Message-ID: <40106asstr$1041041411@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <sfarragher@nj.rr.com> From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <DAEAJLKEENNEGEBLGNPHKEBIDAAA.sfarragher@nj.rr.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1106 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 27 Dec 2002 00:15:08 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} TxM6: Lara Klein and CJ Parker (1982) Assault, smack, crack, rape and murder Date: Fri, 27 Dec 2002 21:10:12 -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/Year2002/40106> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw From TxM6 Taxi Murders Hyperfiction Lara Klein and CJ Parker (c) 2002 Sean Farragher sfarragher@nj.rr.com http://www.seanfarragher.com/hyperfiction http://www.seanfarragher.com http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss Drugs, Murder and Rape October 17, 1982 Lara Klein half sister to CJ Parker died today. Her heart stopped by heroin did not restart. God did not win. Pain earned the best score. Lara, 15 had the street name "Baby" but Miss L refused to quit on life. Collapsed and extended like a twist and shout accordion, Lara lived three years as the child whore of a man who stole her from another. CJ could do nothing about it. After all CJ had the same problem but a different pimp. Lara was the stronger of the two sisters. She held CJ while the older sister cried unhappy that she could not help Lara. While Lara waited for the man to claim all she had earned, she sucked two more cocks. Sucking does pay part of the premium. CJ gave Lara more money before she left. Lara's pimp hated CJ. He did not dare hurt CJ out of respect for CJ's pimp. Crime has unusual rituals. Often, CJ wished she had the courage to simply take that working World War II .45 she hid in her middle drawer covered with silk and raise it up on his arm for balance and then simply blow the fuckers away one by one. Bet you thought she wanted to blow her own brains out. Never, CJ would tell you. "I will live no matter what." Sometimes weakness breeds flights of Rambo foolishness. No one is a coward or a hero unless they plot their daily bread. When CJ gave the money to Lara, CJ knew that Lara would give it to her pimp. CJ reasoned perhaps that way Lara might be beaten more carefully if not tenderly. When Lara died, CJ Parker stopped shooting horse for a few extra hours and for the 532nd time she quit making an act of resolution. That was all the mourning that CJ could afford. "My body demands attention," she said. Five hours later, sweating, feeling nausea, CJ sucked two dicks in a half hour and was coming down two hours later pulling her body literally off the floor where she caught ten minutes sleep. "Need all the strength in the world," she said. Have a date with a man who likes to suck shit out of my ass and then for every kiss I sustain with him for five minutes or more, he pays me $500 per kiss. I must also pretend that I don't smell it. If I screw up my nose once he gives me half the money. When he smacks my ass while I suck him, I pretend it turns me on. The 72-year-old man, Paul, paid five times the standard BJ rate. CJ didn't have time to mourn her sister by pretending she was above that kind of fake possession. You can't always do straight blowjobs with a rubber you pull quickly over the prick and beg the man by massaging his balls to stay sober and come quicker. Sometimes you have to put your ass on the ground, spread your legs, open your cunt lips and let some man fill you with his stinking crap. By the time he has done you twelve times on the two-week trip, you are sucking him in the moonlight and loving his toothless jaw on your nipples. On October 17, 1991 at about 2 AM Mostly clean the reformed hooker CJ looked for an honest loving (I wasn't back in the game or doing shit), as she put it, got myself raped, and beaten almost to death, and back again." "Every October 17th I remember my sister's death and mourn for my own life," CJ thought as she dressed too quickly wearing the same dirty clothes she had word last night. She knew she stank, but she needed to get out of the house and shoot some photographs of dying animals. They make me feel clean, she said. Magical escape. The spirits saved me. Police came. True spirits gave me back to life. Why me? The true spirits had enough of the game, the Gadfly said. Time to stop Genesis. No, I will remember and not remember Maria and her brother, Antonio. Imagine, she said years later, fucked up by a bitch and her faggot pussy. Couldn't pick them out. Showed the cops. No one could find them. Not really criminals. No Rap sheet. "I didn't do anything," CJ said. "I couldn't stop him. I was an old friend of murder. Have I told you that before? One thing I know is true. Never mix sex with dying, although after I shot death, I was weak in my thighs and felt that sexual pulse that drives you mad unless you scratch it. I rubbed it with some oil and put the long neck in a noose pretending to be strangled. Able ordered me to die. He said, don't worry. No more fretting over what you cannot control. I did not die. Can you stop your breathing? Can you imagine how easy it would be if I grabbed hold of your balls with my hand and rip your dick with my teeth while I sucked it? When you came, I would mix the blood with the goop and drive you madder as the ocean floor quickens and you bleed to orgasm. It could be lovely, don't you think to die as amorphous pigment strewn as dust in the universal sky. It would be raping the abstract noun of your sex to make it into mud pies. Taking your cock in my hand, I offer it to some higher force symbolized by raising my arms. Taking your sex dropping into an industrial blender with ph 6.6-phosphate buffer and blending it while you scream rape, would give the freaks their orgasm. CJ listened to Abel as he carved letters in her arm with a sharp hobby knife. He's a good man. Let him alone, CJ said when interviewed after regaining consciousness. Abel is not as bad as some who would take without inflicting pain. Unless you know the screams, you have not lived in the suffering. If you are able to place yourself in an orderly arrangement of lives, then you can track the crystalline faces you create by the tension between the fantasy and the marked down letters of the actual event as recorded by some character we name arbitrarily TRUTH. "I wanted you to feel my heat. It felt perfect, CJ told her sister Lara. Yes we possess the same waves. We speed into each other like blood into our multiple hearts." "I liked that line, CJ wrote to her dead sister with her mind acting as pen. After I wrote it, I felt our skin and wanted to save the line for a poem. When I write you Lara I set what I feel down as words but when I write something that seems perfect I am amazed by how we are layers of those waves on the ocean of orgasmic beaches marking the placement of the harmony and the necessary dissonance. Is that too sick my twin, Lara asks CJ? Who wrote that, Lara asked her sister seeing how the words were ground as a message in perfect typography on the painted sandy beaches? "Lara, you were unconscious." I called 911. I watched the self-beating. I didn't hear all the layers of that action. I had no idea what truly happened until the morning when I saw Lara cold and stiff. I stood in your deadly circle Lara. I left confused about space and sequence. I know I was there, but I didn't see, he said. Couldn't know how the temporal displacement figured in the story of multiple murders and darker sex where all that is given is stolen but gladly surrendered. Tabby a good man, I told the Gadfly like a fool. I didn't know Tabby was the Gadfly as all the spirits. He plays the multiple roles and never misses a line. Tabby always helped. No drugs. No sex. I liked him, had hoped he would really care. Not take care. I can take care of myself. Just to be there and talk. He called the cops. Right. When will he come and visit. I know he's hurting about my return to the scum vats. Police questioned Tabby, called him the defrocked Priest. They didn't know you couldn't be "not ordained. "Tabby was wonderful 4x4 times. Good cop/bad cop/switching, confusing. Want killers ass. [Do they really? Can't pin it. No useable evidence. Certain as the forensic data, that he did it. No, never shall I pass this way without loss, CJ sang wanting Lara to come alive on the spot and make her sisterly orgasm faster and harder. Who can't remember lust? Was it us alone or all of them outside gathered in the cathedral watching God stain the wall deep blood. "Why should I want to watch, a guest, a witness to murder? Voyeur or not, I cannot change the doctrine. When friends, beaten half to death, were captured by a coma." Father Tabby, Letter to CJ Parker, 3/4/1993 about his vision From The Gadfly's Leap Year Record, Wednesday, July 30, 1992, 03:53:07 AM today was 110 days after the abduction of Laurie Fallon Laurie was not murdered on 7/11/92 during the live broadcast of the New York Yankee Game on MSG Cable. It was all a hoax. Perhaps. The Yankees had lost 5 to 3 in 12innings, the Mariners scoring two winning runs at the top of the twelfth off the losing pitcher Habyan. His loss left him 3-3 on the season. Laurie Fallon took her last breath, first batter, bottom of the 6th, when Mattingly singled to left, rounded first. 3:53 PM exactly. Right. That's me. I'm the other bitch. Not Laurie. I won't die. My sister won't whack me. I'm not the gentle intellectual, high model looking bitch with flowing red hair. No, I'm not easy, am I? How do I know? We all know the players: the Gables was the source. Why did it take the cops so fucken longer. Here I am the youngster again. Always want those ice cream cone tits, and hairless pubis. I shaved then too. Daddy made me. What's the wager, you fuck? Pulling off my sweater and jeans, and then falling sideways, legs bent up, slightly parted into dear bed. Need a bath, rushing water. The tub is a social calm. Making the water run over my heart. Feeling the pulse, the tickle, and the swoon, as my digital heart straight home, dark and light, open, a great wing, falling dark, as I pass upward. You bet, driving across the roadway. I pull my breasts up, fake the road soar warrior. I am drifted, as my blood pushes, and I can't string, and then darkness, like the song, the daring gas, as I pursue the feet, and the fall downward. There's the place of song, and then the dress. How is it calm, and then I push up at his chest, watch the curve of his mouth, or the falling pace of his hair, as ephemera, a ghost, dangerous, he comes as I do, sudden, my breasts are cupped and held. Nothing more while I rub myself together and then departs his steel hands, such a warm inside push, and then release. Three months into rehab. Got my squirt of juice, sweet mother fucking orange adieu. Great stuff, sweet water dries on my black scummy tongue. Love the loose talk. Get it you shit! Feel the rush slowly, grabbing my skin, burning my mouth, letting my swollen breasts leak some darker grime. Most men got this thing for my tits. Had a baby last year. December 4, 1978. I was barely 16, and Matthew Aston Parker propelled from my cunt pissed a great storm. Fuck that shit, getting high off Mother's milk. Guy would suck fifty bucks worth. Up in his high rise. I'd put my head down on his pillow, lift my bra, and he would nurse squeezing his hands open and closed, blinking his eyes. Usually his wife answered the door. She'd put the fifty in my hand, and pat my ass. She's sit in a chair near the bed and talk to me about all kinds of shit, not sex talk. Just shit people talk. Sometimes even politics. Seems her husband would like to run for Congress. Her family has money. When I am done, this asshole fucks his fat ass wife, begs forgiveness, promise never do it again. His wife laughs, and I let myself out. Sometimes three's a crowd, although I told the bitch if I stay and watch, it was an extra fifty, and if I joined in and did her, a hundred. Just watch, she said. I am a smart bitch. No matter how much money I fucked. Everyone did it sometime. Even my bible freak father fucked the eager girls in the church. He got them happy with incarnated Praise yea the Lord while he felt them up, or offered his cock as a sacrament. Standing blowjobs leaning against the wall. I once saw some shit do it to a fourteen year old. A friend of mine. He did it right in the sanctuary. Right before God's eyes. I came to the sanctuary looking for my keys, and there's this sweating shit, dropping his load, banging the child's ass into the wooden stairs near the organ. Pastor, dear father, didn't see me. I didn't stay around long after that. I certainly didn't go to church anymore. My father couldn't explain my absence. Actually, I was jealous of the bitch. Wanted to get even. Show him up. Can't keep your own house in order, so you are a real shit. At sixteen, after the birth of my kid, Matthew, I hit the road; caught a bus to Philadelphia. I was a virgin, truly. Immaculate conception and virgin birth. You can believe that, right, Peter. OK. I fucked around with my younger brother when I was fourteen. I seduced him. -You're still lying, the Gadfly spoke softly and his words were resonating. -Fuck you too, Gadfly, CJ screamed. If I'm a liar, you made me that way. The Gadfly laughed at the absurdity. -Tell the truth, the spirit said. Please, it's important. -OK. I get it. My father fucked me when I was eleven. I had an abortion when I was barely 13. And Matthew's father was my own father. Knew the record would catch up. Can't lie with the Gadfly in the wings. When I was ten and started to get tits, Dad and I didn't do nothing but look at each other. I did suck his cock, got it hard. Far as it was spent. Learned fast with my preacher. When I left home, I did waitress work is hard on your legs and feet. I started to feel old. This old shit (must have been at least fifty, older than my dad) came in one day (what a load, Yuck), asked me out. Knew what he wanted young pussy to shake up his old bones one last fucking time. I whispered in his ear. Cost you fifty? He didn't argue, put fifty in my bra, and I gave him the best blowjob of his miserable life. He came in my mouth. I didn't let go. My first trick Scared the fuck. I let go when I through he might have a stroke. His puffy eyes grabbed at my lips. His bulging veins emptied and each pulse, like a tender balloon, could not easily stop. Didn't want anyone to expire. Imagine, under you, humping, sweating like pigs, suddenly, this guy stops breathing. Shouted at the fuck and nothing happens. I tell you; you can't stand there with a finger up your ass and do nothing. I can't call the Police, so left the flea bag motel; other fucker deal with the shit. I am a smarter bitch. Like that make believe street talk, honey. Street savvy woman doesn't stop shit. I'd always sell my ass. Can't stop. Make it easy on me. Please. Don't fuck with my head. Why don't you sell your ass on street for nothing? Think of all the shit you get to suck up. Don't shoot $200.00/a day of shit into her body with a fucken needle when all I wants, beside (even before she got hooked on drugs) is to not depend on anyone else. When I was a child, I would look at how my Ma hung on my father, worshipped him, dependent, when all along he would crawl in bed with all his daughters. Yes, I know I didn't call it dependent then, but I knew how my mother wanted more than taking care of us. Children stop you. I remember thinking how I never wanted any kids. Most of the time I want to be alone. There are times when I really don't like people. Street life can do that to you. All you see are selfish and scared men, who pay for an escape from their prison. He's drunk, away from his wife. Is there freedom in exposing your cock to a stranger, letting yourself go, allowing your feelings to control your actions. It would be wonderful to be with any man who wanted to share my daily life. Someone who knew how to give me space and love at the same time. I want to be with someone not just to take or use. Can I expose and choose my daily boredom. Before I began DETOX and methadone-REHAB, my life was drugs, making my nut, scoring, and then using. There's no choice in such a life. Straight people are tied to a similar cycle. They also have their prisons. But they can dream. There is some possibility for change. A hooker and heroin addict has very little time or energy for any activity outside the cycle of earn, score, use. Drugs have wasted my life. What do I really want, she asks. I want to run four miles a day, and feel like laughter once in awhile. I have a sharp, angular face softened by my mouth that upturns, curves, lifts top lip higher, suggests the invisible quiff, and the tongue behind the key. Striking figure. I possess the convoluted curves, as they softly rise not as a costume or mask. I am the invitation. I do become a mask. Takes on darkness. I lift outside while I bear his prick. Taming a wild beast, inviting, and refusing satisfaction. Yes, there is small risk of rejection by the parts we broadcast everywhere. Amazing how the passage of fantasy and reality climbing the same rose trellis fall down fall down when they are connected by dots and not the riverbed. What is the connection of CJ Parker and Laurie Fallon? They are the riverbanks and hell they win runs down the legs of their beaten sex. Henry revives one. God saves the other. Yes, I know. It is not the usual God who hates sex even thought God devised it as a casual explanation for nothing. 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> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+