they read me because they pity me
timer: 10 min
edits: 2 min
erotica prompt: “Brad gets more of a job than he bargained for when he arrives to clean a pool and discovers a young woman floating unconscious at the deep end.”
Brad stood by the pool. He looked down at his hands and looked back at the chick in the water. She wasn’t moving or it didn’t look like it but he couldn’t be sure because the surface of the water was moving.
He moved closer, leaned in, squinting. Bitch wasn’t moving.
Brad straightened his back, thinking. He had recently acquired his American CPR and First-Aid Certification from the American Red Cross and was trained to handle emergency situation. He nodded slowly to himself, rehashing the steps of the process.
The thing to do first was to call 9-1-1. In the trainings, there had always been someone else present who could be obliged to go call 9-1-1 while also grabbing the First Aid Kit. Now, looking around, he saw no one. He had arrived to clean the pool at the usual hour, 11:20 AM, when he both of the neighbors were usually still at work.
He shook his head, wishing someone else was there to dial so he could get to the act of entering the water and saving the girl. He withdrew his iphone from his pocket and dialed.
A short ring sounded, then a click.
“This is the 911 department.”
“You have dialed 9-1-1. There are seven callers currently ahead of you. Please be prepared to describe your emergency and provide your correct address. Please have proper legal identification at the ready. Thank you.” A click, and a clip of soft music.
Brad put his phone to his lips in frustration and sucked in air. He looked to where the girl lay floating suspended beneath the surface of the water. He wondered how she managed not to float up, as it looked as if she had some fat on her. He couldn’t tell from above the surface.
what the fuck is wrong with you?
you tear it from your flesh.
does anyone have tobacco
for a cigarette?
clip it out, grab the
end with tweezers and
make sure to get the
white part of the root
what the fuck is wrong with
you? the scabs are starting
to itch again
wash your hands. keep
breathing. deep breaths.
does anyone have
any tobacco for a cigarette?
i quit eating sugar,
i can’t stop once
fingernails have always worked
best. without the root it is
pointless so don’t just pull
hard, pull right.
take your pill. don’t forget
even though it doesn’t
help much. does anyone
have any tobacco for a
cigarette? keep breathing
remember this you is you
too just as much as the
other one. i remember
i used to pull them out
one by one but now i just
tear it in clumps just
remember without the root
they are worthless.
told you fingers
are the best. what the fuck
is wrong with you? you know
exactly what it’s the same
as it’s always been and the
only one that suffers is
you. hey does anyone
have any tobacco for
smearing black liner over my swollen eyelids, bloated from crying. must be out of the airbnb by 12. it is 11:55. he left at 7:30 to catch his flight, climbed into bed with me before he left, hiking boots and all, wrapped his big arms around my body and kissed me deeply as if it was our last kiss ever, which it would be.
i have a problem with love — too much of it to give out. a problem with timing — mine is terrible. a problem with pain — i like it too much.
love is a really ridiculous bond. almost more physical than mental. the mind doesn’t choose who to love, the body does. the fact that i could sit at his side and listen to his rambling, all of which i find basic and relatively meaningless, contemplate his way of viewing the world and end up being disgusted, or disappointed, or just confused as to how he came to be this way — how could anyone? in conversations, feeling like i was constantly educating — giving out my knowledge and ideas like candy, most of which he accepted gladly, as he needed them — validating his existence over and over, which he told me so often nobody had ever done, while simultaneously he tore mine down.
according to enrique, i am
intelligente, lista, guapa, adventurera, diferente
dificil de entender, dificil de aguantar, rara, demasiado liberal, rápida a enfadarme, i push people, i like to get under their skin.
told him i wanted the feedback. i would listen. i did listen. i want to think about it. I want to improve. but so much of our incompatibility came from his direction and his blatant fear and intolerance for difference that it’s difficult to know how i could have done better with this one. except for the obvious: to have left him immediately, or at least after the first intolerant attack on my being. when he called me a slut, when he behaved selfishly in bed, when he kicked me out of his car on the side of the highway. i held out. in the end mother nature brought us down — my period came before his final visit and it disturbed him. he wouldn’t touch me after he realized.
i do know why i held out, but i don’t know where all the love comes from, or why i have to feel all this for people who hurt me so badly. he never meant to. he’s a good man with misogyniistic tendencies, like so many of them. nothing special. nothing unusual. i always think i’m just in it for the sex, then come to find out there’s always been more to it. much more.
i feel destroyed. everything hurts. all i want to do is cry, i sound like a goddamn country song. lord help me, save me from the images that stick. his arms and his shoulders. he put a little weight on. his eyes, green. the warmth. cargo pants and hiking boots and two grey shirts. mountain boy stranded on an island; forever conflicted, forever torn in two. i love it, i love it, i love him. i shouldn’t. there is better, there is more. jess, go and find it. jess, don’t be like this. jes come on. please. raise your standards. don’t give when you don’t receive. jes, you’re hard to handle. give credit where credit is due. listen more, listen better. stay calmer. retain control. control yourself.
this is nobody’s fault. it ended well, with love. like pulling apart a peanut butter sandwich. messy, had bread in it?
because feeling pain is still feeling, and feeling is better than nothing. living is pain, and living is also better than nothing. loving is living, and loving is pain. pain means you’re living. and so on and so forth. forever, or until you can’t anymore.
i don’t care
if you want to die now
so much less
sadistic then just
itches i can’t name
all over this broken
thing all tattered up
and covered in holes
the itch means healing
but i can’t tell the new scars
from the old ones
every day i stain something
else with my blood,
the pale gaunt face full
of larvae like a nervous addict,
which i am, and was, and will be,
til sliver by sliver with dirty nails
i tear apart the rest of me and
pick to pieces the remains still
searching for something
todo tiene su límite y tú
pero ninguna de ellos
sirve para mantenerme
una bomba química, lo llamas
esta cosa que nos une y nos
tortura como sal en las heridas que me
das y que te doy, rodillas raspadas,
piedras incrustadas en el piel,
falta de dormir y pesadillas de amores perdidos
y otros monstruos,
líneas de sangre, de cocaína,
todas esas líneas que tengo y que meto
entre tú y yo pero ninguna de ellas
sirve para mantenerte
spit them out, these wasted days and wet-green nights rising up from your esophagus to greet against anyone’s will your
lovers and your sisters and your friends and your parents make them
worry for you but never too much just enough to catch a whiff of the smoldering
human brains on stone tiled floors where
cold gets in so easy feel it creeping up the carnage contaminated by the time
it grabs your feet and legs to drag you under
i’m okay, i’m okay — you’re shoveling shouting reaching out to grab hold of whatever’s in reach
creamy rose pink with green sparkles dribbles thick makes you feel
safe watching feel the grip slip this is how we
fight our wars with pink with glitter with ooze like
crying all that bile from your eyes the sticky
worms running playground drills up and down your throat
red rover, red rover, why don’t you come over?
red used to scare you always creeping in or up
more often out
that drip drip down your shaking knees that
seeping out the gashes in your stomach like a watermelon past its prime now just remember– don’t eat the seeds, you can’t afford for anything to grow inside you, and neither can the anything– that environment is uninhabitable
for living things
send some more pics of your
stumpy pink dick while you
hold it at the base with your
unwashed sheets and empty
walls in the background and
the the tv tuned to some
sports channel that
shit gets me so
wet i just
i’ll say it to you now: all that shit buried stinking in some putrid garden hole wheezing up pansies. petunias. daffodils and tulips. my favorite, your favorite, your favorite for me.
what can i tell you? you’re the seeping body feeding my veins via toes and thorax and torso to brain. i am certain I’m certain of nothing yet here i am standing blistered and knowing: the only thing certain is you.
venga, hijo. vente a mami. let me show you the things you didn’t know were hiding. ten feet down and it didn’t cross your mind to wonder — so you say.
kiss me you stupid asshole. put your mouth on my god damn mouth. let me feel the prickles of that sparse gorilla wire you call a beard while it chafes red raw my baby face (guess we’re not too old for this yet.) let me watch your angles morph over the years, i’ll check em in the mornings as we wake up side by side.
take my sweaty hand and squeeze it. press it hard between your hairy thighs, rub it, wake it up. smack it. smack my ass. get a load o’ that springback action, smile like a stoner. cock head, lean in — take everything you find, the survivor of some mortal tragedy feeding til his guts burst. the one thing sweeter than irony, baby. come on now, eat up.
only REAL MEN please
a REAL men:
-UniversidAd De La kAlLe
-into “butt stuff”
-can survive on pussy alone
-30min underwater breath-hold minimum
-can ask questions
-NOT allergic to shellfish
-SOMETIMES wears thongs
-ability to pivot right AND left
-does NOT use a pillow
-allergic to yogurt OK