[MY LIFE AS A LIVING TOILET]
Translated
from Russian by Dmitry Gelfand and the Author. © Slava Mogutin, 1997. |
