Book 7 July 1 1986 to March 1 1987
** These Journals depict explicit sexual fantasies - and soon realities.
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Celebrate the day, yelled a sound with no
voice. There was a burning flicker early in the morning with perverted sounds of
the land of twisted songs. My head swimming in confusion I cracked my clouded
eyes and blew the confusion away.
The dream I remember waking from
involved a mechainics shop, boxes of ball barrings, a party for Chris Greywolf
(who looked like Debbie (the fat one who is Angels friend)) and reoccuringly
metting a semi-awake naked man dressed in leather. Yes he was always naked, yes
he was always dressed in leather, funny the logic of dreams.
I showered and in remberance of the naked leather man,
master-bated. Then the fire flies awoke and lite my path for clouded eyes. For
all the lite they put out I still can't see any father then my left heavyly
leathered, chained and spiked hand. The only colors I see are black and red
sometime silver or is it chrome. At least I think its shiny.
I look in the mirror, silver? chrome? aluminum foil perhaps.
Is the glass broken? I can't tell. All I see is dancing lites, some bright, some
not, dancing about a grey face covered in long hair. Hidden in hair.
"Who am I?" you tell me.
I'll never forget the night I met the
charcoal man. It was a hot night in July when the humidity in the air hugged you
close and made your drink sweat more then you. It had been dark for hours but
the temperature was still in the nintys, you sought shade from the moonlight.
Hey, every bit helps.
Some friends and I had gotten together to beat the heat. We
put on our swimming trunks and snuck into a hotels swimming pool. We swam for
nearly an hour until we heard yelling. It was the hotels night manager. We
quickly departed the pools soothing temperatures to swim through the humid
stagnet air towards the get-away car. They had become tired so I took them home
in the trusty Dodge colt. But I wasn't ready to call it a night.
I drove around with the windows down trying to create a cool
breeze that would encompase my body. Hot air was all that came through. I
decided to stop.
It was in the run down part of town were all the thieves,
criminals and rapist were supposed to be. I parked in the lot of some grocery
store, long ago closed but still flashing a neon sign, half broken apart. There
I sat in my swim suit which wouldn't . seem
to dry, cherishing every breeze that happened to waft through my windows and
carress my golden brown skin.
A few people passed through the lot, some in cars, some on
foot, a few on bycycles. All of them looked the same, to hot and to tired to
want to try anything.
After awhile I heard some noise at the far end of the lot
where there was a car wash. This sparkeling clean Lincoln pulls into one of the
stalls and four very large men got out. It looked like two hispanics and two
blacks. All of them were dressed in the likes of T-shirts and shorts. They all
got out of the car.
One of the black guys puts the money into the machine and
picks up the metal wand and began the rinse the car off. The others three
preceeded to undress. Once the other three were completely naked they started to
play in the water. When the black man finished washing off the car he handed the
wand to one of the hispanics and got into his car. He pulled the car out of the
stall and then joined the other three, now naked himself, in the water fun.
I could hear there whops and hollers and see them dancing in
the watery mist under the greenish hue of the lights but not much else.
They did this for like five minutes . until
the water suddenly stopped. I heard the yells of dissapointment and the ringing
laughter as they put in more quarters. The water sprayed out again, but this
time they did it differently.
After thirty seconds or so the two hispanics threw the
largest black up against the wall. He turned around and the other black man hit
him in the stomache with the metal wand. The hispanics then threw him up against
the wall again, his face leaving a bloody mark soon washed away by the water.
I didn't want to be involved, I didn't want to be beat up. I
couldn't leave or they'd know I'd been watching. So I just stayed and watched.
The black man with the wand narrowed the stream down to one
high pressured line. He ran the jetting water across his back while the two
hispanics held him against the wall. The stream went lower and lower until it
was concentrated on his ass. I could hear the water making a slapping noise
against his skin. The hispanics began to laugh and encourage the other black man
to put the hose other places, and he did. He turned the water off a moment and
placed the wand up the helpless . black mans
ass. When he turned the water back on the large man against the wall flinched
and screamed as water dripped out his ass.
The hose then went limp and the screaming stopped. the other
black man gave a few instructions and the hispanics gathered the clothes leaving
there victim in a slump on the floor.
They got into the car and left. I felt bad, I mean I just sat
and watched as a man was raped with a wonder wand. And whats worse, I was turned
on by this display of violence, water and men. The black man then sat up with
his head in his hands and his head between his kneeds.
he looked like a lump of coal sitting under a green light.
I drove over to the car wash and stepped out of the car. His
skin clung close to his skeleton. I could see his ribs and spine and that eerie
green light all round him. He looked hollow to me.
"Do you need any help? A ride to your home, maybe?"
I asked.
He turned and looked at me. His eyes where dark and cold,
even thorough the heat I felt a chill. He nodded gently and began to stand.
He was tall, nearly 6 foot four by my guess. He was muscular
also, very diffined muscles, quite large.
And he was huge, it was limp and looked to be nearly 8 inches
long and five or six around.
I opened the door to my car and he sat down. I got in and
began to drive. He pointed his finger here and there for directions and spoke
hardly at all. Everytime we passed under a street light I looked over at him.
The beads of water on his skin reflected the white light. Against his coal black
form they looked like diamonds. The thought occurred to me, perhaps the presure
is getting to him.
He stopped me at some appartments and asked vme to
come in. I couldn't seem to refuse. I followed him up two flights of stares just
watching his ass wiggle. We went down a hall and I followed him into an
appartment.
It was a small place, one room with a bed, a kitchen, a
toilet and a shower. He dissappeared in the darkness for awhile then turned on
the lights. All over the walls where black sketches on brown paper.
The images were powerful and yet delicate concidering the
medium. The subjects were all violent sexual acts. Bondage, S and M, rape. All
of it male, large muscular males of any race, I began to sweat profusely and I
got an erection.
The charcoal man
sat in a chair and spread his legs. As I turned around to see this he also began
to masterbate. Stroking the huge organ delacately coaxsing it to its
full size of nearly nine inches. I took a step toward him, my own erection
throbbing.
"Come near me and I'll kill you." he said.
"Would you like me to go?"
"No " he said picking up the pace to his strokes.
He threw his head back and let out a deep breath. The breathing soon became
quick and shallow. Then he looked at me.
"Suck it." he said.
It seemed a strange request from a man that was just raped,
but I was to stimulated to care. I knelt down and placed the black stick in my
mouth. It filled my mouth completely and inched toward my throat, but I was
scared to take anymore. I felt his hand on the back of my head, urging me to
take more.
The glistening shaft repeatedly
dipped into my mouth venturing further and further each time. The darkness began
to close in around me and felt I couldn't breath. I tried to pull back but he
wouldn't let me.
There was no air and I felt closterphobic and began to
struggle
He pulled me off that artist tool and held me tightly by the
neck.
The stars glistened on his night
time form and his diamond drill well oiled.
"Why did you only watch?" h asked, teeth shining
like crystal. I tryed to speak, but the presure finally got to me.
J. B.J. Scarriot
Walking through the concrete jungles I wonder were I am. I
look for street signs, the only one I can find says Hauge.
There is a pull at my arm. I turn and see a woman holding me
with her unbrella. She smiles seductively with her nose running and her thighs
dripping. How repulsed could I be? Should I be? Am I?
There Is a blinding light at the crack of
dawn on a rainy day.
"Son of a bitch!" I yell
"Hi guy."
"Marc?"
"Happy Birthday."
"Unless you want to climb into bed here and fuck me, get
the hell out!"
Sorry semi-violent, semi-homosexual vision. One of many. How
far will it go?
cont.
American Anthem wasn't fantastic. It had nothing to do with
the National Song. I have just eaten and so have the flies. Black little dots
with six legs and grey wings. They sit poised for action with little white
dashes for eyes. Basking in the sun scavenging food. Satans pestilance and the
doubt of every mind, every illusive, ever present.
I sit here now watching the short brisk waves lap against the
shores. Eroding the rocks, feeding the plants, ever captive in one spot. The
water changes from slate grey, to green, to slate blue, to brown, making all the
sounds that waves makes.
I relax and enjoy the cool breezes the water brings. I
realize I have no place to sleep yet tonight. It would be nice if I could find
some one to sleep with as well.
This skin had always been the same. Smooth
and soft as a babies. Hair only grew on his head and around his dick. What was
underneath his skin changed alot.
As soon as the baby fat was gone there was left alot of bones
and a skinny kid. After the sixth grade he was tired of the cruel jaunting of
his classmates. He began to work hard to gain wieght, wieght that would make him
look normal. His dad told him muscles would work best.
So he started to work out, lifting wieghts, running, swimming.
Then puberty came and gave him a push.
All the girls liked him, all the boys hated him. They hated
him because he had a physic the girls clung to. To them he was competition. It's
to bad really because he never knew he was competeing. Its not that he minded
losing the girls, he never really saw much in them. But when he did lose, the
boys would rub it in and sometimes the girls would help. He started to gain
wieght again, this time it wasn't muscle.
By the end of his senior year he was pretty chubby. He didn't
really diffine himself as fat but for the most part he was. Again the creul
remarks of peers started his incentive. He went to the gym and started his wok
outs. After three months he had lost some wieght but not much. He was depressed
and ready to give up when Mark walked into his life. He was a wieght instructor
at the gym, vand only a year older. It was love at first sight, at
least vfor one party. He gave his all for mark, he was the reason for
getting up in the morning. After a year he had a physique women clung to once
again. He and mark were best of friends, they did lots of things together. Once
at a bar . a fight broke out between Mark and a drunk over a woman. It quickly
got out of hand, Mark left left with eighteen stitches and the woman. His friend
who continued the fight to buy Mark time to leave
and get to the hospital, left with a broken arm a concusion and a police record.
He didn't mind so much, as long as Mark was safe. He was still sorry about being
unable to keep that scar from marks face. Six months later mark was engaged to
the woman of the bar fight.
Unable to cope with the feelings he had he ran away. He didn't tell
anyone anything, he just left. He had been hurt worse than anything he had ever
felt before. Now he was a stone hard man. Under that baby soft skin rippled
muscles hard as stone.
In a Los Angleos bath house a man was taken in by his slate
grey eyes and sandy blonde hair and discovered his
large member. He had never much thought of it, but now a man was offering him
money for it. And he took it.
It was the most degrading night of his life, but it was
something he was good at, something he could get paid for and a way to get what
he thought he needed. He made it big in the porno bussiness and he got paid
well.
There was something missing though, he could
feel its absents everytime the director said action and a man he just met
caressed his baby smooth skin. The men he worked with were pro's though, once
his dick was hard he couldn't think for long.
One night at a bar after working all day he realized what it
was. One of the men he had just fucked all day was spouting off in his drunken
manor about how cold and unemotional he was both on and off the set. Then
someone walked in that was very familar. He had changed but he knew who he was
by the scar on his face.
He got up to leave but his drunken friend wouldn't let him
leave, then noticed how his stone hard muscles were quivering like jello. All he
wanted to do was leave before mark noticed vhe was there. When Mark's
wife walked in, pregnant, all the old pain came back. For the first time in many
years he struck out in violence toward the man that was holding him to vthe
bar. A fight ensued and somewhere a bottle was broken and later used. Glass cut
through the baby smooth skin and the stone muscles beneath. He was rushed to a
hospital. When he woke and noticed Mark and his wife beside him he cried and
. confessed his love and related his hollow stone years.
He never saw Mark again, his wife wouldn't have it. He didn't
return to the moives, how could he when he realized there was no love in the
acts he portrayed. He got a job as a fasion model, work he enjoyed and could do.
Here's where he met Carson, a photographer, and fell in love for the last time.
He would often talk with the men he used to work with and
would tell them the story behind his one and only scar.
J. B.J. Scarriot
Suddenly I have the need to see friends and talk to people. Even if I have to wear my glove. I also have to take a shit.
For awhile I found no one and I went to see
the pros bump and grind at the movie theater.
Mark Orinder has his Birthday on the same day. He was
depressed his girlfriend had broken up with him that day. I watched him guzzle
wine coolers.
Brian Swan and some girls took the Birthday boys to the lake
for awhile. We met tow couples passing by to fuck. One kept holding a lighter to
my face to see what I . looked like. I blew
it out because in return I could see him and he was goodlooking.
We left to met Shawn after work. At Vista marc and pat
appeared. Marc felt bad about forgetting my birthday, as did Shawn once he was
drunk even though thats exactly what I wanted.
They went swimming Dave and I stayed behind. We went to his
house and awaited the return of others. It was at his house I slept. Only Marc
and Shawn returned. We giggled, they wrestled and marc and I played chess. I
lost as usuall. They left and Dave and I slept from 4:15AM
to 6:ØØAM. I Let Shawn back in Dave's door. Now I'm
waiting for class to start. Lecture and review today, test tommorrow.
Lecture and review, go home, sleep, shower, change, study,
sleep, test tommorrow.
I wonder if the stories will read as well as they sounded
when I wrote them?
I came upon a room of lost treasures. It was
full of burnt out light bulbs and lighters that didn't work. There was a box of
keys with lost locks and drawer full of little metal pieces tht served no
purpose now. There were lots of memories. Memories of friends, past and present,
often the same. Like Marc, Death Dealer, the Cat. A friend of my past, and my
present, same person, different people. Or maybe its just me.
I found rings from Grampa and felt the silks he used. I found
ticket stubs to shows I don't remember and found
pictures of a camp I hated.
As I shifted through the cards I hung pictures of death
amoung the Jokers and Aces of Spades. I cleared the heap of memory off the desk
and hid the happy behind the door. I posted the no smoking signs and put the
dirty clothes away. I look over the three ruined left gloves. The black leather,
hard as cardboard, ripped and torn asunder. Then there are the winter gloves,
only one set, tattered but not torn.
Over the windows I place a hunting lion looking over at
pretty birds. They can only be seen at night. All the treasures are hidden
again. One day I'll clean or rearrange my room and find the lost treasures
again.
Ouch! that hurt and it shouldn't have.
I didn't get the Job at Comics and fantasies. Brian did. He has the same if not
better comic book knowledge plus an extra with roleplaying games and computer
skills. He should have gotten the job. What upsets me is he didn't want it, and
filled out an application as a joke after I told him they were hireing.
Oh, well, guess I just have to look someplace else now.
Ruthless People is funny.
I have a story in my head about a murderer, or technically an
assassin. I is J. B.J. Scarriot. I have another about phone sex. And another
about a guy who mets God - "Testing of Faith" a working title.
Couldn't write them today. Can't Tommorrow. Maybe Thursday after the test.
This would be one of the easiest two thousand
dollars I ever made. Old people in the hospitals, waiting to die and some greedy
realitive waiting impatiantly for an inheritance. People like that made me sick,
but it didn't matter, I never met them.
I did my homework and today was the target date for death. If
I didn't kill him today I didn't get my money. If the coroner's report reads
"accident" or "Natural causes" how do you know your assassin
did it? Name a date.
I snuk into the hospital easily avoiding the front desk,
gaurds and night nurse. I stood at the foot of the old gezers bed and viewed all
the life support equipment around him. I found his plasma I.V. and moved it the
six inches to touch his life support machine. I checked the amprage on the back
of the machine just to make sure, then left. I went to the basement and the
circut breakers. Then I caused a power surge. this would cause his machine to
short circut, along with a few others, but the eteclricity would then conduct up
the metal I.V. stand and through the plasma into his poor old body. He fried,
and it was an acident.
On the way home I kept wondering if there was any blood. His
skin could have split sending blood everywhere . or maybe just dripping off the
wires.
Next morning in the paper I read about the old man's death.
It was termed an "unfortunate accident." I should get my money
tommorrow afternoon. The hospital kept brining back memories of the days I was
in pre-med. I would study hard and I got good grades. When I realized however,
that I was thinking of more ways to destroy life the save it I dropped out and
set up my options. I found some contracts on the streets, a couple in organized
crime and even one in the government. I feild jobs for everyone, and I never met
the custiomers, just my contacts. Most people would trust them. I mean if any of
them decided to talk I might be put away, but I have diret on them and we are a
bussiness net work. Then the phone rang.
"I have a job for you."
"How much?"
"Four thousand."
"Put the details in the mail."
I went to my P.O. box and found two thousand dollars and
another envelope with my next assassination assignment.
~-----~~------z-----~~
I'm not ready to write this. This next assignment he can't
figure out why somebody wants him dead. While observing him
. he falls in love (sort of) but realizes he can't really think of
anybody else as anything but a collection of cells or atoms and kills the guy
anyway.
Title is Blood on the wire, there should be many illusions to
that phrase.
Lets see if I can write the others.
I sit alone in vmy car thinking of
the ruin my life has become and remembering the words of Nieschze. "That
which does not kill us only makes us stronger." I was begining to hate that
line with a passion. Life was becoming a joke, pure and simple.
I live in Kansas, the heart of the bible belt. A stagnet,
ultra conservitive section of the united states. Freedom of speech wasn't
actually believed in unless you spoke the words of God. However even if Jesus
Christ materialized in front of them and said "God is in Heaven, and is
displeased with your for you use his name in judgement of others you
dislike." they wouldn't believe him. He would be a heritic simply for
believing as they do and telling them they are wrong.
It is because of these underlieing feelings people consider
the midwest boring. Nothing much can happen when the bars (which are prohibited)
close at midnight and have the lords prayer . over
the door.
Nobody around here will trust you unless you wear blue jeans
and a nice shirt or a suit on Sunday. If your hair is long or cut strangely you
are ovbiously "going through a phase" or "excentric" and
thus talked down to.
I'm an art major and a real nice guy, but I'm constantly
getting the bussiness end of a stick from all the religion around here. I've
been preached at so much I nearly hate the word God. How do they expect me to
like a deity they say dislikes me as I am because I have long hair and drawn
pictures that aren't of god or his glory. Don't you think God would be able to
see through all of that love me for what I am?
If God exists he's made pretty sure I'm not happy. He gave me
some of the best friends anyone could ask for. they care for me, they help me,
they are there when I need them. Some would probibly even die for me, just as I
would for any of them. But he also made them all so very religious that if they
every found out I was gay they would probibly follow threw with Romans. I remember
those words ROMANS I:27 "and men likewise gave up natural relations with
women and were consumed with . passion for
one another, men committing shameless acts with men and recieving in their own
persons the due penalty for their error."
ROMANS I:29-32 "They were filled with all manner of wickedness, evil,
covetousness, malice. Full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, malignity, they are
gossips, slanderers, haters of God, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of
evil, disobediant to parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless. Thought
they know God's decree that those who do such thing deserve to die, they not
only do them but approve those who practice them."
If they every found out, they would kill me, or worse yet cut
me off as if I never existed or yet even worse keep me as a "gay
friend". Everything I like them for would be gone.
"God is dead." said Nieschze. It would explain alot.
I remember quoting Nieschze to a friends mother
once. She told me I was going to go to hell for it. I exploded.
"I can't got to hell!" I said. "I don't
believe in your God or his heave let alone his hell! And it doesn't matter
anyway because if you want the truth of the matter, I'm already there, and so
are you. We live it everyday."
The only time she speaks to me any more is to get me to go to
church.
I want out of hell. I want to . have
friends that love me and someone to share the rest of my life. Someone to love
intimately and yes that person should be another man.
A very tan, very blonde, very muscular man walked across the
parking lot in a pair of cut off shorts. He is so
goodlooking I have an erection. I wondered what he is like. Then a child runs
across the parking lot into his arms. He walks a little futher and is met by a a
woman with long brown hair. He kisses her, and they hold hands and walk off. If
he were gay I bet I could have loved him. but he's heterosexual, and probibly
happy, he looked it, and I'll bet even if he hasn't read Roman's he'd do the
same thing.
This makes life hell.
As the sun begins to set I pick up the silver plated .44 auto
mag. I hold the warm metal in my sweaty palms, the silver reflects the last few
yellow rays of light. I put the barrel in my mouth and tap it against my teeth
for awhile. There really isn't a solid thought in my head, I'm just thinking.
Life is Hell.
I scratch my temple with the barrel and I feel a little of
the spit evaporating from my skin. I twirl the gun on my finger like a cowboy. I
wondered when . God died, and what or who
killed him. I wondered if maybe he wasn't dead and just sitting up there
laughing at me while I am thinking I want out of hell and twirling a
.44 auto ...
There is a thud from the floor as i drop the gun and realize,
... I have a gun. I look down to see the silver plating gleem, even in the
shawdows of the floor. How did I get a gun? I don't own one, I didn't bey one. I
grabbed it off an empty seat. There must be an explaination. Maybe its ...
"A miracle."
I turn to be voice in my car. There in the passenger seat sat
a man, built like a god and more beautiful then I had every seen. He smiled and
I wasn't scared, I don't know what I was.
"My God." I said ignoring my erection.
"Not yet, probably never."
My mind was racing for questions.
"I look after of my own." he said. "You live
on doubt. You vwere ready to make some big disions. Now you don't remember
your answers." then he disappeared.
I looked down and there is no gun. I looked
up and remembered Nietzsche, Romans and my friends.
"You Bastard! you prove to me you exist and leave
no evidence. Now I doubt if this has happened. You Bastard! Your sence of
humor confines me to hell!"
No one heard me in the night.
Doubting faith by J. B.J. Scarriot.
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Can you hear me?
Do you love me?
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
feel my hollow voice,
There will be no solid flesh.
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Say you love me by shaking your tounge
Oral sex is all we have
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Can you truely love a vioce
Or are you really alone?
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Do you love me?
Can you hear me?
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
There's a cold distance between us
Can you feel it?
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Your tearing my heart out
there's blood over the wire
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Are you as real
As your picture seems to be?
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
I love you
Are you there?
Hey you, sitting naked by the phone
Can you hear me?
Are you there?
Hello?
J. B.J. Scarriot
thats all for now.
© 2002 November (Date implied by entry date, Date of copyright covers web publication)
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