69 Things to Do With a Dead Princess Read Free Page A

Bergson’s vitalism must be traced through Sorel to the futurists. Even on his own terms Fromm was mistaken to equate futurism with death. Alan stumbled, resumed his speech, but he’d forgotten about Fromm. He was angrily dismissing what Louis J. Halle had to say in The Ideological Imagination . A terrible book. I couldn’t follow the thread of his argument.
    We hit the square at the bottom of Union Street but swung right. I was on automatic pilot as we ambled down King Street. I just wanted to get home, go to sleep. Alan was still with me, was now part of me. I fumbled with the keys. My room needed cleaning. I lay down on the bed. Alan picked up my copy of The Traveller Gypsies by Judith Okely. He read a few pages, snorted derisively, picked up another book. Threw down the novel after reading the first paragraph. Retrieved Okely. Cambridge 1983. I closed my eyes, not sure if I was awake or asleep. Alan spent several hours examining my books.
    That night I dreamt I journeyed from London up the A12. Then I was driving through Suffolk along really narrow country roads. Alan had sent me to stay with Dudley, his ventriloquist’s dummy. Dudley made our tea with the things I’d brought from a bakery in Golders Green – begels with cream cheese, then chokla with jam. It reminded me of childhood holidays with my grandparents in London. I’d get to eat chokla as a treat at the weekend, after being made to eat black bread all week. I liked my grandparents and I liked London but I missed the South Coast. Dudley liked coffee, so we drank espresso with the bagels, but I insisted on making a pot of tea to wash down the chokla .
    In my dream Dudley was an emaciated version of Alan. I found him very attractive. We hit it off right from the start. We talked about all sorts of things: music, films, books. Later on we went down to the beach. We could see the Sizewell nuclear power station at the end of it. We sat down and watched the waves rolling in as the sun set. We had the beach all to ourselves and although it was warm, I pressed myself against Dudley. Soon we were in each other’s arms, rolling around on the pebbles. It wasn’t long before my jeans were around my ankles and Dudley had his face buried in my cunt. It was incredible lying there, the sound of the ocean pounding in my ears and a vast expanse of thin cloud undulating in a darkening sky.
    My cries disturbed some sea birds that had nested down for the night and many screeched angrily as they wheeled up towards the blackening horizon. Dudley was sucking my clit and working two fingers in and out of my hole. I wanted to feel the weight of his body pressing down against me, so I grabbed his ears and yanked hard. Dudley buried himself inside me. I could taste my love juice on his lips as they pressed against mine. Both Dudley and I were going crazy, shattering the peace of the night with our cries. Somehow I managed to tell Dudley not to come inside me. He kept fucking me, slowing down every now and then, until eventually he had to withdraw. I pushed Dudley onto his back, his jeans were still around his ankles, so I knelt to one side of him and ran my tongue up and down his dick. I’d enjoyed gazing up at the clouds, but I could see Dudley was staring at my arse, which was sticking up in the air.
    Holding the base of Dudley’s erection with my index finger and thumb, I took his fuck stick in my mouth. Having lubricated him with my saliva, I got a tad cruel. I clenched my teeth and ran them up and down his meat. Dudley squirmed beneath me, unsure about where to draw the dividing line between pleasure and pain. I repeated this trick several times, until the ventriloquist’s dummy began screaming my name. Rolling it back and forth on his tongue. Anna. Anna. It was the same whichever way you said it. Backwards. Forwards. Anagramatised. Noon. Noon. I took one of Dudley’s balls in my mouth and nipped playfully at the sack that contained them. A few minutes later I returned my