CHAPTER 1

HOW

AFTER MUCH PRIOR CONTEMPLATION UPON CONSIDERATIONS NOT

HEREBY AVAILABLE TO THE READER, THEREBY REQUIRING OF THE SAME A

RATHER STRENUOUS AND FORMIDABLE LEAP OF FAITH, OUR HEROINE
DECIDES ONE DAY TO BECOME A WHORE AND TO EMBRACE ALL THINGS
WHORISH

A whore. A trollop. A harlot. Trying to get used to the names.

Streetwalker. Bobtail. I walked around all day today saying the names
out loud in different voices, high voices, low voices, whispers, sudden
shouts like burps, like farts. Spitting them at the mirror. Dollymop.
Popping my head suddenly around doorways and barking one out:
Alleywench! Up into the stairway. Into my glove. Under my blankets.
Onto the window pane where the words created nasty little clouds.
Gindancer. Wren. Tart. Trying them on like little hats before I go out
and actually do it. Actually I am not sure really how to go about it.
Cant talk with anyone around here about it, though most of them

-2would know. Jezebel. A blowing trooper. Cyprian. Most here in this

tenement have done it that Im sure. Still they dont need to know
about me. And Lewis? What if he found out? He would probably be
okay, would see it as a matter of chance somehow: one out of one
hundred women become whores and so he just happened to marry
that one percentage point. Chances are point oh-one, no other
explanation required. That would be his take. Funny how it makes
me feel. Excited. Alive. Yeaaaaaa, alive. WHORE! I shouted perhaps
a little too loudly by the look of a few people standing about outside.
But its not the danger. Although I suppose I should be afraid of
something. PROSTITUTE! It is my wonderment of how the men will
see me. What will they think of me? Will they like me? I cant
describe it really.

* * *

-3-

CHAPTER 3
REGARDING

WHAT OUR

HEROINE

THOUGHT UPON THE CONCLUSION OF HER

FIRST FULL NIGHT AS A

Got nothing but a welt on my leg!

* * *

WHORE

-4-

CHAPTER 4
WHEREBY

OUR

HEROINE

IS FORTUNATELY DELIVERED INTO THE GRACIOUS

COMPANY OF A WISE AND EXPERIENCED

THE BASICS OF

MISTRESS

SPERMONOMICS. ACCEPTED

WHEREUPON SHE LEARNS

INTO THE CIRCLE OF WOMEN OF

THE NIGHT, SHE THEN GAINS A GOOD AND BASIC SCHOOLING IN ALL THINGS

TARTIC

AND

DOLLYMOPPISH.

I think my luck is turning. I met this young wench today at the

Rooster and Bear. I could tell she was a whore but I wanted to see if
she knew immediately that I was a whore just as I knew immediately
that she was a whore and I could see she was looking me up and down
with that whore look one whore gives to another and me wondering of
course was that whore-look the look a whore gives to another whore
or was that whore-look the look a whore gives to a woman she does
not think is a whore. Yea you got that right, I finally said, tired of her
looking me up and down. What, she said, that you are a stupid mot?
No, I said, taken aback and when she saw I was about to cry she kind
of leaned over and winked and said, Ah come on, me was just fooling
with ya, just testing you out, giving you a bit of a ride, come on dont
cry for bloody cryings sake.

-5The gal looked like a low class floozy, that was for sure, she had a face
that was square and a head that was far too large for her shoulders
where it sat without a neck, and her ears kind of hung like they were
rent from each side of her head. Her eyes were massive, doe like,
tending to the sides of her head almost, and then popping out as if too
much pressure was behind them. Her nose fleshy and broad, freckled
with the same malady the rest of her skin exhibited across her cheeks
and chin, even on her hands. She was a short squat woman with arms
and legs that had far too much sinew for a woman, and all of this
made her extremely unattractive. And to some extent my desire to cry
when I sat down next to her had as much to do with her unfortunate
features and the immediate sense that this woman was condemned to
the most terrible life simply due to what had been given to her at
birth. Yet it was immediate as well that I could sense a strength in
this gal, a resource that very few of us knows exists, a strength we
would ever expect to find in ourselves nor see in another person
except those people who seem to be fighting that last great fight
against death and are giving one more heroic attempt at life, one last
fit of strength, one last yell that is not a scream of giving up of
surrender and defeat, but a yell of hatred towards death, and of
course that is how I saw it because I was nothing like her and so
didnt know a thing. What I could tell with her, was that she had
captured this heroic strength and instead of using it up all at once,

-6she had it restrained, under control, able to use it when and where
she wished, and so it played itself upon her terribly ugly features in
way that made me cry because she was just so goddamn beautiful.

Why do you want to be a whore? she asked me. Why would you say
that? I asked. You dont need to answer questions with a question you
know? she said. Is that what I am doing? I asked. You just did it again
you dumb wren, she said, I asked you a pretty simple question, all you
have to do is answer it. What was that? I asked. Why do you want to
be a bloody whore? she asked me again. Do you think I am a whore? I
squeaked, confused and intimidated. Oh shut up and shove off wench!
she shouted and nearly knocked me off my feet not without any touch
or blow from her body but with the breathwind of her clear and very
direct disgust. But wait, wait! I cried out after regaining my balance
and gathering myself together well enough to run after her into the
street. Wait, please wait! She walked like you might imagine a
woman with the body of a muscleman would walk, all rigid and muscle
bound, but soft and in a determined way that was straight as any walk
could be, she did not swerve, she did not change direction, people,
animals, horses, carts, even light posts seemed to remove themselves
from her path while I had to dodge and run around and trip and leap
over all the refuge, human and otherwise, she left in her wake, so I
was quite out of breath when I finally made it to her side. Wait, I

-7puffed, you misunderstood me, please wait. She kept on going as if

she had turned into some kind of boat and was being powered up this
channel of people and boxes and trash and mud, a boat that had no
consciousness and so not a care as to where it was going but going all
the same with so much determination that you had no choice but to
give it, the boat, and so her some very high level of consciousness.
Finally she stopped. I only regret things once, she said, the second
time I kill them, you understand? What does that mean? I asked. You
are answering me with a question again! she hissed. Am I? I cried out.
Oh I did it again, I am sorry! Please dont do anything, please dont
regret me, please dont kill me, I cried, I will try! I will try so hard not
to answer with questions. She looked at me long and in those eyes
that could only be found in a dead deer that had been whacked
several times in the back of the head I searched from some meaning,
some answer. She looked at me so long that I could swear I could see
those big eyes of hers beginning to dry out in the cold October dusk
that was coming upon us, there was a light film forming across her
eyes, a thin sheen that clouded her real intentions, anything that she
may have had, certainly any feelings that would have been contrary to
the feeling of pure hatred that I assumed she had for me. Then her
eyelids swooped down like two dog tongues and wiped that film away
and suddenly I saw the actual look of kindness, a glimmer in her eyes
and then lo and behold a tiny smile on her lips that were stretched

-8into two bloodless lines by those crooked teeth that jutted from her
jaws. Come with me, she said.

I had never made love to a woman before, and I did not on this night
either, although I had to admit that was just about all I could think
about as I followed her on down that street until we got to a park the
entrance which was guarded by two bronze gargoyles that held up the
rest of the iron grating that led us into the cool, vernal darkness
where creatures, humans I assumed, skittered and rustled about. I
followed her without a fear in my body, knowing that she would never
be one to find herself in a compromised position, no, not her. Finally
we came to a small bench where she sat down, leaving plenty of room
for me to join her. May I? I asked clearly unsure of myself. She sent a
flicker of a glance at me through the darkness, a flicker is all as that
was all I could see and I knew that I had almost done myself in. Sorry,
I said with a whimper. Quit apologizing like some worthless crawler,
she said.

So why do you want to be a whore? she asked and I knew that this
time I had to get this right. Amazingly the first thing that was ready
to leap from my mouth was another question, something like: Do you
really want to know? Or maybe: Where should I start? Or most
terrifying of all: I dont know guess? But I realized I had finally

-9mastered a certain weak and uncontrollable part of me when I

suppressed all these interrogatory urges and simply told her what I
thought was the truth. Because I want to, I said. Come on, she said,
because you want to? Becoming a whore is not like trying to play
tennis or taking a poetry class. It is not something you try on to see
how it fits. You cant take it back. Once a harlot always a harlot, she
said, you go down for the ride and you never come back up the same,
so tell me the truth, why do you want to fuck fat ugly men for money.
I felt a fury blow over me. I am willing to allow my body to be the
tool by which I earn those pennies that feed it, I prelected, I no longer
worry that my body has much to do at all with my mind, in fact, I think
like most women, I realize that long ago the mind could only exist
feely and totally without the body, for what is the body but a cage that
we ourselves build around our own minds, that we willingly allow men
to use to trap our minds and so keep us encaged, keep us entombed,
yes, I decided I wanted a penny for each time a womans body was
used to describe the sea, I wanted a penny for each time men had
called the earth their mother, I wanted a penny for each time someone
struck the mother lode, I wanted a penny for each time an author
used a womans flesh and blood to bring some meaning to his
otherwise dry and meaningless prose, I wanted this as if I wanted
revenge, I wanted this and then I wanted to be free of all this, I
wanted to be paid and then I wanted to throw it all away, for what is

- 10 the body but a muddy urn, a bloody tomb, a sack that carries our shit
and piss and all that is foul, that bursts open from time to time and
lets out a wee one that we all know wont add a thing to this world. I
dont want to be a part of that, I said, and that is what I saw when I
looked at myself Bullshit, she said. Bullshit? I asked. Yes, what do
you know? she said, have you ever even looked at yourself? Well how
can you? I cried unable to finish the sentence my brain had perched
upon my lips. What do you mean? I stammered against the pile of
articulations my brain had stacked upon my tongue to catapult in her
direction. I mean, how, what, ahhh! I screamed, waving my arms and
ducking my head as if being attacked by bees. Me! I shouted. What
do I see when I look at me? Why look at you, I yelled, look at you, you
surely must have looked at yourself at one time or another, no let me
say that another way, you must have looked at yourself a thousand
times, a thousand times a day, a million times over the years and
asked yourself that same question? Thats right, tell me, tell me the
truth, how many times have you screamed and cried and shouted and
murmured and gasped that question? I get it now! I continued, no
wonder, no wonder, no wonder goddamit that you cannot stand any
questions from another person, because any question from anyone no
matter how dissimilar no matter how unrelated rings for you in the
same way as that same question that you have asked yourself for as
long as you know, which is: why am I so fucking UG-LY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I

- 11 screamed this last word as if I was trying to barf out my lungs onto
the walk in front of us. When I was done, I began to cough and then
realized that my companion was silent. I looked up, my eyes tearing
from the violence in which I retched out that final syllable. Bullshit,
she said again as quietly and confidently as if she had just defeated
me in a game of chess. You want to be a whore, she said, because you
hate your life, you hate your mother, you hate your father, you hate
your husband, you hate your children, you hate your pastor, you hate
your neighbors, you hate ever single person your eyes come across,
you hate them and so you want nothing more than to fuck each and
everyone of them. You are what we call a classic whore, the most
common, the run of the mill, the kind that slips and tumbles onto our
streets every day, the ones that crawls up to any pair of pants and
begs them for a fuck, the kind that glides through the night hoping
that one of their johns will be the one that takes them by the hair and
raises their face to the moon and with a knife slits their throat from
ear to ear and cuts them another smile that can never be as broad or
as open or as joyous as the actual smile on their face. That is who you
are, so dont you dare think you can know who I am. I am Mickey and
even though you now know my name, I am someone you will never
ever know.

- 12 So if you are right, I began to say in a small trembling voice that I

immediately worried would crack and so give off the accidental
inflection of a question: So if you are right, and that is the kind of
whore that I am, then maybe, just maybe, that is the best kind of
whore there is. Ah ha! she said, yes, you are right! You are right
about that and so that is why you need me, you need someone who
has no such inclinations or desires or twisted mental capacities to
help guide you, because you are right, you have what it takes to be a
good whore, you have the dark and deep passion for death, for
revenge, for killing, for mutilation, all those fantasies that go into the
making of pure, savage and wanton sex, that tears from the minds of
the men who are fucking you any other thought or feeling when they
are fucking other than the thought and feeling that they are killing
you, raping you, torturing you, they are obsessed with destroying you
and your desire to be destroyed, but to destroy you they first need to
destroy themselves and so you are only more than willing to kill them
first so that they may come back and kill you, rip you to pieces,
penetrate you and skewer you and tear you apart like some animal!

Oh my! I said with a blush and a smile, but that actually sounds like
fun. Fun! My companion laughed. Fun, sure. Sure it is fun. But you
are a whore, not a mistress. You are a whore, and so the question you
have to always keep in mind, the question that is the only question

- 13 that you are ever allowed to ask, that you are ever allowed to mutter,
that questions is: does it pay? Come on say it! Say what? I began to
shriek timid and confused. Does it pay? she yelled, say it! Does it pay,
I mimicked mechanically. Does it pay! she shouted looking at me
again as her eyes began to congeal like egg whites in a heated pan,
say it! Does it pay, I said a little louder. Does it pay! she yelled again
her eyes occluding like a dying oyster. Does it pay! I shouted. Does it
pay! she screamed, her bulging eyeballs now turning into shaking
globs of semen. DOES IT PAY! I shrieked hysterically bringing us both
back to the moment and once again those eyelids came down and
licked everything clean. Fucking like an animal does not pay, she said
as calmly as if we were having tea, tell me, how many times can you
fuck like that in one night? I dont know, I said, not many I suppose.
Once at most, she answered. May leave you too sore and swollen to
do anything the next day or even the week after that. Scratches on
your legs and shoulders, bruises on your face, your vagina suddenly
staring up at you with a bruised and sanguinary face of its own.
Forget it. Its not worth even a bob or two. A bob or two? I cried,
you mean there are things you can do for that much money? Acch
sister! Mickey shouted, there are things you can do for ten times that
much, but neither you nor I are equipped for that. That was years ago
when we had youth and stamina. But listen, she said, you are just
getting started, so you got to start slow, but you gotta to start smart.

- 14 You got to get into this business in a way that there is no risk of those
other temptations. What other temptations? I asked then covered my
mouth with my hand. Look you are pretty although I am not sure how
smart you are, she said, I am not seeing a lot that is going to maintain
you in this vocation, I can tell you that right now. But you dont want
to start by taking a man up to a room and fucking him all night. Why?
I asked then quickly added: Doesnt that pay? It pays alright. The
guy will probably even give you a kiss on the cheek before you go.
Then the next thing you know he asks you to see him again the next
night. You do that. This time he kisses you and leaves you a flower
with the money he owes you. You think this is pretty sweet. The next
time he brings a bottle of wine and you light a candle and when he
leaves he almost forgets to pay you and it is on your lips to say: dont
worry you can pay me next time, but you catch yourself and you say
nothing as you watch him reluctantly take out several bills overpaying
you by two or three times for your services. You being to think about
this man, you begin to even imagine you could have an orgasm with
this man, a real orgasm, not the fake ones that you know are safer
than the real ones, become once you have a real orgasm you know
that you have crossed the line, you know that you have given him too
much, you have a real orgasm and you hope he forgets the money, you
hope that he kisses you, in fact you find yourself angry now when he
forgets the flowers the next time he comes, you want to go out to

- 15 dinner first, but dinner is awkward and contrived, you feel sullied
when you find the shillings left for you on the table like some turds he
forgot to clean up after, you both struggle to eat with the right
utensils, you take him back to the room and you try to fuck him like
crazy, you try to fuck him in all the crazy ways you remember, in crazy
ways that suddenly occur to you without reason, you want that
orgasm, you want that drug, you want that rushing through your body
again and again, and now when he leaves, he is quick to dress, he
doesnt even kiss you good bye, you begin to have strange thoughts,
you think about following him you wonder if he goes home and kisses
his wife, if he brings her flowers, all these things you never wondered
about before but now seem so natural to wonder about, you wonder if
he turns around for a moment before he enters his home, looking over
his shoulder as if looking back to you before he enters this other life,
you wonder if he fucks his wife, you wonder what he saves for you,
what he keeps of himself that is all yours, is it his tongue that he will
not share with his wife, is it the fingers on his hand that will enter
only you, is it a part of his body that will always remained clothed
except with you, is it his arsehole that is touched and tickled only by
you, you wonder if you will ever see his wife, you begin to think that
you could even kill his wife, that you could just push her under a tram
and step right into this house, into his home with his kids and take
over as his wife.

- 16 -

Do you see what I mean? Yea, I said, I sure do. This job is so much
more dangerous than I thought, I said, I am so confused, what do I
do? I asked, adding quickly again, what is it that pays? Fellatio, she
said, with a warm smile that unfurled across her maloccluded teeth
that suddenly came screaming at me like so many tiny hatchets.

Fellatio pays and that is not all, she said as she stood up from the
bench. When she stretched her arms a few unseen things took off out
of the branches in a tree above us, perhaps squirrels frightened out of
their nests, perhaps birds that took off to the sky but I did not hear
that shudder of wings beating. When I stood up, it was suddenly as if
all the street lamps had been turned down, there was not a light
around us, we were contained all in and amongst ourselves, an
impersonal black hole in a huge general blackness, it was as if all
space and time had collapsed and we were at the point where it all
came together. Fellatio is the best, she said with what sounded like a
yawn but she was far enough away from me that I could not see her
any more. I sensed from the change in her voice that she was walking
away from me and so I stood up and headed in her direction, my arms
were out as if I had awoken in a strange room and was trying to feel
my way across it, when suddenly my hands ran into her. Excuse me,
she said, I am explaining something to you. I removed my hands and

- 17 stood there thinking her face was just in front of me just as her
breasts had been there right in front of me. But she had started
walking again, so quiet she was when she walked, that when she
started to talk she was already several yards away. You wont get
much for a knee trembler, she said. Well if I wont get much, I said,
how much is that? Maybe six pence, never a shilling. Well the hell
with that, I said as if I was bargaining for something I could care less
about, I can get a shilling for a Browning, I said with confidence, so
why bother?

Suddenly another, a new voice, a sweet sounding voice

spouted out of the darkness: Tis the economics of fellatio that make it
so good, the sweet sounding voice said. Spermonomics we calls it,
said another voice, this one husky and coarse in it tone. Oui salope,
you will get yourself six pence, said yet another voice with a distinct
Paristian accent, maybe four pence, that French voice continued,
maybe eight if you do a really good job. I was suddenly surrounded by
the aural specters of several women, none of who I could see, but who
I could make out in my mind: all the women, standing, seated around
us, a gathering of convivials, each eager to talk and share. And if the
john aint in any hurry, said Mickie Bu deyre always in a bloody
urry when youre givin em a suck, the husky one interrupted, dey
are always on the bloody look out they are. Cuz you are always
sucking them in some stairway or alley or doorway, said one of the
others who I couldnt figure out how or what she sounded like: who

- 18 knows, who cares, just as long as there are no wee ones around. Who
are these women? I shouted in the direction I hoped would find
Mickey. Mickey answered just to my left as if she was standing there
looking deep into my ear: this is our community. Our who? I asked.
These are our sisters, Mickey continued, your sisters, they are like us
and a part of us, they are what we are and who we will be, they are
what we know and what we need to understand, they are what we
fear and where we came from, they are the parts we lost and the part
we gained, they are the ever changing maiden ship that will take us
into the day, but not without a host of fears, prejudices and
expectations that we must eventually dump overboard. They are all
your friends? I asked. And yours, Mickey said to me, but dont be
afraid, enjoy their company, we have much to discuss and they have
much to add. So there are some things you gotta learn about fellatio
and mens genitalia, Mickey said, but that is for later. Yes, the husky
voice said, right now were talking about economics. Economics is
that makes the world go round nest pas? the Parisien said, not amor,
not passion, not war, mais les economiques. So they say at those
anarchist meetings you can go to and get coffee, the sweet sounding
one said. And there you can get yourself probably ten or twelve
fellatios in one evening, the one I couldnt figure out said. Ten or
twelve? I asked as if inquiring about knowledge I could take home
with me. Sure, the Parisien said, that is what is so magnifique sur les

- 19 benders. You ken bloody do em all day n night, the husky one said.
You can do a hundred benders in a day if you take care of yourself, the
sweet one said. A hundred? I said, I cant imagine. And why not?
Mickey said, once you get the hang of the anatomy well you can finish
him off real quick, pocket your pence and move on. Ten r twelve is da
same as one bloody Browning as you done called it, the husky one
said. But without all the risks you know, the one I couldnt figure out
said. Starting to see? Mickey asked me. I think so, I said. An so you
gotta know how to pick yer bloody johns, the husky one said. And
contrary to what you might think, Mickey interjected, dont pick the
young men. They are probably sticking their pecker into every kind of
girl, said the pretty sounding one. Whore, boy or animal, the one I
couldnt figure out said. Animal? I said. Sure, Mickey said, them
young ones gotta be coming off all the time. Them dont care, the
husky one continued, so why tek a cock thatd be covered wit every
bloody kind of bloody disease and slime known to genitals just for a
lousy six pence? And you dont want to begin messing with the
chancroid, the syphilis or the clap, the sweet one said. (Nu uh, nu uh,
nu uh, they all said in a dissonant echoic kind of chorus.) I know all
about venereal disease, I said glowingly. You do, the sweet one said
with mock admiration. I do, I said, my husband was a statistician at
the Bureau, he was the one who put the States numbers together. He
did did he? the sweet one said. Thats right and I still remember

- 20 them, I said. Lets ask the wench to share some of dese bloody facts
n figure, the husky one said. Yes please share with us, the one I
couldnt figure out said. Should I? I asked hoping I was still facing in
the direction of Mickey. Of course, Mickey answered to my other side
as if peering into my other ear. Ok, I said, lets see: one out of three
sick cases in the army are venereal complaints, I stated. (Oooooo!
they all wailed in unison like the bunch of ghosts they were.) Thats
right, I said, and venereal diseases account for one fifth of the
outpatient cases at the ear and nose and mouth hospital in K.
(Wowwwwww! they wailed again.) And admissions to K hospital for
gonorrhea and syphilis have reached 209.7 per 1000 of our total troop
strength, I said putting a special emphasis on the point seven. (Point
seven! they wailed, oooooooooooo!) And finally, I said with added
emphasis. (Finally! they wailed, finally finally finally! they echoed like
a bunch of parrots.) Yes finally, I said, hereditary syphilis, the cases
that involves the children of parents with syphilis, are three to four
times more numerous than the guilty ones, it is a disease that is
passed down for three to four generations. Ugh! Bloody Christ! the
husky one said. Thats bad, the pretty one said. Im impressed,
Mickey said. Parbleu, we all are, the Parisian said. They were all
mumbling to each other through the darkness, but in a way that felt
welcoming, as if I had gained some kind of acceptance to this vague
and ghostly club, I now felt that we were all strung in a net, not

- 21 caught or constrained but tied together beneficially like puppets, like

spiders, like some kind of organism in which we all had out own way
but could feel and enjoy the tugs and gentle jostlings of the others.

So you bloody know all that, the husky one said, and yet ya still bloody
want to fuck? I am not sure, I said, as a whore I thought I had to, you
know, fuck. Do you know what you have to do to fuck all these
different men each and every day, the pretty one said. No, I said. Do
you know the routine? the one I couldnt figure out asked. No, I dont.
Oil to the vagina every few hours, the Parisien added. (Oil, gobs of
oil, they all murmured.) An den some bloody alcohol wash to your
quim at the end of each night, the husky one said. (Rum, gin, any
thing will do, they all murmured.) Vinegar and water to the vagina to
wash away the poison, the one I couldnt figure out said. (Vinegar to
destroy the filth.) And then more oil, Mickey said, or else you will dry
up like an old sock, good for nothing. (Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! the chorus
laughed.) I really dont like that routine, I said, my poor vagina, all
that abuse. She is the bloody working girl out of the two of you, the
husky one said. Yea, she is the one who is earning your keep, the
pretty one said. She takes the abuse, Mickey said, but you have to
take care of her. (Wash her, rub her, oil her. Or else ) I have to
admit I was terrified at this point. I was terrified of fucking, I was
terrified of men, I was terrified of my own body, this lumpy carcass

- 22 with all these slits and orifices put there just to be penetrated, just for
that purpose, yet led to such consequences, such terrible ends!

And thats not the worst of it, the one I couldnt figure out said. No,
Mickey said, then you gotta consider if the water police start to
suspect you are fucking your customers, the one I couldnt figure out
said. They aint allowed but they ken bloody still take you in for a
bloody exam, the husky one said. Make you cast your skin, the one I
couldnt figure out said. Force a hot speculum up your moie with
twelve men waiting to see how far it can go, the Parisien said. And
woe to you, Mickey said, should they find something up your quim
there, heaven forbid they find a rash or chancre and so off you go to
the lock hospital, where you aint leaving until you are cured. (you
aint leaving, baby, you aint leaving) And you heard of the cure they
got for you if you are sick, right? the sweet one asked. No, I said, I
have not heard of anything like this. Well, Mickey continued, the cure
is this liquid mercury they pour in your orifices until it wells up like
you are giving birth to the sun. It grows and hardens, the pretty one
said, and then melts back down and bursts out of your twat like so
many molten bullets. And what dont burst out of your bloody twat,
the husky one said, comes streaming from out of yer bloody eyes n
glands n pores. Sounds wretchedly terrible, I groaned. Mercury,
cest ne pas un treatment, the Parisien said. Mercury is pain, the

- 23 pretty one said. Mercury is punishment, the one I couldnt figure out
said. What do you mean? I asked. What they mean, Mickey said, is
that they have cures for syphilis, but if you are a prostitute they will
not treat you for it. They will not give you the bloody Salvarsan, the
husky sounding one said. They save that for the soldiers, the pretty
one said. They will fill you with mercury, Mickey continued, just to
punish you. To sicken you, the one I couldnt figure out said. To make
you repent, the pretty one said. And if they dont have mercury, the
husky one said, they will cauterize you. Burn you, the husky one said,
singe and smolder your vagina with their red hot sticks. It only gets
worse, Mickey said. Dont even tell me, I said, who would want to
fuck if that is what you have to put up with. Fucking sounded so,
well. Easy? The husky one asked. Yea, easy, I said. Simple? the
Parisien asked, elle es con. Like just lying on your back, spreading
your legs and well who cant do that? the one I could figure out said.
Well, I am not I began to say. Like you were made to fuck? Mickey
asked, like there is nothing about you physically that cannot be
explained Darwinianly, Lamarkianly or Huxleyingly as having been
made for fucking? Yes, I cried, thats it! I was made to fuck and so
why not fuck? I shouted. I was seeking out someone to whom I could
shake my hands at, to whom I could show my open mouth, my look of
exasperation, but it was only darkness that stared back at me. But
now, I continued, fucking seems so, soooo disgusting! (Ha! Ha! She

- 24 thinks its disgusting. It is disgusting. Ha! Only after you do it! Ha!
Only when you cant do it! Ha! Only when you want to and cant. Ha!
Like all the time! Ha! ) I am telling you, Mickey said, that is why we
are taking this time with you. Rare that you catch someone like you
before all the troubles begin, before it is too late. With the old men,
they need you to play with it a bit, the sweet sounding one said, to
stiffen it up, can take a bit of doing you know. But during that time
you can check it out for sores and stuff, Mickey said. With the young
guys they are hard perpetually, said the pretty sounding one, and they
wants you to suck on it right away, no time to see what the whore got
in store for her. Down it goes, the husky one said, the guy pumping
your mouth and you trying to catch the rhythm with your tongue
never sure until he pulls it out what hes got, say a rash or some boils.
Nah, said the Parisien, give me zhe old zizis anytime. Yea, said the
pretty sounding one, gotta stick with the older men, the older they are
the better I think. But there is economics with them too, Mickey
added, the older ones take longer to come off you know, need extra
work. Takes time and wears down the jaw muscles. So you gotta be
careful. The economics may not work out in your favor if they are too
old, the one I could not figure out said. But still the old ones are
clean, the pretty one said, they taste better, they have pride in how
they smell, they wash two or three times a day I have been told.
(forget your laborers! Yuk, yea! Them bog trotters are the worse!) A

- 25 young kid may not wash but once a year. (What you want with that in
your mouth huh?) And the old ones cant do nothing but get sucked
off, the pretty sounding one said, cant fuck anymore. They cant get
bloody hard enough, the husky one said, to take on anything but a
mouth and best of me thinks, she continued, they get bloody attached
to you n theyll wait until you come around again. You can feel pretty
good that his willie aint touched anything else, the one I couldnt
figure out said. So you know they cant be catching any nasties
except what is in someones mouth, the pretty one said, which I
believe is a lot better than what accumulate in these other orifices.

* * *

- 26 -

CHAPTER 5
WHEREUPON
OUR

THE NIGHT IS NOW OVER AND THE

HEROINES

BUT

OUR

MISTRESS

SEEKS TO END

EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE ON A LIGHTER AND AIRIER NOTE.

HEROINES

FIRST ATTEMPT TO OFFER A CONVIVIAL CONUNDRUM

ENDS WITHOUT A CLIMAX.

Ok wenches, this is our gals first night as a whore, Mickey said, we

have been too long and serious about all this. I think we should finish
this night with some jokes, anyone have a joke they can share? I do!
said the pretty sounding one, I have a riddle. A riddle, said Mickey,
well go ahead.

The Pretty Ones riddle: It seems there were these seventy solders
who were found to be affected by recent venereal sores of a very bad
kind. But not one of them had seen the face of a woman for more than
a year. To such dissolute soldiers the cowardly official says: Inform,
inform us as of the woman who has infected you with her smut! Who
was this woman? I know, I know the answer! said the one I couldnt
figure out, a whore? No, said the pretty one. A wench? guessed the
husky one. No. Then who? I asked. Not a one, the pretty one said,

- 27 they were fucking each other! (Ha! Ha! Heard that one before
actually! Ha! Still funny though! Ha!)

Okay another joke or riddle? asked Mickey. Yes, I have one, the one I
couldnt figure out said. Ok, the floor is yours, Mickey said.

The joke from the one I couldnt figure out: A feminist asks a doctor
what is a venereal disease? (I know this one too. Shhhh!) The doctor
says: All genital disease, in man or a woman, arising from excessive or
impure sexual intercourse. (I love that word! I-n-t-e-r-c-o-u-r-s-e!
Shhhh!) the feminist asks: How does this sore arise, do you think? The
doctor answers: I believe it arises from excessive sexual intercourse.
To which the feminist says: But persons might be faithful to each
other and yet have excessive sexual intercourse, might such a sore
arise from that. The Doctor thought for a moment then said: It might,
but I do not think it would be probable. (Hee Hee! Dummy! Ha Ha!)

Good one, Mickey said, any more? I have a joke, the sweet sounding
one said.

The sweet sounding ones joke: Why should you always use birth
control on a sailing ship? (Dont answer, this is really stupid and she
tells it every time.) Does anyone know the answer? Mickey said with a

- 28 knowing snigger: okay, we give up, why should you use birth control
on a sailing ship? Why should you ALWAYS use birth control on a
sailing ship? the sweet sounding one repeated with emphasis. We
give up, Mickey said, why? To which the sweet sounding one
answered: Because it is full of seamen. (Is that even a joke? Not sure.
Kind of makes sense to me.) But I have another one, the sweet
sounding one said and before anyone could object loudly enough (Oh
no! Stop her! Dont let her) she continued:

The sweet sounding ones second joke: A man walks up to a woman

and says: I hope you dont mind my saying this to you, but you are the
most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. The woman smiled
and said, well, thank you. The man saw her smile and so felt
emboldened to continue: well, I was wondering if you found me
attractive. In fact I do, said the woman. The man smiled back and
said: I am willing to offer you one million pounds to have sex with me.
Will you? The woman thought it over for a few minutes, then said:
Sure. Wonderful, the man said. But if I had offered you two pounds,
what would you have said? The woman snorted, I would have done
you for a half guniea, but it is too late now buster. (Ha! Wow! She got
him huh!)

- 29 Very funny, Mickey said, did you all get that joke? (No, of course not.
Were whores not fucking morons!) Okay, anyone else? Me! Me!
Shouted the husky one!

The husky ones joke: A whore was taken to an exam room (boo!
hiss!) and told they found a kiss (A kiss? I asked Mickey. A sore,
Mickey said.) So shes carried off towards the lock hospital, kicking
and screaming. Well theres this crowd of nearly a hundred people
gathered round demanding the police let her go. (Whoremongers!
Yeaaa!) And so some fights start to break out. Of course
reinforcements are brought in and the woman was finally hauled off to
the lock. It was soon discovered that she was not infected at all, but
she was still required to stay at the lock for the three months
probationary period to learn washing and sewing and relearn the
word of God before being released. (Huh? Is that it?) Is that it? the
pretty one asked. Thats it, the husky one said. (Was that even a joke?)
That wasnt even a joke! the pretty sounding one said. Fuck you, the
husky one said, that was my joke and I can tell it as I like, but oh and I
forgot, she continued, the whore had wee ones too, some wee ones
that had to stay at home without food all that time she was locked.
(That aint funny either!) Thats even worse, the pretty one said. Shut
up, the husky one shouted, oh but I also forgot that while she was in
the lock her mother died cuz her mother had no money for medicine.

- 30 (Tell her to stop!) Stop now, said the pretty sounding one, this is
terrible! Fuck you, the husky one said, and oh yea, I forgot this (stop
her! STOP!) I forgot to add in here that the children who were stuck
in the house with nothing to eat began to chew on the womans
embroidery that she was planning to sell and a baby got a pin stuck in
the palate of her mouth and died when she gnawed the pin all the way
into her brain (Ahhhhh! My god! No more!) That is enough! the
pretty sounding one shouted, none of this is funny at tall! Fuck you!
the husky one said. Oh yea and I forget to tell you that the woman got
raped in the lock and the guy gave her the clap. (Ahhhhh!) Ahhhhhh!
Mickey shut her up! the one I couldnt figure out said.

Ok, Mickey said, calm done everyone. But wait, the husky one started
to say. No, Mickey said, that is enough now. So I got one if no one
else does. (anythings better than the last one. shut the fuck up, the
husky one screamed) So here is my joke, Mickey said.

A police is grilling a whore and he asks her: just what do you think is
the difference between exposing yourself to any man who you come to
have a connection with and showing your pretty beard to a doctor?
The whore looks at the police and says, I should have thought yous
have known better nor that. Aint one in the way of nature and the
other aint nature at all? Aint one a manner of making a living and

- 31 the other a way of speculating mindlessly through a lens that only a

man could monocle to his eye, a lens that is not only sadistic and
perverted, but one clouded by the fact that this commerce he is trying
to stop is one that he cannot ultimately control? Aint it a different
thing what a woman obliges to do for a living because she has to keep
her body and soul together and going up there to be pulled by a man
as if you was cattle and hadnt no feeling, and then to have an
instrument just done soaking in hot water pushed up inside you, not to
make you feel good cuz you aint ill to begin with, but just so that men
may come to and peek for themselves into places they aint suppose to
see. (Ha ha ha ha that ones always funny)

* * *

I got a riddle, I finally found the courage to say. (Its the new whore!
She has a riddle!) Okay great, Mickey said, lets hear it then.

My riddle: What makes the best man? I know, the sweet one said, the
best man is the man who is never there, who says he will come back
not never does, who promises to return but you never see him again.
No that aint the best man, the pretty sounding one said, the best man
is the man who is unemployed, if you need a man around pick one who
cannot work, cuz he will have lost his pecker just as he has lost his

- 32 wages and wont bother you for nothing. The best man, said the
husky one, is the man who gave up fucking with women and goes to
his pals for a gag and a poke, he is the one who becomes your closest
friend, cuz he is the one who knows most closely who we are. (ha! ha!
ha!)

Ha! Well, me cant vouch much for he whod truly be the best man in
the world, the pretty sounding one said, but for one I sure can provide
for you all a detailing of the worst man that ever lived (Hey! Hey! We
all got that story! Go on, go ahead!) Well let me tell you, the pretty
sounding one continued, he not only had all them regular
characteristics that makes you dislike a man more than a headache,
hate him more than childbirth, loathe him more than scarlet fever,
(such as? Yea, dont leave anything out now!) such as never working
(Hear! Hear!) and when he does make a few shillings what does he
do? (ah! we know!) yep takes them coins to the pub and comes home
with empty pockets and an emptier head. (full bladder tho! to ell wit
im!) And then still expects you to make his dinner out of what dust
an filthy bits you can find (make im find is own grub!), still expects
to see a meal on the table when he gets home, when he stays awake
long enough to eat that is, for what else does he do but sleep (like all
men, sleep like a dog they do!), sleep in he chair, sleep on the steps,
sleep in the park (just like a dog men are!), wherever he puts down

- 33 his big arse he then falls asleep as if touching the ground was a signal
to his brain to go shut off. An still he goes out each night, comes
back each morning, drunk as a fish (drunken loobies men are!), comes
into me bed expecting to do some quick belly slap but I aint going to
give him that, no, not even a peek of me foul bunghole (dont even
give im that girl!), no way, and his mouth itd be foul as a sewer, his
teeth ground down to the nubs, the stench enough to kill the flies that
would otherwise cover his greasy hide, and all this would be what you
would call normal eh girls, (yea that sounds about par for the course
of all men) and so you may be asking, what is she telling us all this for,
not a twit of this is enough to make a man truly disgusting, let alone
the worse man in the world an so let me tell you what makes me man
the most disgusting man in the world. (tell us! alright!) Me man
accomplished the feat of becoming the most truly disgusting man on
this earth by is manner of eating (eating? how can that be so
disgusting?) cuz when I say eating I mean consuming and swallowing
and when I say consuming and swallowing I mean scarfing and
gobbling and when I say scarfing and gobbling I mean jawing and
masticating and when I say jawing and masticating I mean gargling
and gulching! I mean my lubbery lout dont really care what e eats
as long as he eats something. My jolly pug will eat everything off the
table even if it were the food for eight people, including the food for
the baby if we dont sit down before him; my lickorous glutton will eat

- 34 a whole turkey, even fore it be cooked if I was not careful; my

slopsauce scoundrel will drink down a entire pot of porridge in one
gulp; my fat chuffcat will swallow down potatoes whole as if there
were so many pills; my ninny lobcock will chomp through turnips,
bunches of carrots, clumps of colworts; my shitbed scoundrel will
gnaw through an entire fish, heads, and guts and all; my fondling fop
will eat anything that is of food and anything that can be confused as
food such as wooden spoons, fishpaper, and leftover lard; and of
course with this horrible and disgusting appetite, comes a horrible
and ever more disgusting girth, a gulching belly as big as a tun, the
results of his appetite witnessed in the unguenty folds about his arms,
the great slabs of blubbery fat surrounding his neck, draped down his
chest and rising tremendously from his waist and spilling down the to
ground in a shuddering flesh fall of pure and jiggily fat, his legs are
swollen to the size that can no longer fit through the doorway except
one at a time; his feet are engulfed in the fat of this calves that drape
his ankle and toes; my ill bred lout will eat pictures of food, frames
and all; my mangie rascal will eat the neighbors cat, a stray dog, a
stray rodent, an errant pigeon; my base snit will eat a thing covered
with mud and shit if it looks like an apple or even the core of an apple;
my codshead looby will eat a broom if it flutters even a mocking bit
like a cockbird; my externally devoted ape will eat a pile of clothes if
its left on the dining table; and sometimes my slipshod caffard will

- 35 eat as if he had a disorder that brought about the mighty eating of

things that are green and deciduous, and so when this strikes him he
will eat the leaves off the trees, grass from the grown, flower bulbs
and white tree roots; and sometimes my pockie baboon will eat things
that can only be eaten if you are suffering mightily from the disorder
that strikes dogs sometimes and makes them eat their dung, well so
goes my vile bigot who will grab the turds out from the night pail as if
they were dumplings in a chicken broth; and sometimes my lazy slug
will eat things that only a man who is stricken with pure and
irreversible degeneration, one that has him devolved not only to an
ape but past an ape, not only to a horse but past a horse, not only to a
dog but past a dog, devolved he is and degenerate to the degree that
like a lizard he will eat the insects that appear at the windows, he will
eat the vermin that scamper noisily at night, he will eat the maggots
at the bottom of a garbage pail; he will eat the small corpses left
wrapped in paper beside the road; he will eat the bloody rags dumped
from a fumigation; he will eat the fallen fingers, the flung menses, the
spat teeth, the gangrenous feet, the nightworms, the larvae skimmed
off the puddles; my pelf licker will lick the bird dung on the church
spires; munch the splintered bones of fish, grist and grind the sucked
clean pits of cherries; that is how disgusting my man is.

-- But maybe, I said, you would like to hear the answer to my riddle?

- 36 -

That is truly pretty disgusting, said the husky sounding one ignoring
me, and as wicked and woeful as your life is living with such a
disgusting man, it is not, I am afraid, more wicked and woeful than my
life, not by a bit, not as hideous and horrible as life with my man, not
even a speck, for this man of mine is even more disgusting than yours
(how can that be! come on tell us, what makes him so disgusting!)
what makes him so disgusting you ask? (yea! come one! tell us!) I
mean my man is your typical run o the mill sempiternous lazy arse
lecher who couldnt hold a job if it was strangling him, why hes been
a pudding crier, a boot greaser, a faggot carrier -- jobs that no child
would want; worse yet hes been a pot scummer, a rat catcher, a
mushroom seller, a barrel hooper, a walnut peeler; and even lower
hes been a lice killer, a flayer of dead horses and even a crier of
green sauces, and not a one of them jobs could he hold for long
enough to make it home with a copper in his pants, no! But that is the
way with all men, and so what makes my man so much more
disgusting that the others is that he drinks (aw bullshit girl, what man
dont drink!) aye! aye! of course all men drink, of course all men get
drunk, of course all men waste every new copper on their tankards as
well as the tankards of others, of course all men drink until they are
blind and fall, of course all men drink until they have to be carried
home, of course all men drink so much they never have a chance to

- 37 see let alone remember their wee ones, of course all men drink so that
they never see let a one remember you as their gal; but that aint what
makes a drinking man as disgusting as my drunken man. My man
dont just drink, but he is a believer in the essence of drink, a devotee
to the science that in the very nature of drink one can be dissolved,
distilled and float away as the pure essence of man: a dumb and
dumbheaded philosophy that only leads to the most disgusting
extreme; for as he celebrates his religion, he partakes in an ocean of
beverage that passes first through his mouth and then out his
southern and nether orifices, so sloppy he is at both ends of this
watery process that we gets wet with the beer on the intake and with
the piss and watery stool on the exit; and for nothing is he willing to
move or honor the dryness of others, for my man dont just get drunk
but he gets anesthetized in mind and soul; he dont remember a thing
of the past, he cant think forward one second into the future and the
present is nothing but a blur, and so he never catches a drool, never
notices let alone wipes away a snot from his nose, he cant tell if his
ass pizzle is hanging in or hanging out; a belch is as near as a fart, a
spat as sure as a shat. My man is such a disgusting drunk that his
skin is green beneath his clothes, not from any liver disorder but
because with no blood any longer in his veins he skin done grow a
mold like cheese; his mouth is a maw full of cotton, and he leaks
amber from his ears, sludge from his eyes, his nipples leak out a

- 38 poisonous witchs milk, his penis performs a constant drip and his
arse shudders like a blown and shattered bladder. So poisonous is his
religion and so severe the consequences of not adhering to its tenants
to drink and drink some more, when he dont take his drink in
sufficient quantities then a most terrible shake comes across his limbs
and body until he is all a shudder and every thing is leaking and
spilling forth, piss and shit and vomit from his mouth, his teeth
grinding, his bones cracking, his eyes twisting and turning in his orbs,
he looks like he is being electrically tortured, like a thunderbolt done
seized him and all one can do is watch until he turns that color green
from fatigue and we all get to clean up the excrement of that diseased
man which has flowed and splashed and splattered everything in
sight. That is the most disgusting man in the world.

-- But I do have an answer, I said, to my riddle, the riddle I told...

Mon dieu putain! Trs dgotant! Oui, those are most certainly very
disgusting tales, said the wench from Paree, who likewise ignored me,
and I feel for you to have to live with such terrible forms of men, she
continued, for what are these men but forms, but caricatures, not men
at all, but jokes, but terrible and not terribly funny stories that we tell
both to release the pain as well as to bring to each other some
laughter so that we can move on, so that we can find a way to live

- 39 with all this? And so, I too have my tale, and while your stories, your
caricatures are terrible funny and terribly disgusting, jai peur no! I
am ashamed to say that they are not as disgusting as my man. Oui, I
am clearly and terribly embarrassed to say that my man is truly the
most disgusting man in the world, and not for the normally disgusting
things that most men do like forget to wipe their shoes off before they
climb into bed, for blowing their phlegm and snots into their beards,
leaving those crusty worms hanging there for days on end, for
straightening their pate with a German comb (thats four fingers and
a thumb if you didnt know!) for forgetting to properly shake he zizi
and walking around with a big wet spot on hes trousers; forgetting to
wipe the oil and filth off hes hands before he reach up your dress and
seek a feel; for collecting so much dirt up beneath his nails that it
breaks free when he grabs hes spoon and crumbles into hes soup; no
not for any of these things does make my man the most disgusting of
all man, what makes him the most disgusting of all me is the way he
has of wiping hes cul (n whats a cull?) your hole in your arse, as you
say! (areshole you mean you dumb French whore!) oui, your arsehole,
as you say! (and whats so special about wiping ones arse? ay! If an
arse is befouled it has to be wiped!) Bien sr, salope! Tu es betes
comme tes pieds! I know every man and every woman too has to wipe
his or her arse at some point, cant get around that, and so my man,
aprs dunging he dont just wipe his arse with Le Figaro like the rest

- 40 of us, he dont dingle his fingers in the pail of water and clear the
channels of debris like we do, no, he takes to wiping his arse with
whatever he can get into his hands when the need arises, I have seen
him wipe his bunghole with a clump of leaves, a clot of grass, some
sticks from the ground, but worse than that I have seen him wipe his
perineum with a fold from my dress, with one of my stockings, with
one of my blouses, with a plume from my hat, our childs petite
overcoat, a babys diaper, with a cloth covered with shoe black and
kerosene, with an article of linen from the neighbors laundry line,
with the sleeve of his jacket, with the legs of his own pants, with a
visitors cashmere shawl while she was drinking tea, and even worse
when he seems to have something mal a la derriere, I have seen him
wipe his arse with one of my shoes, with the straw end of a broom,
with a walking stick, with a piece of charcoal, with a cricket bat, with
a cricket ball, with a dead bird, with the cat from the alley, with the
floor of the kitchen, with the back door, with the posts on the balcony
and even with the trees out near the street. When he gets a really
stubborn itch in his cul dunghole, mon dieu!, I have seen him go at it
with a handful of thistles, with the horsetails of a horse, and with
prickly cacti; I have seen him scootch across the gravel like a dog with
worms so, I have seem him pull down and use up the entire linen line
and if he cant find what bothers him with that he will dig it out with
some razor wire he will; I have seen him dig in there with a nail, the

- 41 house keys, with a splinter of wood, with broken bottles, door knobs,
soup ladles, fire pokes, walking sticks, and loose banister pegs. You
must agree, and I am not proud of this at all, but my man is el plus
degoutant il y a, the most disgusting man there is.

- But, I said, my riddle, I have an

That is truly disgusting, even revolting, said the one I could not
understand, but I am even more embarrassed than you to say, he was
still not as disgusting as my man (how could that be wench? what is
more disgusting that a man wiping his arse and broadcasting his
dingleberries onto every thing living and dead?)

-- Excuse me, I said.

True, the one I couldnt understand continued, my man never wiped

his ass on something I had to wear, never stole a thing, never drank a
drop of whiskey, went with me to church each and every Sunday,
never fought with another man (and so what would make him so
awful?) He never ate until we had all had out fill, he played with his
children, and he helped his neighbors if they were in need (well good
lord woman, then what has you got to complain about? yea, this is
supposed to be about ow bloody disgusting your man is, not a time to

- 42 talk about ow bloody disgustingly perfect he be!) My man never

swore, never spit, never leaked his piss outside where it was supposed
to sprinkle. (enough! this man is disgusting cuz he is so good!
youre just showing off now?) My man, oh I am afraid to even say it
(what for bloody Christs sake? say it! tell us! that is the only
way!) the terrible aspect about my man that makes what seems so
perfect turn more disgusting than any of what I have had to bear
witness to today was was (come now! spit it out!) Sex! (sex! o
blarney! are you bloody foolin missy!) No, you dont understand,
before I began me here business, my man was not like any other men,
he wasnt interested in the occasionally belly slapping, he didnt come
to bed once in a while to do the two backed beast thing together, no
and this was not a Sunday belly bump or a joyful frotting of our bacon
one against each other, no it was not what you think. My man, she
said, my man wanted to have intercourse all day (ohhh! My! Thats
different!) every day (owwww!) several times a day (good god! bloody
mercy!) again and again and again (god help you child! that is too
terrible! you poor dear!) thats right, every day, beginning every
morning, from the safe and sheltered place of my sleep I would be
tugged, Id feel that pull on my nightdress, feel those hands work their
way across my flesh, feel those still warm and comfortable folds of my
body parted and opened for what I new would soon penetrate its
sleeping bliss. (men and their bloody horny pipes! wring hard that

- 43 spigot and stop up you bunghole!) For several minutes I was then
subjected to the soft but still forceful drubbing that I would get every
morn, his hot breath across my back, my elbows squeezed down on
my tits as if I thought I could save them, and then he would be done,
leaving me to lie there while he washed, while the juice of his morning
needs ran out all over me, while I knew that I could not move, lest I
signal another opportunity for him to attack. (he must ave ad a
bloody willie of steel uh? a permanent stiffie uh? a wooden
placket-racket) And so he would be off to work and I would be fine,
until that it, he came home for lunch, and then I had to be ready, I had
to have his lunch ready for him, hot and steaming and ready and so I
had to be ready too and so he would grab me and lift my skirt above
my head and bury his face into what he called his real lunch and lick
and eat and slurp up all he could take until he laid me down and took
my oyster with his oyster staff and danced with the juices flying and
my hair coming undone and the neighbors thinking who knows what
below and the tableware falling from the table and the cat leaping up
and out of the window as he pummeled and drummed me until once
again he had satisfied his proud pizzle which was not ungenerous in
any dimension, and left me filled with his semenic favors (so what e
bloody got: a taut and tall linkie pinke? a super cyprian sceptor on
im? some bushrusher he got? some rigid wimble? a permanent
pillicock, huh?) and so once again I would have a few hours reprieve.

- 44 But then he would be back at evening, he did not stop at the pub, he
did not dawdle with his men friends to smoke or chat or chase a beer,
no he was what you called a good man, a dedicated and dutiful man, a
man who hurried straight home. And from the moment the door
opened it would start again. The working days were my days of relief
actually as he could only get to me on his hours home from work, but
come Sunday or god forbid a holiday and I am telling you I dont know
how I survived. Cuz then I had nothing for a cause of interruption.
For hours throughout the day and night, he bellysmacked my belly, he
ballockslapped my arse, he peterbeat my thighs and ballwhalloped my
forehead, he bopped and bumped my boobies and he sloshed and
knobbed my navel; he arched violently into my armpits and glided
behind my earlobes, a favorite place of his, as was between my toes;
he mounted the knobby ridges of my spine, straddled my buttocks.
And from those ballocks which were not dainty in size by any means,
he would lose himself and dirty my hair, he would grease the creases
behind my knees, cream my clavicles, he would spend it all
underneath my chin or while he hurryhumped the arches of my feet
(may be cause for you to consider cutting off that crimson chitterling
of his yea, break off that bloody bungetee stop that stopple
defile that wiley beguiley!) if his sperm was a product of his brain as
some of old say, he lost his mind more than once on me, and I have to
say that what truly makes my man disgusting was the volume of

- 45 ambergris that flowed during those events, like the ocean it would
come in all warm and frothy and smelling like the sea it too,
drenching me, the bed, the counters, the floors, the walls, drenching
the kids who you knew they were trying to sleep, the animals that
were trying to hide, it came down like rain, rose up like a flood, flew
out at you like a hose, fell down upon you like a wet drape, covered
you with its slime, cauled you and gummed you and smothered you
from nostrils to toes. (ughhh! she may be right, her man may be the
most disgusting of them all! Stop the stories, please! ta gueule!
halt these tales of disgust!)

Well, ladies, Mickey said, I dont think it would be proper to end this
night without taking a moment to put all of this in perspective. We all
have our stories. We all have our share of hurts and disappointments.
And why not? Arent we all human? Arent we all human beings,
floundering about as human beings do, blundering about as we do?
Well, we can go away mad, we can go away hurt. Better yet, we can
blame someone else for all our ills. That is the easiest way out and
thats what the woman of the past would have done. We know now
that in many species it is the female who rules, who is dominant, who
guides the destiny of the group. We see that in nature in the life of
lions, where the shaggy maned male is so often represented as the
supreme ruler, it is in fact the sleek female lioness who rules the

- 46 pride. (Hey! Hey! Grrrrr! Grr!) Many may lay claim to superior
strength, but what good is strength when a species is as physically
puny and weak as ours? Us women at least have a basket of bones
protecting our gonads, while men carry them about in dumb little
purse for any dog to grab, any thief to snatch. Look at our newborns,
helpless like a blob of snot they are, cant even grab on to a teat
without falling, cant crawl and or make anything of those pudgy legs
and arms for months, who came up with that design, my Gawd? We as
a species have survived not on strength but on our brains, and the
weakest have had to muster forth the most that their brains can
muster in order to survive. Women are the supreme musterers in this
fashion. Us here, we as the women of today, we are the only ones to
lay a claim to being the women of the future. Just as all progeny come
forth from our loins, all advancement will come forth from our lions.
And so I say, we must have the strength, we must have the ability, we
must have the gumption to look past and above all this. We know
what we need to know, we need no reminders, we need no studies, we
need no facts. Men have no choice but to regress in life; thats right,
they may reach their peak in their 20s but from there all they have to
look forward to is to regaining a second childhood. And woe onto us if
we think that all we have to look forward with this man is to living a
second motherhood. Woman is the mother of our race, there is no
denying that fact. But those of us who have done our motherly duty

- 47 and done it not just once, but twice, thrice hell nine or ten times
well, good lord we have proven the strength of our uteri, we have
proven the exceptional capabilities of our ovaries; we have
demonstrated again and again the power and resiliency of our vaginal
squeezers and expellers, we have shown how empty dugs can fill up
again magically and profundity with the richest of milk made from
nothing! But we have made the last of the ugly swollen vulvarian faces
for all the world to see -- we are done and we need not be mothers
anymore! No, I say no (and we say no!) I say no we wont allow our
lives to be succored into constant motherhood (hell! no!) I say no we
wont allow ourselves to be held captive by the degeneration of the
adult man into a mere child, a mere infant as he ages (no! no!) I say
no we will not finally drop our real infants from the teat only to suckle
another adult from to our breasts not after we are finally and happily
dry (no we will not suckle!) I say no! (NO!) No, we will not seek nor
expect a man to provide in anyway except to take away! (Man only
takes away!)

And so the night ended, I am not even sure they noticed that I had
left. They were shouting so loud and fervently, all consumed in their
cause, their destiny, their reverie and their camaraderie that they
forgot completely about me, and forgot about my riddle and so never
heard my answer.

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