The Gentle Degenerates Read Free Page A

liar.” And with that, drove my cock into her as hard as I could. A wavering cry fluttered up from her chest and she brought her hands to her mouth, making soft unclenched fists. Her legs came up and opened my cock into her like a man swimming in a deep lake. Her gaping, brimming pussy took every shock and thrust and got hotter and hotter. I slammed into her like a stallion rearing against his first bit, and she moaned, over and over again, “Oh no, don’t, yes, do it, no, please, oh, help me, fuck me, fuck me.”
    By now there was no personality left. It was sheer energy, and I looked down to see her quivering breasts, jiggling with each movement, her belly all wrinkled from being folded over, and her ass like a deep steaming dish on which was offered the unquenchable cunt. The heat flashes began to break up and down my body, and I urged her to let it all go, whispering, “Come on, come on, do it, reach for it.” Her cunt rose up like a fish leaping from the water and swallowed my cock whole. My bowels fell out, my eyes rolled back, and, like an epileptic in full fit, I felt my spine go into great rolling convulsions as I shot a thick volley into her begging crack.
    And then it was over. Almost immediately. There was none of that mutual settling into silence that follows a good fuck. I tasted only the bitterness of those who overextend their energy in fucking a fantasy while forgetting the person who is the source of the act. It was an impersonal fuck, a theatrical bang, the kind I can enjoy with tricks I pick up at parties, but which I cannot dig with Regina. For a moment I hovered at the edge of once and for all, making her impersonal to me, killing the myth of specialness with which she had infected me and which I nurtured. I wanted then to treat her like any one of the hundreds of men and women I have known and fucked. Why should I make this particular human being into a fetish? Why can’t she be just a good piece of ass in bed? Why did I come to insist on exclusiveness, with all its concurrent jealousy and limiting of consciousness?
    I wanted very much to get up and leave, never to see her again. I had no feelings but disgust and self-hatred. Yet, when I looked at her, I suddenly wanted to let go and just sink into her arms, to heal the split between us which burned like acid on my skin. We stared at each other over an immense distance, while eddies of love and hate, of trust and insecurity, flickered around the edges of our eyes. For no good reason, I smiled, and she grimaced and turned her face away. I pulled back from her and my now limp cock slithered out of the already cold cunt hole.
    I rolled over on my back and we lay silent for a few minutes, then she said, “Do you have the cigarettes by you?” And that was the making of the compact, the closing of the deed. It was the signal that we had not brought it off, but could now talk about it, talk about fucking, about love, about the future, about the state of civilization, about anything in the world, because we were too tense to lie quietly and watch the universe float by.
    I got the cigarettes and we lit them slowly, watching each other’s eyes over the flame. She lay back then, sprawled out to stare at the ceiling. I remained propped on one elbow, and looked at her body. The smallish breasts which had seemed boyishly exciting now looked merely inadequate. Her cunt hair was matted with sperm and blood. Her toenails were ragged and her mouth had re-formed into a thin mean slit. Everything about her which had turned me on a few moments earlier now seemed slightly repulsive.
    When I was younger, I was devastated by such changes in mood, and would have been angry at myself or hated the woman. But now I realized that this was the way of things, that when passion did not flow free and unencumbered, but became embroiled in distorting fantasies, then beauty became ugliness and the delicious juices of the body tasted rank and stale and rotten. We smoked for a long