Warning: This story is extremely horrific, filled with potent sexual situations, dazzling insanity, violence and terror. This tale is what I term Transgressive Erotic Noir falling somewhere in the transgressional fiction genre with elements of extreme horror. This is by far my most sexual story and probably the most ribald. I challenge you to read it to the end. It is my goal here to not only push the envelope but to burn it and snort the ashes. I cannot be bound by the rules of literature and grind its ugly face into blood-burger with my shotgun of insanity. I was inspired by a favorite quote:
“Do not be too timid and squeamish about your reactions. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Fragments of truth began trickling through my mind seven nights ago; still unclear about everything, memories emerged as heaving matter and voices. Sapphire magma bubbled from triangular furrows along wedged sections of sky, drooping low beneath my feet. I seemed to propel across any density—liquid, solid or gas. I felt composed of plasma, knotted muscle thumping betwixt my skull, echoes in asymmetrical rhythmic groupings composed by intelligence. And I stood on no ground, swimming through copper wind.
The leopard moon in black whipped ochre—fractional rays whirling tentacles across seven planes. Each beam shattered into smaller particles, bent at a thousand right angles, spectroscopic arrays and chiseled kaleidoscopia. A female voice shivered somewhere near, but I was disoriented, unable to distinguish anything. I became encased. Galvanized in sticky dank. The more I struggled the more entangled I became aerial quicksand or gelatinous webbing. I reached to clean the glaze from my eyes but had no face, and the voice just before me, somewhere below.
Seven Days Earlier
The clandestine chemistry lab was well hidden, eleven miles from campus (University of Southern Mississippi)—comprised mostly of old lab equipment: beakers, steam cones, Bunsen burners, analytical scales; an assortment of everything needed—some garbage delegated to a car trunk, some stolen outright from the classroom.
We synthesized LSD (Lysergic Acid Diethylamide) from rosewood seeds but was a nasty high. I never tried the original batch, but Mark Fitzpatrick claimed it made him deathly ill, with weak hallucinogenic properties, saying his vision was chopped into distorted lenses, making him dizzy and nauseous. It wasn’t until three weeks later we got our hands on rye ergot—a necessary precursor—grown by Courtney in botany lab right under Dr. Chadwick’s nose.
LSD Chemical Structure
The next batch was the real thing. Pure LSD-25 as determined by spectrophotometric analysis. We had prepared one ounce or 28 grams. LSD is so powerful, over 300,000 doses can be derived from a mere 28 grams while one average dose can fit on the head of a pin.
But that wasn’t enough for Clive, my PhD guerrilla chemistry partner (it was Clive, Courtney and I: the three witch doctors). He was experimenting with new designer drugs. He was so jealous of Walther Beck, Otto Wolfes and Anton Köllisch—who were primarily responsible for creating MDMA (street name Ecstasy). He wanted to create his own recreational drug, a powerful hallucinogenic stimulant that lasted for days like methamphetamine but with explosive hallucinogenic visuals. He began, because he was twisted in mind-fucked delusion, working with Black Mamba venom. Being the low man on the totem pole, I had to milk the snakes. They were over nine feet long. Had I been bitten, I would’ve been dead in thirty minutes as no black mamba anti-venom is available in the U.S.
Black Mamba
Clive was a genius and amazingly separated the compounds in mamba venom with relative ease. He artificially synthesized several components after only three days, including calciseptine (the only natural polypeptide shown to be a specific inhibitor of L-type Ca2+ channels). I was only a junior chemist and didn’t understand all the science involved. Clive, somehow had a vision and created specific isomers, along with several chemical subsets using variations of the 60 amino acid peptides. He created three unique chemicals based on both calciseptine (and other venom components) with attributes of LSD, MDMA, THC, chocolate derivatives and amphetamine falling under the drug class of phenethylamines. It was to be a high of intense love. He named the final product Ejakula, a granular powder, shaded ebony-black with crimson luminescence. It was to be ground and snorted like cocaine.
Blistering Love Bad Decisions
We celebrated the discovery. The initial experimentation with lab mice went as planned, but we hadn’t tested Ejakula on humans. Clive had been awake for thirty-one days, twizzle-tweaked on meth. After drinking two bottles of Maker’s Mark Kentucky whiskey, he passed out. Courtney and I stayed up Axing (taking LSD and Ecstasy together) along with snorting copious amounts of cocaine and meth. We smoked several bong hits of hashish and began kissing and fondling each other’s sexual organs; I know, it sounds peculiar to say it that way. She was a skinny little thing, with small tits but I loved sucking them. She was a dexterous kisser, probing every dark corner of my mouth, circling my lips with her nimble tongue and licking the back of my teeth as we drank each other. She was almost ugly, wore geeky glasses and her hair scrunched in a tight bun, but this little lab vixen turned me on like an industrial light switch. We power-fucked for twenty-three minutes, exploding in orgasm, finally licking her shaven twat for an additional twelve. We laid naked on the filthy lab floor, so intoxicated we could barely speak.
We arose and walked nakedly to the fresh mound of Ejakula granules—Clive asleep snoring like dying babies—his body twitching in convulsion but we dared not awaken him. Courtney and I were mesmerized by the sparkling black powder, the way it shimmered red and indigo, speaking out to us to taste it.
“Let’s do some Bobby.”
Standing behind her, I cupped her breasts and nibbled her ear lobes. Still rigid, I slid into moistened vulva, slowly humping as she leaned on the counter. She had the most amazing black widow tattoo on her neck which I repeatedly kissed. I continued fucking her as she cut out two thick lines of Ejakula. She groaned, “Oh please God fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” her lubricative secretions transuded my inner thighs—hot and moist.
She craftily cut a straw in half as I continued quelling animal itch, slowly in and out and in. She snorted her line and handed me the straw. I angled forth and snorted mine whilst her throbbing tongue wove insanities upon my neck. The drug didn’t burn. It tasted sweet like burnt papaya and trickled down my throat like creamed velvet.
Mind Fucked
Without disconnecting we crawled atop the lab counter copulating in blistering passion. Two gargantuan mirrors reflected our lust as we watched ourselves fuck, she on her knees and I behind unable to envision a time not inside her. Sweet vaginal cleft—sexual musculature kneading my corpulent pikestaff as I ejaculated for three endless minutes—my testicles cramped in pain but stop I could not.
“Stop . . . stop Bobby. I have to catch my breath.”
“I’m trying, hold on,” and de-inserted.
She turned over sitting on her ass, legs spread in my face. Her petite labia quivering and clitoris constricting in spasm. I leaned in fingering her and sucked her throbbing clitoris. She said, “This orgasm is still going, oh my fucking god . . . mmmmm.”
“I know, mine too,” as sexual snot spurted on her belly and thighs—penis choking like a sieve. It must be the Ejakula, this is major shit baby.”
“Lie on your back Bob. I want to suckle your flavor . . . taste your fluid.”
She wrapped her mouth around me slurping every drop, fingernails tickling my scrotum. Four extra breasts morphed from her back as I massaged each wishing I had four hands. Within each blood-red nipple tiny human mouths with chattering pearl teeth snipping my finger. Blood plopped forth in strewn rags, embroidered by demon and draped across her spine. She mounted and rode me like a dragon beast—still orgasming—still in the fires of lust.
Her flesh dyed plum with scattered trichromatic lesions, twisting cyclones agitated across her stomach winding in madness, grinding trenches from crotch to cranium. I crooked my head to see our reflection in the mirror and what I witnessed burned scars across the landscapes of my mind until the day I die. A rabid demon-whore humping my soul—three sectional arms with foot long fingers, each crowned with electrical razor nails. She picked ticks and lice from jungles of writhing hair, splattering waves of vegetative shafts growing in fields across my chest. Her body glistened, cloaked in slime.
A growling hiss vomited from swollen lips, howling psychopathic screams as I stared in the mirror. Eyes spread wide as canyons. And she looked back with dilated pupils stabbed in ivory bulbs—scarlet webs of bloodshot engraved by invisible hands.
We stood in padded white asylum; she a naked woman with my face on her skull and I naked man with hers on mine, becoming freakish versions of ourselves. An exchange. Facial transportation. We gazed in the solitary mirror, kissing our own lips on opposite bodies. Clive stood before us his mouth broadly gapped, a stare of disbelief scribing his face.
He pleaded “What did you do? Please don’t . . . oh God no—”
The Black Mamba slithered from vaginal trench, in her hands as chopping knives twirled from her feet like helicopter blades. Bloodcurdling shrills roared as she dealt venomous mamba fangs, slicing blood squirting bites, writing patterned tales of misery across his soul. Orchestrating death as art. She swam through emerald breeze like serpentine harlot, whirling machetes dicing his body into blood-pudding. Whipped and smooth.
We stood on infinite cliffs overlooking an endless chasm of raven soot, perpetual pool of black hole. Clive stood before her blindfolded with baseball bat in hand asking, “My turn to hit the piñata?”
She lay horizontal in mid air and untied his blindfold. He realized how close to the edge he was as fear crawled his nerves, and Courtney stomp-kicked him. He fell off the edge to his death. Devoured by fire.
The Mall Trip
Headless white doves lay limp on the platinum lake, each sprouting smoke plumes in tinctured prism. The lake folded into itself and swallowed as Courtney and I drove down Highway 49 due south to the mall. I felt completely sober and no idea how I ended up in my car. Both of us stark naked and cool air washing our flesh. She turned up Valley Girl by Frank Zappa and we rocked . . . barf out, gag me with a spoon.
“Are you still high Courtney?”
She lit a joint and the car flooded in exotic flavor, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s like rolling on Ecstasy, you know, waving in and out of stupor until the buzz subsides. Maybe we’re on the down wave and the buzz will be back in a minute.”
“I hope not! We’re naked driving down the interstate at night smoking pot, baked on some unknown chemical substrate named Ejakula. I hope to God this shit doesn’t hit me again.” I whipped into the mall parking lot and stopped. “What am I doing here? Why did we come to the mall?”
I turned to ask Courtney for another toke of weed and her seat was empty. She was gone. What the fuck is happening to me? I was fully clothed in blue jeans, Smoke Columbian t-shirt and wearing dirty sneakers. I got out and approached the mall entrance. It was closed. I saw an old high school buddy walking out to a white van. It was Warren McGee, a long haired stoner I knew since sixth grade.
“Warren! Thank God it’s you.”
“What’s up Bobby?”
“I am fucked up. I took some drugs, my brains are searing right now. I snorted a line of Ejakula, a drug designed by my friend Clive. Just telling someone is a relief.”
I talked to him for a few minutes and decided to drive the ten miles back to campus alone. Courtney was still gone. I blinked and three miles had passed, unable to remember how I drove it. The angled windshield bowed incoming light, twisting my field of vision in distorted segments. Horrendous black tree roaches rained from midnight sky, sheathing my window in cornflower gristle. I reached out the window with a scraper and scoured stagnant ooze as I drove, the streaming headlights of cars trailing like slow camera exposures. For the first time, I was terrified. I thought if I can make it home in one piece I will never get high again.
Re-ignition
Running through dense underbrush, I flashed like scalded wolf, panting and gasping for air, feet churning like grinding wheel—metallic sprig ejested. I stumbled upon a clearing in misted jungle. Chromatic sparks shredded from burning gust; globules of ice-pink shards slung like hairs from tarantula’s back, pricking lacerations in bellies of three albino children. An endless abyss of flatness lay dead before me as I sunk in mind-jelly.
Courtney was shat from bleeding fissure, choked from nothingness and flopped on boiling churn. Her skin simmered as newborn infant burst from cloven twill—umbilical cord glissading and baby crying in hunger, “I want milk mommy . . . wahhhhhhhh . . . feed me mommy.”
“Shut that fucking little mouth. Tell it to shut up bitch!”
Overcome with raging fury, I know not what I do. I snatch the baby up by it’s feet and begin spinning, my arms outstretched, faster and faster, centrifugal force flooding its head blue, struggling for oxygen. Like human whirlpool with baby in hand I lower my stance. One quick swoop and I grind its soft skull—leaving one bloody skid mark on hot street—holding it above, letting its nectar drizzle in my mouth.
Headless baby beautiful. With lovely shoulders.
“His name was Samuel. The most precious gift I’ve ever known. Thank you for killing him.”
I lay beside Courtney, tears gushing and say, “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
But she was dead. Blue. Cold. Fire ants in starving hordes fed on her remains.
Clive had blown his own head off. A jagged ravine split his face. Trap-door gullet. And here I am alone. Wishing my life had been different. Wishing this had never been.
I lay in an ocean of time.
Tons of sobs weep as I shiver.
- Thank you for reading my confession.
- Soon after, I quit studying chemistry. I tossed twenty-five liters of gasoline on their bodies and struck a match. The embers of death burned for three days. And the stench forever in my mouth. I never fully recovered from this. But I choose to never again live joyless.
- My friend Warren remembers seeing me at the mall that night. He said I was riding a bicycle though I didn’t own one.
- None of these incidents were ever mentioned in the media or local papers.
- No person named Clive has ever worked as a professor at USM campus.
- I saw Courtney eleven years later eating in McDonald’s with her mother. I asked if she knew who I was and she said no, but I looked like her father. She said her name was Tiffany and just lost her baby to leukemia. His name was Samuel. She said she was seventeen and visiting from Montreal. She had never previously been in Mississippi but had a black widow tattoo on her neck.
- I’ve tried fruitlessly to piece my memories together, but to no avail.
