index


Message-ID: <40029asstr$1040627407@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Importance: Normal
Subject: {ASSM} TxM6: Laurie Fallon and Pierre Auguste Renoir
Date: Mon, 23 Dec 2002 02:10:07 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

TxM6: Laurie Fallon & Pierre Auguste Renoir
 From Taxi Murders Hyperfiction
(c) 2002 Sean Farragher
sfarragher@nj.rr.com



http://www.seanfarragher.com
http://seanfarragher.com/hyperfiction
http://seanfarragher.com/txm6
http://seanfarragher.com/Joss




TxM6: LAURIE & PIERRE AUGUSTE RENOIR



Laurie:


"I am a cliché plucked from the "Pits of Plague," a previously unknown
painting by Pierre Auguste Renoir," Laurie said.  "I live in pastel pinks
and rose while others ferment as yellow tallow dripping from the lights of
his other dark painting, "Prison Romance."



BACKSTORY:

Lifting her hair high above her head, shaking fermenting milky breasts
above the rain clouds flooding the virgin tectonic landscape with the river
Piss. Organic Cum in the flitter of fire work lightning strikes nitrous
oxides, formaldehyde and hydro cyanic acid fusing nitrogen as -3 or -6
valence into heptagonal and hexagonal rings.

All great sextets stir as pot mingles dire lubrication that results in mock
protection for horse studs and pony riders who claim to be innocence of
abuse when indeed they practiced it without deceit or ruse. They just
fucken did it. How easy and complicated the progression of musical chairs,
Laurie laughed.

Flaunting that sway Laurie was not amazed by the immediate response of her
let down reflex. She remembered how it felt when the pale blue rivers
flowed.
Tickling back to memory in Gainesville with wild dogs and barking raccoons.
The menagerie of desolate stepfathers who raped my child-ass while Mama
sang. Yes, Laurie admitted. I did, after the first times, seduce "a la
detour", but
then what I did in response to lost childhood should not be held against or
bestow upon those rapists. They are dead eyes and my dreams will implicate
more than the silly fiends who luckily do not know that I cannot die.

Riding that horse or man backward I was immediately drawn into my mother's
cunt, that soothing quim, where I suckled too, when she was too drunk to
provide milk. I came inside that disorderly range. She came louder.

Christ Tina orchestrated the dysfunction. I play at the bikers
with the short pricks sucking them and drugged with them I watch two of
them play the squatting female and taking up their Asses, they kiss with
tangled beards and I was amused.

At ten years and a big girl (almost 5 foot 6) anything is funny. Momma
laughed
too. She spoke the parts of the movie and discourteous as this sounds they
fucked up the parts.

I, Laurie, should have played the most noble of sinners. I came loud in my
Harley riding US 1 from Gainesville at ten with fake tampon and my
diaphragm.



10/20/1992

Henry, Aaron and Angela had gathered to celebrate Laurie's 27th birthday.
Laurie's friends did not intend a séance, but it happened.

Missing six months, presumed dead, Laurie appeared as ghost or a fraction
of shared dreams.

Startled, Angela said that Laurie never looked more beautiful.

"When she was 17, I painted her with angel wings, you remember, Henry.
She wanted you then, but you were tired of children, so you said. Angela
smirked at the irony.

"Death is transfiguration," Aaron added.

Laurie whistled quietly under the honest chords of Pink Floyd and Aqualung:
"I am not dead. This connection is to extend your faith, that I am alive
and have risen. Why did you not come Henry to push the stone away? I lived
in that cave for thousands of years.

"Christ Tina came," Laurie added.  She rescued by orgasm. That spirit flew
with the clouds of Holy Mother ripping out the stone and marrow of
the earth, driving the thieves from the temple (or wine cellar), and then
fucking them one by one, making them fall to their deaths in sexual excess.

"No holes," Tina said, Laurie continued. "She promises 'when I wake from
the dream', I would live.

"Tina blew three cocks and predicted from reading the splatter of semen
(tea leaves are old fashioned) on black paper, three things would happen to
set me free.

"First, she freed the father of Abel. James Albert Caine IV who would win a
second CMA for valor lived in a village in Thailand. He had been a cripple
for seventeen years. Fed and housed by his following, Caine stood up and
was healed, his body set free. He promptly set out for what he assumed was
Saigon. He assumed it was still 1975. He didn't remember the explosion or
how his legs were burned to stumps.

Let us not feel sorry for Caine. He was a murderer. Coincidentally, He was
also the father of Abel and like the father the son with the help of his
half sister  murdered in the same manner. No genetic code. Just fake music.

 From 1963-1965 Cain murdered seven London women. He didn't know their
names, nor did anyone. They were not real. All faces of Christ Tina. Tina
was jealous of Mary Gail who had Caine first. Tina hated Victoria for
having Caine second. Jealousy is a bitch and a prick too.

Tina celebrated that lie that Caine was a murderer. He only pretends to be
a great solider but actually, Caine's a coward.

Christ Tina made him heroic and suffered that irony with her wry laugh that
she evokes mocking all men as extreme He will serve life again, she said.

Second, I learned that my father was Malachi and not Huw Fallon. The seeds
were mixed, she said, and she made sure I had the most righteous man for a
father. He was the only one of the men I knew as stepfathers that did not
take me to their bed and fuck between my rear legs or watch while I
masturbated them and myself, my mother sucking their cock, or I my mother's
cunt. Yes, my mother abused me, which is what Tina said.

Third, she gave Abel a conscience. She advised me to kill Lilith when she
gave birth to her brother Caine's child. I killed her, and set the infant
free as they did my daughter. I hope you call her Molly.

Tina said, and I believe, that these three individual acts would set me
free. I am not free today, but I have full faith in her devotion and I suck
at her cunt every night just for the plain joy of singing to Mother God.

Christ Tina also claimed that she would whisper in your ear, Henry, that
Molly is our daughter. I will live, and you my darling Henry will redeem.

Angela you and Aaron will love not just for the sex I gave back to cure my
own malaise. You will bear a new child named Sarah. I am sorry Darling
Henry, Aaron not you are the father of the child. Not even Angela knew
that. You my artist, my true great man, Aaron, will recreate the lines of
my
habit mark me on canvas in turns of paint that will form as whole spirits
and make the walls fly.



1980 - 1992

At seventeen, Laurie was almost six foot, slender, but full. Cradling her,
long auburn hair curled over our shoulders as a dark, bloody wave. Her
subtle face had ordinary lines. At twenty-seven she was a phantom of beauty
that was deeper than her skin.

At fifteen years and twenty-four Laurie had posed for Aaron and Angela
showing inner parts, opening her cunt, and allowing them to breathe its
fragrance while they depicted her as "female" Christ on earth.

Color and mood (like the texture of polyphony) made her a cameo as ancient
innocent ivory. Juxtaposed, standing like a nude Madonna in indelicate
mobile homes that gathered on the periphery of her own worship. They stood
to honor her throwing kisses, masturbating, and fucking the same holes over
and over. Devotion has many names. Standing in banal poverty, flaunting the
hunger and disease, arranged by some demented dictator from central
casting, Laurie in this dream decided to draw down the drapes, cutting off
the light, and death followed in an insane storm that killed all but a few
who were resisting the faith. Taking it as a rebuke, the followers of
Christ Tina drifted away, and Tina herself, stealing the spirit of the
child Laurie, made the heat and dark of hell on earth part of her own.

Moving to Ridgefield NJ, Helena Herrig swam with Tina and with her daughter
past the Raritan rip tides and swarming as great horse flies they both
descended and were born out of the air.

No miracle. No one understood. It happened faster than time. Acceptance is
reality.

The house became a full part of the wall. It became part of the grass, the
rocks, and the mountain behind it was the Rock of Saints.

Dreams are subtle gray rivers without edges. They fold into the mountains.
Water transgresses, and the sin is the desert. No, sin is the absence of
desert. We are all void, she said. Preaching from the Mount, she rambled in
no apparent logical order. Traveling from the east to the south, she denied
the sun. Resting she counted seven numbers and made them all null. She
said, fuck the meek, the weak, and let them become cinders. Laurie laughed
at the dream of Tina. Politically, we cannot ignore the politically
acceptable.
We must champion that dream as if it were actual.

Laurie and Helena loved beauty but lived with ordinary everyday artifacts
that tumbled from the shopping cars of K mart.

I gave you my taste in beautiful things, mother screamed at daughter.
Mother was drunk. Daughter was stoned. Daughter, 12, knew the bed marks
of fucking and the daily routine of watching sex unroll with the cash.

I love dirty pillows, Helena said. I love lace Laurie sang. You are all
fucken idiots Christ Tina shouted. Forget the trinkets and fuck for power.
Like yours, Laurie answered the spirit in her dream. I am trapped and you
talk philosophy, you bigot and spiritual waste. I will be murdered and you
play head games changing forms and perceptions with subtle design plots.
Twisted mystery. No one solves anything. New questions. New playmates.
Nothing original is grown at that store, Laurie said, ignoring the spirit
and handling the mirrors to reflect variable dreams with variable focus. My
mother is a perfect example. At times Helena resembled a cross-dressing
biker, and other times Jean Harlow.

No, Helena was not the spitting image of some darling biker married to
Antonio Rocca and the WWF. No 49 Ford, headliner ripped would plow up the
back forty car lots of a Florida trailer court.

Laurie remembered that scene. "Momma and Billy sold my ass for porno loops.
They got drugs and cigs, and I got poked."

Helena loved the raunchy and the delectable trivia of TV soaps and misery
television.

Dirty pillows and soil sheets were the props for the porno movie Helena
made of her daughter blowing a drunken neighbor. Laurie was 19. Helena shot
the super-eight. Pick the worst porno you have ever seen, Laurie told Henry
in a dream. Imagine two hours of fucking and sucking without moving except
the usual scratching of ass and tissue blotted to semen blots running down
under eyes.

Interrupting this fantasy, Helena spoke softly over the telephone to Henry,
Angela and Aaron. "I had an elegant profile with wide hips and ass.
Speaking as if she were invisible, Helena lied pretending to talk to no one
while Laurie's friend's listened mute.

The anonymous stranger, actually Christ Tina, holding hands with a now
invisible Laurie (not a ghost Tina insisted) imagined she did not know
them, and that they did not know her, and she spat the story with a gentle
flick of her cigarette. Irony. The actually believed that Helena was more
beautiful than Laurie. So what, Laurie would laugh. "I claim it too,"
Laurie, answered Tina back in her dream smacking the spirit on her wide
ass."

In fact, Laurie claimed that her mother was the most beautiful woman who
has ever lived. Helena readily agreed.

Hyperbole, of course, but saying made it happen, Christ Tina witnessed and
the ghosts lined up with Laurie at the head of the line for a new round of
phone sex.

Laurie dreamed it from Christ Tina. You were not limited b11y your
companion's stature or diminished capacity. The greater one's kink, the
more you felt. Symbiosis," turning to Henry and Angela Laurie gathered them
in the dream of her arms with her mother, Helena, while Aaron watched
incredulously.

"Will you let me get you off on the phone, Laurie asked Henry"?

Aaron said yes and Angela said no. Henry said, "Only if I can listen."

"Why waste it," Angela laughed. "We can do it ourselves with our two phone
lines. Imagine being so close and only hearing it, and Aaron could come
into the room and I could watch while he does her as she talks to the
stranger."

"We can fuck as missionaries if you want or not, "aussi," Henry laughed.

With little notice, Laurie disappeared into the walls only to dance out of
Henry's mouth into Aaron's lips.

"Here's my death name, Laurie told them all. Call me Saint Faith, Elinore
Dare, Christ Tina. We are I and we consumed with regeneration."

Henry, Aaron, and Angela listened to the dream as one page in one
performance. "No magician came to call," Henry spoke first. Laurie is
there."

"Bless us," Laurie said, quickly please I will disappear, and then just as
she passed back to from where she came, Henry kissed her and kissing the
spot where she stood kissed Aaron. Angela laughed, and said, "I will leave
you guys alone tonight."

"Get the fuck out of here," Henry drew back pretending horror.

"I love to watch you," Laurie said, "softly as I speak, brushing my hair, I
play the shy child, covering myself with the fringe of a child's blue
blanket mocked with innocence."

"OK," pulling the blanket away, exposing Henry. "One more time, OK." Laurie
spoke as if she meant it, but when I moved to become God, Laurie as Tina
playfully pushed them over, sitting on their belly, open legged, leaning
down as far as the pressure of her breasts allowed, sucking his tongue,
embracing the rocking, upward pressure of his ass as a positive, muscular
language that deepened.

If this scene had played in cheap porno, Laurie said, "I'd suck him for two
minutes (while undressing); fuck him for five (while some one else watched
and perhaps joined in); we'd reverse twice: head to foot, face to ass. The
actor (must have a huge cock), and, of course, he'd pull out before he
came, spraying my face or breasts. And as I am a slut, I'd play with the
leavings, drawing strings with your cum, glan to lips, making the actor
squirm before my final exaggerated swallow minutes after his orgasm, making
the discomfort unacceptable, so the man runs away, holding his balls. I
have my fantasies, Laurie laughed even as I sleep dying."











XXX

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+