Message-ID: <40029asstr$1040627407@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <sfarragher@nj.rr.com> From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <DAEAJLKEENNEGEBLGNPHIEAADAAA.sfarragher@nj.rr.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1106 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 22 Dec 2002 18:10:43 -0500 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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/40029> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: hecate, gill-bates 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> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+