We’re Fucked, Pt. 38 (Fiction)


I feel drugged, as if I had been pumped full of morphine because some doctors had to open me up and rummage around my insides. I’ve ridden the high until its waves placed me gently on wet sand, and it takes me blinking a few times for my sight to clear up.

The night has fallen on this late October afternoon. We are bathed by the pair of ring lights mounted on tripods at the foot of the bed. Some moonlight also pours into the bedroom; the balcony of Jacqueline’s apartment on the hills offers a distant view of Mount Igueldo but no nearby homes, so we didn’t need to lower the blinds to make love. Our bodies are tangled together in sweat and sticky fluids, like a couple of teenagers after their first tryst. The rhythm of my heartbeats, that vibrate through my ribcage, quickly matched Jacqueline’s. My head is pillowed against her breasts, and my breath moistens the silky skin near her left areola as I listen to the sounds inside my beloved while she herself inhales and exhales deeply.

How could such pleasure have flowed through my rotten veins? My blood had been replaced with liquid fire, and my muscles with a vibrating mass of solid energy. No amount of self-diddling, no matter how dedicated, could have brought the visions of such a paradise as the one I witnessed thanks to Jacqueline’s tongue.

Her fingers weave into my hair, which makes me shiver against her body.

“I thought you had passed out or fallen asleep, baby,” she purrs in a low voice. “I’ll have to get up and pee in a short while.”

“I am dazed, lost in a warm dream,” I mumble as my lips move against the skin of her breast.

She chuckles quietly.

“I’m glad. I came real good too, baby.”

I sigh.

“I wish my entire life was reduced to cumming and sleeping. We’d fuck over and over until I passed out from exhaustion, then I’d sleep until my body woke up by itself. The process would repeat indefinitely. However, I’d have to fuel this decaying frame with nutrients, and eventually expel the nasty by-products of metabolism. We’d also need a roof over our heads to avoid the rain and such nonsense. When you think about it, everything that keeps us busy in these wretched lives of ours are just convoluted ways of securing the next orgasm, as well as the next eight or so hours of unconsciousness.”

“I assume that our bodies in this lovely dream of yours would never age or become sick,” Jacqueline says softly. “They would always stay fresh, young and strong. They would always be beautiful.”

I chuckle bitterly.

“It is all too easy for me to envision a world where sex rules supreme. No one needs money, or food, or any kind of material thing for basic survival; those simply do not exist because people want nothing except for their partners’ company. But dreams only take us so far because reality is harsh on our fleshly shells. After all, aging is a curse. No wonder that humans are so fucked up, when we know that we’ll grow old and die. It’s kind of nuts that our bodies are just outer layers that will eventually disintegrate into nothingness. Imagine: if the body were made out of steel instead of organic tissue, there’d be no such things as cancer, heart attacks or even the common cold. Anyway, over the years I’ve thought of so many things to do, but there is no point in putting much effort when I’m just going to end up a bloated corpse.”

“You’re much younger than me, baby. You look like you have all the energy in the world.”

“You must be joking. I am the walking dead. I’m a vampire that was created in a laboratory to serve a dark god. Most of the time I lack the strength to carry on a conversation, let alone do anything productive. My mind can’t focus on a single thing for more than half an hour before it becomes a muddle again.”

“But you were in such high spirits a moment ago.”

To apologize, I reluctantly lift my face from her warm breast, which is coated with a sheen of dried saliva, but a close-up of my beloved silences me. Jacqueline’s lustrous, raven black hair has fanned across the pillow like an aura of smoke around her head. In her beautiful face, those cobalt blues glow with a loving light, like an angel’s eyes. Her lips, puffy and rosy, part in a confident smile that shows her white teeth and deepens her dimples. The soft light from the two ring lamps makes her look ethereal.

A hot, tingly feeling grows between my thighs and my belly.

“I swear, I can barely look at you without wanting to touch myself,” I say hoarsely.

Jacqueline giggles.

“What a sweet compliment.”

Her hands squeeze my hips. She runs the tip of her tongue along the edge of my mouth, until I have enough and I capture her tongue between my lips.

Jacqueline understands my suffering, and what’s like to exist as an unrepentant pervert. My entire universe has been reduced to her: a blue, cozy cave in the center of the desolate cosmos. A storm surrounds me, but I’m wrapped up inside a thick blanket. One day the storm will pass and the sun will come out again to shine upon our faces as we sit beneath its rays. I will gaze upon a clear sky except for a few white cumulus clouds drifting lazily across an azure background.

In Jacqueline’s caresses I become a child again. I feel safe cradled in her embrace, I yearn for nothing more than to bury myself in her soft flesh. The only things that matter are her warm touch against my skin, her breath on my cheek, the tickling sensation when she strokes my back or chest, the gentle heat from her belly pressing into my own, the softness of her thighs under mine. And even though those feelings are all so small, they can’t be contained by words.

What am I doing here with this woman? Jacqueline should be sitting by a fireplace with a glass of red wine while watching some TV show in the evening, before she had dinner together with her kids at the kitchen table. She should have a husband to kiss goodnight, one that would hold her close and tell her sweet dreams, instead of me.

Jacqueline’s labia are glistening and shimmering in the white light. My hands roam across her skin as if my fingers were petrels gliding across the surface of the ocean. I massage her abdomen, the soft rise from her pelvis to the surroundings of her belly button. My hands travel across her hips until they reach the tuft of dark hair above her crotch. I touch her desperate to prove to myself that she exists, or through that contact, that I’m real myself.

“You claim to be much older than me, but your skin feels so firm,” I say dreamily.

“Turns out I’m a freak of nature. I can’t complain in that regard.”

“Hey, I’m also a freak of nature in many respects!” I say cheerfully as I lift my gaze towards her nostrils. “It’s only natural that we’re drawn together.”

Jacqueline rubs her forehead with the back of a hand.

“But I also fear getting old, you know? I don’t want to end up like some hideous, hag-like monster. I want to look as good as I can for as long as I can, so that I can make the best use of my limited lifespan. If I could have a young and beautiful body forever, I would do whatever it takes to make it so.”

Jacqueline pats my head. When I move my hands to support myself on the mattress, she rolls over to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Anyway, I have to expel a by-product of metabolism.”

Jacqueline sashays away, not that she can help it with those wide hips of hers, presenting her smooth, round buttocks to me. A wave of lustful desire floods my body. I need to bury my face between those cheeks, suck on Jacqueline’s fleshy ass, lick the crevices of her pussy, and tongue-fuck the whole of her anus. But Jacqueline closes the bedroom door behind her, so I suspect that she’ll get busy with more than number one.

Once my heartbeat dies down, I stretch out my arms and legs and yawn. The bed is rumpled where we lay down together, and covered with our scented sweat and sex fluids. It smells divine; even better when I press my nose into the fabric.

The late afternoon has grown cool, so I wrap myself in Jacqueline’s bedsheets and lean back against the fluffy pillows to wait for my beloved to finish up. It feels as though the temperature outside dropped ten degrees while we were in here fucking each other like animals.

Peeking from behind the ring lights, the black lenses of both cameras that are pointing at the bed look dead, except for the conspicuous red lights that clarify that they keep paying attention to me. I hope they got my performance down to a fine art.

Out the balcony door, the distant hills of Mount Igueldo are dotted with glowing windows; most of those who are rich enough to own luxurious homes there won’t go to sleep yet. The spiky leaves of a potted plant perched on top of the balcony parapet sway in the silent breeze.

I close my eyes and repeat the word ‘Jacqueline’ over and over in my head, trying to conjure her up. I wish to stay here forever with this woman, with the darkness of this late October afternoon, and with the stars.

Perhaps Jacqueline just wants me to fulfill her sexual needs; I would never turn her down. Perhaps those plans involve keeping me around indefinitely as her slave. I’m not the type of person anyone should bring to a relationship. I have an entire collection of mental disorders and perverse fetishes. I’m a coward, a whore, an addict. The biggest waste of space on this planet. I’m so depraved that I’ve come to look forward to the suffering and the misery. I don’t care about this world and I don’t care about its people. I’m not even human anymore. Surely that warrants Jacqueline clasping a collar around my neck and chaining me to her bed. All I’d have to do every day is wait naked for my woman to return home so I could finally lap at her warm insides and slurp her nectar. All sounds would be reduced to the gentle squeaking of Jacqueline’s bed, the moans of ecstatic pleasure, and the wet sloshing of her pussy against my mouth as she quenched my thirst. No more guilt, no more fear. No more feeling the weight of the world. No more fighting the darkness inside myself. Just Jacqueline.

A burst of tingles in my crotch makes me slide my hand past my pubes for a quick rub, while my other hand goes for a languorous caress of my nipples. With my eyes closed and myself lost in a dreamy reverie, I barely notice the bedroom door opening. Jacqueline steps in as she strokes her naked arms.

“It’s way too chilly to walk around the apartment butt naked. I thought I had left a window open somewhere.”

She tiptoes to the mirrored wardrobe, slides the door open and grabs a violet garment, so silky that the electromagnetic radiation from the ring lights glides across its surface as if it were water.

“Is this a shirt or a nightie?” she asks me over her shoulder with an amused expression on her face.

“I guess it depends on the context.”

Jacqueline attires herself in the garment: a negligée that barely begins to cover her firm thighs, with a baby pink motif like a band of flowers over the chest. The thin straps seem ill-suited to contain her massive, milky white twin wonders.

I gulp at her majesty. Along with the gentle sway of her hips, her long legs and her raven black hair cascading over her bare shoulders, Jacqueline makes the perfect image of a seductive femme fatale. My heart rate goes haywire when she stands before me in all her glory.

Once I lift my gaze to Jacqueline’s blues, she approves my reaction with a cocky smirk.

“The thin layer of silk hugs my tits making them look even bigger, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh.”

I keep staring at her breasts as they jiggle ever so slightly under their weight. Her nipples are visible through the negligée like tiny bumps on an otherwise smooth surface, tempting me to run my tongue over those tender peaks.

“Anyway, there you are, little devil,” Jacqueline coos. “You look so cozy. Leave me some room by your side, will you?”

I slide my ass down the mattress so my head rests on the pillow, and I pull away the bedsheets. However, as Jacqueline climbs onto the bed, she turns her head towards the ring lights.

“Oh, I left the cameras running again.”

She walks over to fiddle with them. I close my eyes and let my head sink into the soft pillow. A few seconds later, artificial light ceases to filter through my eyelids, and I return to the darkness and silence of my own mind.

Jacqueline creeps under the bedding and snuggles up to me. Her breasts rub against mine as she licks my earhole, which makes me tremble from head to toe.

“Did you miss me lots?” she whispers in my ear.

My hand slides down to the hem of her negligée, and I rub the material gently between my fingers.

“You are my heroin. I want to overdose on you and disappear.”

Jacqueline embraces me, squeezing me tight, and nuzzles up against my cheek while her hair tickles my neck.

“I’d be so sad if you were gone,” she says with a heavy sigh. “It’s too soon to let your soul wither away, so stick around for a bit longer.”

Jacqueline’s tits are compressed against my chest, covering the whole surface from my collarbones to the end of the thoracic cage, hindering my breathing somewhat. Her nipples dig into my skin like two hard pebbles.

“Is it too soon, though?” I ask. “I was born with a dried up soul, as if I had opened a carton of milk only to find a black sludge festering inside. I’m a mess in my head and an utter disaster outside of it. A broken, ruined, half-dead beast.”

Jacqueline fake-bites the tip of my nose.

“Hey, don’t you say such nasty things about my girl. I don’t like it one bit, you hear?”

“If you hadn’t been here to protect me, I would have turned into a feral, bitter, heartbroken being who spends all day masturbating. The kind of creature that craves only to be alone in their pain. I wouldn’t be able to even take a shit without some help.”

“Don’t be so mean to yourself. You’re not as bad as you think.”

“I’m probably worse.”

Jacqueline runs her right thumb over my bottom lip, tracing the curve where my lips meet at their center.

“Don’t worry about a thing, and don’t give up hope. You can count on me. I’ll help you find your way back to life. Together we can make the world a better place, make everyone smile and laugh and all that.”

“I’m inclined to believe you at the moment.”

I pet her body under the negligée, running my fingers over her smooth, warm skin, while I listen to the beating of her heart. I’m getting drowsier by the second.

Jacqueline’s breath caresses my lips as her fingertips trace patterns along the small of my back.

“Do you miss the old days,” she whispers, “your childhood, your family?”

I squirm.

“Wh-why would you ask me that all of a sudden?”

“Oh, I was thinking how lucky I am to have a cute girl like you in my arms, and I tried to imagine how you looked back then. So you know, it just popped into my head.”

“When did I have a family? I can’t remember a single moment when I wasn’t alone in the dark.”

“How dramatic.”

“Hey, I did tell you a bit about my family during our date at the pub, didn’t I? That’s a big deal for me.”

Jacqueline shifts her body on top of mine.

“You told me an entertaining lie about your drunkard of a father kidnapping you and your sister, then drunk-driving off a cliff into a lake, where you drowned to death. Afterwards you came up with something about uploading your consciousness into a machine.”

“Well, there you go.”

Jacqueline strokes my cheek, then she turns my head enough to kiss me on the mouth. Her wet tongue caresses mine slowly, lovingly, as her warm saliva, that tastes like mouthwash, mixes with my own. I squeeze my thighs together.

“C’mon, baby,” Jacqueline insists. “Share something truthful about yourself before you fall asleep.”

“I don’t have any family. Besides, I try to avoid thinking about the things that make me who I am. I intend to just exist.”

“No family, huh? Of course. A perfect babe like you sprung out from the ether fully formed.”

I let out a defeated sigh. My body feels heavy.

“Well… My mother’s ashes rest beneath the soil of our family plot in an ancient cemetery.”

“She got cremated, huh?”

“After she found out I got pregnant at sixteen, she went ahead and cremated herself.”

Jacqueline giggles, then she squeezes my butt-cheeks reproachfully.

“You know that you can tell me the truth, open up for real. I’d want someone to talk to. And that someone might as well be me, since I’m your lover and all.”

As her warm fingers caress the curve of my back, white noise burns behind my eyes, a high-pitched whistle. I shut my eyelids tight.

“A part of me wonders if my life would have been better if my father had taken his belt to my ass instead of locking me in the cellar when I was seven years old. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this way about being trapped inside my own body. I would have been free, I could have learned how to talk to other people and have made some friends, and my ass would have been much, much better by now. My mother died giving birth to me, and even though I loved her dearly, she wasn’t able to protect me against my own dad who would hit me with a wooden spoon for no reason.”

My eyes are still closed, but the noise has worsened. I feel like the entire world is aflame and that I’m the only person in it, a burning soul with a heart full of rage.

“Perhaps in some distant future we will discover how to build an AI capable of understanding human languages,” I continue, “but until then the only option is to remain silent. The world is not kind to those who do not use words well; they will never get what they want out of life, they will always end up having to suffer for their mistakes and make more of them in return. I learned that lesson the hard way when my parents were murdered by a hitman for refusing to pay protection money.”

I sense Jacqueline’s heat, the curve of her cheeks, the softness of her lips, and that moist, dewy, honeyed smell that exudes from her skin.

“You silly, silly child.”

I feel it again, the hole in my heart, so big and deep that the wind can blow right through it. Empty like a hollowed-out log. I sniffle, then bury my face in Jacqueline’s warm neck.

“It was a war zone of tears, fear and anger. A few times I thought I might end up murdering my parents as they screamed at each other over nothing. When no one else was home, I went down into their room and sat on their bed. They used to have a stuffed bear called Pepo, which I would hug until I felt better. Whenever I hugged him, he’d turn into an old man with grey hair who stared at me blankly. Then I’d hold his paws tight while imagining us living together somewhere far away from there.”

Jacqueline strokes my back gently, running her fingers along my spine. The pain begins to recede, though I still feel something missing inside me, a void that cannot be filled. I keep talking.

“And I must have gotten molested, but who hasn’t? I get molested every time I leave the safety of a closed room. So many noises pelting me, so many bright lights plunging themselves into my eyeballs. And yet all this is supposed to help me? The streets have gotten saturated with human beings that insist on discharging disgusting sounds and invading my personal space. Did anyone ask you to bother me, you rotten wretches? Who gave the green light for your own stupidity? Why do you think you are entitled to the effort it takes me to formulate a coherent sentence? I swear, this crumbling world will fall apart one day because people don’t know how to treat each other right; they just scream and shout and make demands without ever listening to what other people might actually say. If I could, I would have turned myself into an ice cube and entered a state of permanent hibernation. I don’t like anything, I don’t see the point, I don’t know where I’m going or why I was born. Consciousness is a maddening nightmare, don’t you think? The only way to survive is by accepting your lot and just existing with a dull and resigned apathy. The truth, Jacqueline, is that I don’t care about the past or the future. All I want to think about is you.”

Her hair brushes over my lips as her tongue licks at my throat, and while she grinds against me, her wetness dabs my thigh in small circles. Jacqueline’s touch brings out a new kind of tension in me. I want her lips around my nipples again, I want her mouth sliding down across my stomach while I moan softly, I want her hands kneading my ass cheeks while I beg for more. I yearn for those sweet words of hers to spill over my body until they soak through my skin and reach the deepest parts of me.

“I hate everyone,” I say in a threadbare voice, “but most especially I hate myself. So let me tell you what I really am: an ugly creature who lives for pleasure, a selfish parasite incapable of love, a weakling full of self-loathing, a disgusting pervert, an empty shell of flesh, an insignificant pile of shit… yet somehow you still like me. That’s the scariest thing of all.”

Jacqueline whispers in my ear.

“Then let’s keep fucking each other silly until we forget everything else.”

I don’t reply; her fingers have found my clit, and they’re circling it as if seeking a way into my mind through my skin.


Author’s note: another long scene, although I’ve barely gotten any sleep tonight. Also, more Japanese tunes, like this onethis other one or that other one.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 37 (Fiction)


About twenty minutes before the workday ends, my boss appears at the doorway of his office like a particularly nauseating bear emerging from winter slumber. He’s wearing his burgundy suit, and the tie he chose looks like a piece of raw meat hanging off his neck. His suit barely disguises the paunch, let alone the bulge in his pants. The fabric must have become as stained and smelly as he is.

Ramsés stares straight at me. I have no choice but to hold his gaze, although it sends a jolt down my spine and makes my muscles tense up.

“Leire, let’s have a moment,” he says with his big head and thick arms.

I freak out internally. He’s setting up an emergency meeting because I haven’t done enough work today. I consider answering, “What if I can’t, sir? What if I’m having a mental breakdown?” but he wouldn’t give a shit.

Ramsés turns around and disappears into his lair, leaving the door open for me to follow him. I stand up. As I was about to shuffle to my boss’ office, Jacqueline grabs my hand and smiles up at me.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she whispers.

I can’t help but worry anyway, but as I walk past her, I’m touched by Jacqueline’s attention and care. My heart has swollen, and I’ve gotten a bit dizzy. I want to taste the salt on her skin and the sweat between her breasts, but instead I’m heading into my boss’ office like a scared mouse.

Ramsés was standing next to his mahogany desk for me to enter his arena. When I step in, he sits down with an air of superiority on his throne of rape. His face is paler and drier than usual as if he had slept poorly for a couple of days, and he’s sporting conspicuous dark circles under his eyes. I haven’t gotten close enough to smell his breath, but it must stink like a factory. I’m sure there are worms living inside those chapped cheeks; the only thing he’s missing are flies buzzing all over his face.

The light streaming through the windows is already dimming, and solely the hum of my boss’ computer, that likely needs a cleanup, breaks the silence. Ramsés gestures for me to sit down on the guest chair across from his desk. However, today I refuse to bear the way he would look down at me if I sat there; I’m sure he bought the guest chair shorter so the sinking feeling would remind his workers of who’s boss.

I walk up to the back of the guest chair and I place my hands on the backrest.

“Please sit down, Leire,” Ramsés insists as if he was dealing with a recalcitrant child.

I try to hold my head high, but my heart is pounding.

“I won’t. I’ve already been sitting for decades. I figure it’s about time I stand for a while.”

My boss stares at me through narrowed eyelids. It takes a couple of seconds for my resolve to shake like the blubber in Ramsés’ buttocks. I can already smell cigarette smoke emanating from his body, mixed with sweat and dried pre-cum.

As Ramsés leans back in his chair, his gaze slides down to my cleavage and lingers there for a moment before it returns to my face. For someone used to hiding her femininity with hoodies and sweaters, wearing this stupid dress I might as well be naked. The rapist in charge of this hellish company likely believes that I’m yelling silently for him to bend me over his desk and stuff me with his porcine cock. I am not going to give up without a fight. I must under no circumstances allow this bastard to touch me, but he’s already fondling me with his invisible tentacles of lust.

Even after I shift my weight nervously and narrow my shoulders, this prick keeps staring at me with the unsettling fascination of a big cat about to pounce on its prey. I force myself to keep my hands in plain sight so I won’t have to worry about my fingers sliding up the inside of my thighs or into my panties.

Ramsés picks up a coffee mug sitting next to his keyboard. He raises it to his lips, takes a sip, then places it back where it was. When he lifts his gaze back to mine, there’s a cold glint in his eyes that makes me feel like I’m being toyed with by some sadistic beast.

“Alright then,” he says quietly. “You’ve got a lot of nerve today. Let’s discuss your two most pressing tickets, which are now being held together by duct tape. You’ve only made a couple of commits to the repository, and the attached messages were even more bizarre than usual. So what’s going on?”

I cringe. I hadn’t considered that my boss would spy on my progress that closely, but he must have been keeping count and perusing my commits for a long time, maybe ever since he enslaved me. I’ve written such deranged nonsense in the messages. Why haven’t I been fired or even crucified already?

“It seems to me that you’ve found more important things to do than your job,” Ramsés says bitterly as if his life had turned into a living hell because of my incompetence.

Did I imagine that knowing look? Did Ramsés realize that I had slept pressed against Jacqueline’s twin miracles? And who would blame me, if they understood how much it would hurt to be deprived of the softness of those breasts at night, or of the gentle caresses Jacqueline’s supple hands provided on my body while we were sleeping together like two spoons? The idea of spending a single second apart from Jacqueline makes me want to cry; it’s too horrible for words. Even as I write with nail polish nasty curses upon my boss on the walls of my mind, I still can’t forget the woman who has become my world and the centerpiece of all my fantasies, and whose scent lingers on my skin and fills my psyche with sweet visions. The truth is that yesterday was the best day of my entire existence, but there are secrets one can’t share with anyone, especially with the evil maniac that owns your soul. I shan’t reveal my incestuous relationship to this cretin.

The pressure in my head is growing. Why would I give in even an inch? In merely twenty minutes I would have escaped from this building along with my beloved, but now I’m trapped inside a monster’s lair, waiting for death by torture.

“What would you like me to tell you, boss?”

“Are you having particular troubles with any aspect of those tickets?” Ramsés asks as he fidgets with his tie and collar.

“With one of them, for sure.”

My boss raises his eyebrows expectantly, but I keep silent. When no further explanation is forthcoming, Ramsés insists, “Well then, why don’t you go ahead?”

I groan. One of the worst parts of being controlled by a psychopath is the uncertainty whether or not he’ll listen to what I say.

“That goddamn snake language,” I spit through my teeth.

“You mean Python? You are stalling on that contract because of your pet peeves with the language?” my boss asks incredulously.

My face flushes red, my heart rate increases. I clench my fists, and I can barely keep my eyelids from twitching as rage rises up inside me like an erupting volcano.

“They aren’t personal annoyances! Python rests on top of its Global Interpreter Lock, planned back when most processors had a single core. It’s meant to make the interpreter thread-safe, but it only allows a single thread of the operating system at a time to execute Python bytecode! So if you need to write a complex application, you won’t be able to take advantage of multiple cores efficiently by distributing the work over them. Forget time-sensitive simulations such as games!” My voice is rising, and so are my blood pressure levels. “As if that wasn’t enough, if you go the route of multithreading instead, you have to profile that section of the code carefully, because the overhead of setting up the parallelism, copying the data in memory, usually makes multithreading slower than if you ran the program in the main thread! I’m not the only one that’s frustrated by it: the community has been buzzing for years about the fact that Python is fundamentally flawed. I swear, this fucking abomination is holding back the entire industry! Why can’t people admit it?! It’s a dead language with no future! It’s obsolete! We need new languages that took concurrency into consideration from the beginning! At least Java added lambdas and streams, but Python remains popular because data scientists and other laypersons who jerk off to numbers want to cobble together some scripts quickly without caring enough about their architecture or how they’ll perform. Those bastards should be garbage collected and incinerated! Snake programmers only think about finding the easiest way to do something, while making everyone else suffer!”

My lungs burn; I’m short-winded. The office has grown hotter, and sweat drips down my forehead and neck. This was my chance to vent for real, not just in emails or in moments of weakness during masturbation.

Ramsés wipes his own sweat from his brow. I have a clear view of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down under his skin-tight shirt, and the urge to rip out that disgusting little organ with my claws is overwhelming. After Ramsés takes a deep breath, he folds his hands on the table and fixes his gaze on my furious eyes.

“That’s an interesting opinion you’ve formed,” my boss says as his nostrils flare. “But Python has a very rich ecosystem, with many libraries that help developers get around these problems. For instance, there are several packages that add parallelism to Python programs by using the multiprocessing module. Isn’t that right? Is it so hard to believe that people find value in the language despite its flaws?”

My face twists into a snarl.

“Oh, you didn’t mention the multiprocessing module. It’s too slow! What would happen if some nitwit decided to write such code in production? It would be a disaster!”

Ramsés sighs and puts his palms flat on the desk.

“Please stop shouting and swearing. I can’t deny that you are quite passionate about this issue, but you need to get your head around Python. You’re not an independent contractor, you’re an employee. Besides, do you even need to make the program multithreaded for what the client demands?”

I bite back a reply as the blood rushes to my face again. My boss is another snake, a serpent of evilness that lurks under my bed every night waiting for me to fall asleep and dream about him fucking me from behind while I’m tied up, like a sacrifice in some profane temple. I want to calmly walk over to my boss and rip off every thinning strand of hair upon his scalp, then shove his head into a bucket of bleach and set it on fire. I’d witness the pain in Ramsés’ eyes as the skin on his face sloughed off, his blood flowed out of the gaps, his eyes burst out of their sockets and his skull collapsed inwards until his brain spilled out onto the carpet. Then I’d abandon his body so the rats in the walls could start feasting on it. After all, he deserves no mercy or pity; not only does he treat the rest of us as nothing more than disposable objects, but he also tries to steal our souls when we least expect it. However, satisfying such urges would only serve to deepen my problems, so instead I try to calm down.

“You don’t understand. You handle the clients and secure contracts, I’m in charge of writing the software. I don’t intend to belittle your work, sir, because I would rather make a swan dive into a wood chipper than deal with clients. But these pricks in particular demanded that the program should be developed in Python because they consider it fancy. What do they fucking care, after all? You should have laughed in their faces, then berated them for their terrible taste in programming languages. Finally, you should have ordered them to kneel at your feet and plead for us to develop the program in Rust instead!”

Ramsés hangs his head low. I can almost see the frustration oozing from his greasy skull. A long moment later, he lets out a pained groan.

“Leire, what can I do with you?”

Snakes like him utter such questions when trying to convince others that their intentions are noble, despite their actions being monstrous. My heart thuds painfully, my throat is full of bile, and I want to vomit up my rage and misery into Ramsés’ face. Instead, I let loose some words.

“Well, I’ve been on a self-destructive spiral for a while, so I can’t say I give a fuck. Fire me if you want. I’ll throw myself off a bridge and that will be that.”

“Don’t joke around with such matters.”

“I could use the rest.”

Ramsés leans back and rubs his chin.

“Leire, I don’t want to prescind of your services. You are the right kind of programmer for this company.”

I snort.

“There’s no way I’m the right kind of person anywhere!”

“In any case, I presume that you’ll fix this by working overtime. You’ve always handled your tasks more diligently when the entire building is empty.”

A drop of sweat trickles down my back. I knew this was coming. That first time, a couple of months after I signed my rights away to serve this prick, I decided to stick around after the workday ended, so the vivid daydreams of burying my face between Jacqueline’s tits wouldn’t rescue me from programming. I repeated it a few times. When Ramsés secured a contract that would require me to work more hours, I told him that I didn’t mind working overtime as long as he paid me. After all, neither spouse nor pet awaited me at home. I conditioned my boss to expect the unreasonable out of me.

I take a deep breath, then I speak carefully.

“I become a maniac when I’m free. However, I won’t stick around today. I doubt I’ll do it often in the near future either.”

Ramsés turns red. His eyes are dark pools of suffering.

“You’re being… uncooperative, Leire.”

There’s something wrong with how this fiend looks at me. His desires are twisted. Instead of swatting away the flies that buzz all over his head, he intends to poke holes in my skull so the flies can squirm inside and start breeding little bastards.

“What can I say?” I mutter hoarsely. “I’m just trying to protect my sanity.”

My boss remains silent, so I continue.

“I can’t entirely blame you for expecting me so casually to work overtime, given that I had been doing it regularly of my own volition. I’m more relaxed and sharper alone, I liked the deserted vibe of this place in the late afternoons, and I dreaded to return to my shitty apartment where I’d either fall asleep the moment I sat down or else I would only dwell on how miserable I am. I’m sure that if it depended on you, we’d all work until midnight seven days a week, and we wouldn’t get paid either. Things didn’t improve when I started receiving the visits of a sentient horse named Spike who lives inside my skull and communicates through telepathy. But I’ve had enough. I wouldn’t go as far as to suggest that I deserve more free time for myself, but eventually I got sick of the cold sweat that overtook me whenever I imagined myself steering my car into an oncoming truck. I’ve wished to die so many times that I couldn’t tell you during which periods of my life I haven’t yearned for the sweet release of oblivion.”

My vision blurs. Oh no, I’m going to tear up in front of this demon! I blink a few times as naturally as possible, but the tears insist on welling in my eyes, so I lower my head and shut my eyelids tightly. The world goes black.

Mere hours ago I considered leaving the office, going home, taking a hot shower, then sending messages to my coworkers and my boss to inform them that I quit. The content of the messages would consist solely of the words ‘I love Rust’ followed by two exclamation points. Rust was the last name of my beloved dead wife. Rust is the name I gave to a small horse. Rust is an eerie, deformed and naked horse covered by hair of a disconcerting shade of green. Anyway, what happened to that bold self that my rotting brain managed to conjure up?

“If I didn’t have to come to the office five days a week,” I say in a shaky voice, “I’d saunter around an open field where a rainbow flowed over grass so fresh and green that its smell would burn in my lungs. The soil would take the blood from my body, and they would mix together into the most succulent of fruits. A lake would spread before me. I would take a step toward the water to hear its song with all the delight of someone who had been deprived of music for years. My mouth would drop open like the petals of a red-furred flower, and I would run my tongue all over the liquid until my heart exploded from the force of its own happiness. Do you understand? Holding down a job is the only obstacle between an unending torture and eternal bliss.”

Tears seep through my eyelids and soak my face. Ramsés has grown pale and looks as though he’s about to cry too, but that isn’t sympathy on his face: it’s sheer disgust. His eyes are two wells filled with worms desperate to gnaw their way out, gouging deep grooves and devouring everything inside them along the way.

“Leire…”

“Shut it. I would throw my body over that horse. I’d hold the poor thing and kiss it all over its head, from its wobbly nose to its rough mane. I’d listen to the gentle noise of its heart, the way it purred with delight as I petted it. I’d fall asleep with my arms around it, and wake up the same way. I’d make love with it. I’d live out a beautiful life, the two of us, in peace and happiness. I’d take the horse for a walk through a field of wildflowers, or we’d have picnics on a lake dotted with lily pads. The only thing that could kill me would be that horse’s death. I’ve already lived out the horse’s life and it has died. It would die again and again and again and I’d keep reliving that moment, the death of my sweet friend, my little brother. And that would be the end of this world.”

I feel like an idiot. I’m going to die soon, but not by suicide; now I think I’ll just bleed to death internally. That’s how you go when your body has become a vessel filled to the brim with despair.

Ramsés’ face has lost its expression of self-importance, and looks like a piece of meat being cooked in the sun. He keeps trying to say something, but nothing comes out except for a sound resembling ‘Eeeee’ while he grimaces in pain. I expect dark blood to trickle down his nose at any moment.

Then my boss’ eyes pop open as wide as they can get, and his black irises begin spinning around in circles. His tongue stretches from between his lips, elongates until it resembles a snake’s, and licks across the dirty carpet. Ramsés is convulsing uncontrollably. Foam bubbles up in his mouth. He opens his throat and spews out gallons of bile that spills onto my dress and gets in my mouth. It smells rotten, which isn’t surprising since it tastes even worse. As I tear my hair out, I let out a gargling screech solely composed of the word ‘Rust’. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is the ghostly face of a horse that never was.

I feel lightheaded, and it takes me blinking a few times to recover my vision. Luckily I was holding on to the guest chair’s backrest, because otherwise I would have collapsed. I can’t tell if my boss has noticed; Ramsés is rubbing his temples as he stares through his desk. His skin seems thin and translucent, and it ripples where veins are visible under the surface, while his head resembles a pumpkin, with long yellowish hairs hanging off its top like grassy strands.

“Leire, you are making me very nervous,” my boss says unpleasantly, a bored master addressing a dog that just shat on his shoe. “So this is like… a mental breakdown? A psychotic episode, maybe?”

“Who knows,” I grumble, “or cares.”

My subconscious was trying to communicate something to me, and I can’t afford to ignore any warnings coming from my mind’s eye.

Ramsés straightens his back, then he dares to hold my gaze.

“You’ve always been weird, but recently it’s like you’ve gone to another dimension. I would expect such arguments out of a child, at least a particularly… creative one. You know you have to work to live, right? People get used to it.”

I should tear apart his desk with a chainsaw. Why isn’t this entire building in flames already? I swallow hard as I try to recover enough energy to reply.

“I am a child. I need breast milk to survive. Besides, people shouldn’t get used to slavery, that’s ludicrous. And you? You are not a sentient horse. I have no idea how you managed to take on the guise of a human being, and I’m not particularly interested in learning about your species, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one that has noticed the utter absurdity of your existence. I can only assume that you are the victim of some strange spell, some bizarre enchantment that has made you into this abomination. It is a crime against nature to subject people to such inhumane treatments.”

I’ve said the worst of things without batting an eye because I don’t care anymore what happens to me. I’m a broken puppet. My brain is splintering into tiny pieces.

Ramsés leans forward on his elbows in an attempt to intimidate me more effectively.

“I have a low tolerance for these kinds of statements,” he says slowly, “and you are making very little sense.”

I sigh, but I continue to stare at the human-shaped demon, trying not to let my gaze wander downwards toward his grotesque and swollen crotch. If only he had been born a horse instead of a human being, maybe none of this would have happened.

“There is an ancient evil hiding in the dark places of the world, a perversion that can’t be named. I can feel its breath, its hunger. It lives inside of you, in your home, at the office, in your bed. It is an unheard voice that whispers into the night, a wraith that keeps you from seeing the sunrise. As I seem to be the only one who witnesses it, for everyone’s safety I should probably be committed to a mental institution, but they shut those down, so I’m doing my best here, trapped in a building full of monsters.”

Ramsés tenses his jaw. Fifteen minutes ago he must have thought he would have a simple conversation with a person in his office, but I’ve told him that he’s an abomination of nature. My boss clears his throat with a dry click that reminds me of a snapping bone, then he attempts to sound sympathetic.

“I assume you have tried therapy.”

Instead of feeling comforted by his gesture, all I can think about are his fat, greasy fingers wrapping themselves around my neck and squeezing.

“Let’s not go there. I don’t have the kind of mental problems that can be solved by some narcissistic cunt pretending to care about my words long enough to steal my money. But I admit it, I feel like there’s something wrong with my brain. Sometimes it’s like some ghostly entity has hijacked it. I suspect it has to do with programming in Python, or maybe it was caused by excessive masturbation. But whatever the cause, I can’t take it for much longer.”

Ramsés shakes his head slowly.

“What do you even want out of life, Leire? I can’t even imagine.”

“I do not want to be stuck in a planet with a bunch of brainwashed cretins. Other than that, I want to have the kind of life that is the opposite of the one I’m having now.”

Ramsés laughs dryly, but he doesn’t seem amused by any of this.

“And that life would be…?”

“I told you. An endless summer without winter or rain or the shadow of death. A pure life of joy.”

Ramsés narrows his eyes.

“How do you propose to achieve that?”

“I am an emissary of the gods.”

Somehow that shut my boss up. I take the opportunity to steer the conversation towards our common matter of interest.

“Anyway, I did suggest that you should hire a new programmer, even to work part time. You would do a good deed for society by paying a person for their labor. Or just grab fewer contracts.”

My boss looks around his office as if he needed to search for something before continuing the discussion. Then he smacks his lips and shakes his head.

“Both are out of the question. We are barely getting by, and I’m running a tight ship here. Introducing new people to our peculiar circumstances would be too troublesome. I already struck gold with you three.”

I swallow hard, then turn back to stare at Ramsés’ crotch. I’d like to bite him there, just because I can’t find a better way of expressing my disgust.

“Peculiar circumstances?” I say, barely able to contain an incredulous chuckle. “That’s some delusion of grandeur, don’t you think? Aren’t there like a hundred companies that develop websites in a thirty kilometer radius?”

Ramsés massages his mustache, that looks like it’s glued to his skin, as he nails my eyeballs with a strange look that makes my skin crawl. I was about to tremble and possibly complain, but the demon tears his gaze away towards the window, maybe peering for an answer between the myriad of ancient ghosts that are likely riding the October wind.

I should put my foot down. This wild beast intends to prevent me from leaving the building with Jacqueline, jumping in her Audi and getting to her apartment, where all my worries will fade away to be replaced by the slimy and sticky joys of an eager slut. I straighten my back and steel my voice.

“Sir, if you consider that you should fire me because I won’t work overtime, that’s your business. But you’d have to find someone else that would be willing to put up with as much nonsense as I have, and although I’m not a crackerjack programmer, that new hire would need to be as good as me. Not to mention that he or she would need to be trained on how we do stuff around here, and I wouldn’t deal with that shit.”

Ramsés sighs deeply.

“Alright, Leire. But you need to focus on your tasks, starting from tomorrow. Your behavior today was indescribable. Make progress before this gets out of hand.”

I want to rip a piece of his mustache and shove it up his ass. What a piece of shit that enjoys his life and leaves me here in the muck.

“That’s reasonable,” I say quietly, trying to restrain myself. “After all, you are paying me for my time and effort. I’m returning to my post, then.”

I had turned around and taken a step towards safety, but Ramsés speaks to my back.

“I’ve yet to make my proposal. I’ll approach you when you are feeling better.”

I stop. Although I consider answering, I end up having to contain a shudder, so I just nod. I feel like I took a bite out of an apple only to come across half a worm. I know it, I will never be free of Ramsés and his dark ways, unless he gets bored or dies. I am trapped inside of this job.

When I lift my gaze, I find out that Jacqueline had wheeled her chair past her workstation to welcome me back. Her cobalt blues light up, and as an instinctive response, my mouth curls up in a smile. I want to prance my way to her side, and then into her arms.

My beloved always seemed unbothered by Ramsés’ presence, as if she were a superheroine dealing with some neighborhood thug. And she would look delicious wearing one of those skin-tight swimsuits that pass for superhero uniforms. If only I was born with Jacqueline’s strength of will, and with her voluptuous body, and with her selfless love, and if only she was my mother and I was her child.


Author’s note: somehow this chapter ended up being the longest of all in this novel, by a wide margin. I wrote the first half of it this morning while chilling to Japanese shoegaze (I recall this song and this other song). I wrote the second half in the afternoon, during what I can only describe as a descent into insanity. But the whole piece ended up becoming one of my favorites.

My truthful disdain for Python comes from a few years ago, when I programmed a pathfinding algorithm in 3D, and I found out that it was basically impossible to parallelize efficiently due to the Python GIL built as a fundamental pillar of the language. Merely having ten agents on screen was making the thing stutter. This is the last video I posted of that personal project of mine.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 36 (Fiction)


Both Jacqueline and Jordi return from their lunch break. Jacqueline’s footsteps approach me until she puts her hands on top of the backrest of my chair. When she leans in close enough for me to breath in her scent, stars dance behind my eyelids, and all I want is less oxygen and more of this air. I attempt to fill my lungs with it, but I can only inhale so much, because my heart is throbbing with the rush of blood that runs through it. I wish Jacqueline would embrace me from behind then kiss me on the cheek, or on the corner of my lips. She could freely squeeze my breasts if she pleased.

“So, have you been working hard?” Jacqueline asks.

“As hard as a particularly flaccid dick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“You’re looking pretty pale,” Jordi says.

“I’ve always looked like this. My parents were sickly too, so I guess they passed down their cursed genes to me.”

Jacqueline places both palms onto my forehead, and leaves them there as they get warmer. I suddenly become conscious of how tired I am. Beyond physical exhaustion, my mind feels weighed down by a terrible anxiety, maybe one of the first symptoms of an impending mental breakdown.

“Are you okay?” Jacqueline asks from my right side.

I must have spaced out, because both of my coworkers have sat down and are eyeing me as if I were a tottering toddler heading towards a flight of stairs. My muscles are sluggish. I’m having trouble thinking. I can hardly gather the energy to tell Jacqueline and Jordi that I’m just exhausted. I picture myself holding a bottle of water in a hot desert when all of a sudden the cap comes off, the liquid splashes on the sand and evaporates in the sun. The warm ghost of Jacqueline’s touch has faded quickly, abandoning me.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “But I feel like I’ve been working for years straight.”

“Did you eat anything? Or take a break at least?”

“I might have bought a candy bar, I’m not sure.”

Jacqueline sighs.

“Well, take it easy. It will be alright.”

The voice of my beloved sounded like a soothing lullaby, but she’s wrong. Nothing will improve anytime soon. As I attempted to recall what alright feels like, our boss enters our enclosed space. He quickly heads into his private office on the opposite side of the room and leaves the door ajar. The nearby presence of this tyrant ruins the mood. Jacqueline and Jordi get busy sliding the mouse to bring up programs, and I have no choice but to concentrate on Visual Studio Code again.

I manage to put in fifteen minutes of work making a unit test pass, but my dread grows as I type away. My stomach has tightened up with anxiety. Why am I exerting myself except to avoid disappointing the prick who pays my salary? Why do I have to be the one who fulfills the contracts? How does my boss find it acceptable to use other people’s talents to achieve the things he desires? After all, that sadistic rapist only wants power and wealth so he can manipulate others into satisfying his own depraved lusts. It makes me feel sick to think about how much energy that pig must burn each day just to keep walking on this planet. If there was any justice, he should be arrested for crimes against humanity, then beheaded by an angry mob. Can’t he at least exploit some foreign programmers that would be desperate for the opportunity? In any case, my boss should just leave me the fuck alone already.

My head feels heavy as if it were filled with rocks instead of a brain. So many hours trying to fix bugs, chasing down elusive solutions, far beyond when it ceased to feel rewarding, let alone fun. All I want is to spend time doing something else than writing code that nobody will ever care about. What a waste of life. I haven’t gone on a vacation ever since I was a child. Maybe worse, I don’t recall having had any decent excuse to take a day off from this incubator of deceit and evil. And when was the last time I ate anything substantial? Maybe never in my whole adult life. I’m so fucking hungry.

I’ve become a shell, and the empty space inside me, that smells like death, keeps expanding. How much longer can I continue wasting my time doing something I despise? But haven’t we been conditioned to spend five days a week at an office for such long stretches of time, so none of our lives ever move forward beyond what a company demands of its employees? We’re just being used, and eventually we’ll get thrown out into the street after years, maybe decades, of abuse and neglect. Maybe I’d make some money if I sold my unplayed board games online, but still, I lack an alternative option to earn a living other than spending my entire day typing away with fingers that are sore and tired. I guess that either I’m exploited as cheap labor until retirement, or I resign myself to becoming one more lost soul wandering the streets and begging for spare change while she fucks her way through half-drunk strangers in the night. No, I’m not allowed to just quit. I can’t just run away.

My entire life has been about playing along, with no one to turn to but the walls and my mind. I’m not sure how much more of this nonsense I can handle without screaming. I want to become the embodiment of every person who’s ever wronged me. I should start by throwing my computer onto the floor, then breaking every monitor in sight and stomping on their shards until they turn into powdery dust. I need to stain the ground with blood and broken bones and skull fragments. I can almost hear the pandemonium of the office clowns as their buildings fill up with smoke and ash and screams of pain. My pig boss will soon realize he made a huge mistake trying to keep such an angry woman at his mercy. He’d better pray that some god takes him out of existence before I reach the top.

The muscles of my neck and back have stiffened. I was glaring at my screen like it were my worst enemy, when a notification pops up: I’ve received an email. Nobody would contact me except for my boss, which means that he intends to berate me for slacking off. Or maybe he has secured another contract that I will be supposed to finish yesterday. Either way, this is going to piss me off even more.

However, the new email in my inbox came from Jacqueline, and it reads, My nipples miss your hungry mouth, followed by an emoticon of a yellow lady holding what might be a baby or an oversized burrito against her naked breast.

A hot flash makes me shiver as my heart beats faster. I glance sideways at Jacqueline. I can’t make out her expression, but she has brought her left thumb to her lower lip to caress it as if absentmindedly.

I make the mistake of closing my eyes for a couple of seconds to take a deep breath, and I slide down the daydream that my brain has concocted: a close up of Jacqueline standing before a plain white background, wearing nothing more than a lacy black bra. Her large breasts bulge out of the top like ripe fruits ready to fall onto the ground. She sits on an invisible mattress, then she beckons me to lie down in her lap.

“You’re not real,” I say to the phantom.

“I am your dream,” she answers with her French accent, “and I can do anything I want. You will enjoy every second of it, so come over here, you ridiculous girl.”

My imagined self obeys like a cat eager to settle in the warmth of her thighs. The back of my head sinks in the supple flesh while above me, against a white sky, the enormous twin masses dangle from Jacqueline’s chest and spill over the sides of the cups. My beloved narrows her eyes down at me as she reaches back to unclasp her bra. Freed, her huge, creamy breasts droop then sway like watermelons caught in the grip of an earthquake.

Jacqueline cups my nape with her left hand while with her other hand she takes her right breast and squeezes the pink areola. A few drops of her thick nectar fall into my open mouth, then its sweetness flows down my overworked throat. Her erect nipple becomes a hard lump pressed against my upper lip as if teasing me, but I hungrily house it within the hotness of my oral cavity. My tongue wraps around it like a slithery snake.

Jacqueline hums as she kneads her right breast while her other hand supports the weight of my worthless skull.

“You’re like a vacuum,” Jacqueline says with a sloppy voice. “I feel you sucking out my soul.”

You got that right, I think to myself.

“Yes, it feels so good, like I’m being cleansed,” she adds dreamily. “It’s strange how we can’t escape ourselves even when we try so hard.”

For countless hours I suck out all her excess lifeforce as the tit-cum streams from her nipple to my tongue. It’s all I can think of, the only thing I can do to forget my own life. My head is empty, my mind is empty. Nothing to hold onto but Jacqueline’s body and her tits.

A long strand of her jizz clings onto my eyelid, and white froth cascades through the gaps in my desk lamp. Although I yearn to choke on her breast meat, when Jacqueline finally wrenches it out of my devouring mouth, her nipple spurts a jet of thick milk that covers my face. The stuff sticks in my hair, gets inside my nostrils and ears. Fleshy globules adorn my cheeks while the rest drips down my chest into my belly button. Its warmth permeates me like a summer sunbeam.

When I open my eyes, my cheeks burn red hot. My heart is beating wildly, and my palms have become moist with sweat. I catch myself drooling, but I retrieve it quickly with the tip of my tongue before my male coworker notices it. I want to rush home, to Jacqueline’s apartment, so I can fill my mouth with her fleshy monuments of love once more. Yeah, fuck worrying about work, fuck society, fuck everything!

I hunch over to type a reply to Jacqueline’s message: Sucking on your tits would mean the end of the nightmare I’m living at this job that feels like a prison sentence for an unwarranted crime.

A few clicks later, Jacqueline stiffles a giggle. She leans back into her chair and crosses one leg over the other, then she raises her arms above her head. As she massages her forearms thoughtfully, I dare to glance at her raven black hair that looks like a cloud of ink, and at her face that’s an emblem of the divine. She has closed her eyes and seems lost in a dreamy state. Although I’m not sure what’s running through her mind, I think it’s something erotic. She might be imagining me naked and begging for her attention.

Jacqueline’s nipples have become hard points beneath her blouse and bra. When I lift my gaze, our eyes meet. I shiver. She must have noticed that my eyeballs are filled with lust. My mind is floating in a sea of desire, and I hope to never reach a shore again.

I must have lost it for a moment, because a notification has popped up on my screen: Jacqueline has gifted me another email. My beloved has scooted closer to the desk as if to hide an erection.

Her email says, I bet you wish you could kneel right now in front of my naked, spread legs. I imagine your big, round eyes going wider as I rub my throbbing clit.

I’m so fucking horny that it’s killing me that I can’t masturbate at the moment. I can almost taste Jacqueline as I imagine my tongue lapping over her clit while my hands fondle her ass. If only we could fuck like animals on this table, then leave our sex toys lying about the office. Unfortunately we are stuck being human with our limitations.

Fuck yes mommy, I write back. Squirt your pussy juices right in my face. I hope I drown in them.

Jacqueline takes a deep breath, then she gets busy replying.

Would you love my thick cum so much that you would eat it out of my hairy cunt as if it were your last meal?

Her breasts are swelling under her blouse, trying to escape its confinement. My hips twitch, my toes curl inside my sneakers. My breaths have become short puffs as my chest muscles tighten around my lungs.

It will be my pleasure, Jacqueline. I would eat out of your hairy cunt any time, any place, even on this table, I reply while I ache to rub my palm against my bare pussy and slide two fingers into the wet hole. I’ll gulp down all of your nectars like some starving beast. I could never believe I was born such an ugly creature as me. Piss down my throat if you want.

I glance at Jacqueline. Her nostrils are dilated and she’s smiling lecherously at me through her computer monitor, which is glowing with heat. She slides a hand slowly along her inner thigh. She looked a moment away from openly stroking her cunt, but she bites her lower lip and lifts her right hand back to the keyboard to type another message.

Your mommy can’t wait until she gets to feed her loving girl again. I’ve thought of little else throughout this morning. I can still smell you on my body. I want to tear off your clothes and fuck you into next week.

I gasp. My body is ready to burst.

Jacqueline, you can fuck me in the ass if you want, I write back. I don’t care.

My tongue has swollen inside my parched throat. My mouth has dried out because all my fluids seem to be cascading from my crotch. A light pinkish-white mist is beginning to fill the office. I dread to consider Jordi at all. I’m sure he can smell the steam that’s coming out of me.

I was about to type something horny, but a new email surprises me.

Did you leave your pendant at my place deliberately, so you would have an excuse to return soon?

I glance down at the dangerously exposed skin of my upper chest in this dress I ended up wearing to the office. When did I take my pendant off?

I write back: To be honest, I forgot that thing even existed. I bought the medallion for our date. But let’s say I did leave it at your place deliberately. What then?

Jacqueline doesn’t waste any time to reply.

You won’t stick around at the office after hours today. I don’t care how much work that guy is piling up for you. You’re going home with me, and you’ll spend the rest of the day naked in my bed. What do you say? Do you want to come home with mommy so you can prove how desperate you are?


Author’s note: I woke up at five in the morning, and instead of jumping straight into Cyberpunk 2077 in VR, I decided it was time to work through the rest of this chapter that started like a week ago, while I listened to melancholic music from far away. I think the chapter came out quite well, or as well as this nonsense could be expected.

A Boy on a Boat (Poetry)

Ahead of me:
I sit at an office for years and years
To do shit I couldn’t care less about
While the shit in my bowels churns and burns.
A billion sounds slap me in the face.
A billion gazes pierce me.
A billion colors overwhelm my mind.
I force myself to speak although I want to be left alone.
My father dies.
My mother dies.
I live in an unkempt, dirty, stink-ridden hole.
My health slowly crumbles away.
My body breaks down.
I either pay someone to wipe my ass until my heart stops,
Or I muster the strength to hang myself.

Behind me:
I’m surrounded by kids that I can’t understand
And that don’t understand me.
My mother drags me by the hand
Down the steep slope of our street
Because some kids have taken my brother’s ball.
I listen to my mother berating my father
With a voice like nails on a chalkboard.
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t understand what’s happening inside me.
My grandmother drools on my mashed potatoes.
I get a thousand thermometers
Shoved up my ass.
Someone films me as I take a shower.
My mother slaps me in the face
Because I slapped her pregnant belly by mistake.
My father forces the bathroom door open
And finds me with my head under the water.
I watch as some older kids push my pal
Facefirst into a tide of soapy foam.
I hide behind a car while my pal lies on the road
To find out if the next car will stop.
A kid calls me a fat ass.
A kid points out that I have tits.
A kid points and laughs at my dick.
A group of kids take turns punching my shoulder.
That girl says we are now dating,
But the next time she approaches me smiling
I pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about.
I need to be alone but I’m an unwanted guest
In my older brother’s bedroom.
I need to be alone but a narcissistic cousin
Pushes his way into my bedroom every weekend.
A gypsy kid brings his whole family to threaten me.
We find my sister electrocuted,
Her forearm blackened up to the elbow.
That classmate likes me, but I say something
And she never talks to me again.
My sister yells until my mother gives in.
I hide my stuff or else it’ll get stolen.
I want to call the cops because my sister’s boyfriend
Is dealing drugs under our balcony.
A myriad of pimples colonize my face.
That girl I like wants someone else.
A guy pushes his way into our rented property
And threatens to kill us with a broken bottle.
An older guy beats me up in front of a hundred people.
I spend an eternity in the dark between floors
Of random apartment buildings
As I wait for the hours to pass.
I wander through Donostia like a zombie
During the hours I should be in class.
My eyes hurt, my nose is bleeding.
A guy that wanted to hang out glares at me like a spited lover
In classrooms to which he doesn’t belong.
Someone turns his or her back on me
Because a different guy goes out of his way
To poison everyone against me.
I talk to the therapist for forty minutes
Then I pay her as much as I would make in a day,
And she says that my depression
Is just the result of a major depression.
I refuse to return the calls of that basketball player
Whose firm ass I still feel in my hands,
Because I like her too much
And she will end up abandoning me.
I confuse this girl for this other girl
Then I date her for years.
I need to be alone but I have to go out with my girl.
I cry in silence while she smokes in the bathroom.
A classmate insults me in every class for two years,
But the teacher tells me to ignore her because she’s troubled.
My girl sits next to that guy instead of me
And gets mad because the evening goes well.
She says she’ll destroy me if I make things difficult.
I find myself wandering to known spots
And hoping that she’ll show up.
I can’t get out of bed.
I don’t know what day it is or how old I am.
I take her calls because I miss her.
She gloats to me over the size of her new man’s dick.
I go to college for a couple of months
Until I realize I can’t do it on my own.
My childhood pal either overdoses or kills himself.
I have a tumor in my head.
I find myself filling bottles with my pee.
My body gets covered in stretch marks.
The shrink tells me I’m autistic.
I wade through the mud of another depression
While I yearn to die in my sleep.
A smiling HR drone tells me I do good work
But I won’t work well in a team.
I go out but I can’t wait to run back home.
My head feels like it’s been filled with lead.
My skin is the same color as the gray sky.
I see nothing but clouds outside;
The color has faded from every tree.
I get excited enough at her concert
That I realize how much of a retard I truly am.
A young social worker gets flirty with me,
Then she dates someone else
And steals glances at my receding hairline.
A pitbull breaks my cat in half,
And I watch her eyes popping out
And her tongue protruding
As she agonizes in excruciating pain.
I don’t understand anybody in this writing course;
They’d prefer if I weren’t here.
I write two novels that nobody wants.
The people I work with stare at me
And sling countless words my way.
I refuse to see my cat’s decomposing body
Because I don’t want that image in my head
For the rest of my life.
I write another novel that nobody wants.
I break down, I can’t write another word.
I spend days staring at the wall.
I’ll be thirty seven in a month.
The sun is out, I am cold.

(In a hotel with my name on a plate,
The woman at the check-in
Tells me the weather is nice.
I’ll walk down to the beach
Where the sun’s never-ending rays
Will warm my skin and my bones.
I’ll see the children running in the sand.
The sun will glint off their golden heads
As the blue waves roll in from afar.)

I’m a boy on a boat
Floating along a river.
The boat sinks.
I drown.

I can’t do this alone.
I have always done it alone.
I have never been able to love
Even when I tried my best.
I have a hole
Where my heart ought to be.

My life has been nothing
But an accumulation of pain
And disappointment
And mediocrity
And uselessness.

I find myself wandering through my place
Like a ghost that can’t die.
The only thing I want to do
Is fall asleep.

Writing can’t save me,
But it can deceive me into believing
That these words I type
Are worth forcing myself to breathe
For another day.


Author’s note: five in the morning, listening to Japanese shoegaze.