Thursday, 29 May 2014

" Home Sweert Home'Extract from City Noir: Erotic Horror Verse Novel James WF Roberts

Warning Erotic and same sex content.



Home sweet Home” extract from Verse Novel, City Noir. James WF Roberts

 

hours minutes

seconds days

in China town, now

nearly home..

 

Typed the code

the door opens

the emptiness of my apartment mocks me

as it always does

when I get home

from a night out

or a night on the job.

hours minutes

seconds days

 

No sound.

Drab mid afternoon light

smudged by thick curtains

made the lounge room

and the kitchenette

like some tomb hidden from the world

dishes still in the sink

I hadn't clean the ashtray

or opened a window in days

 

couldn't remember the

last time I was here

still so groggy from the hospital

all those stupid, inane questions

from the Coppers, from the press...

how long had I been walking those

streets for a night?

A day?

Half an hour?

 

fall over the couch

open the half empty

bottle of Johnnie Walker

i'm at home now.

 

Kick off my shows

open throw off my coat

open my shirt

and drink as much

as I can swallow

 

drift off to an aimless

dreamless sleep

 

* * *

don't know when I woke up

but something must have startled me

a noise, a click, a banging door

 

the windows were open so were the blinds

I could see the millions of burning eyes

pin pricks in the night from the city.

 

Who the fuck is in my house?

 

Languidly I get up from the couch,

stumbling in the dark

my hands have gripped a long

thin shaft

a candlebra

 

Cops tailing me?

 the killer out for another shot?

 

Movement from the bathroom,

lights flicker on and off, on

then stay off

 

heart's pounding,

still felt so whoosy

I'm in the bedroom

candlestick raised high

 

whisper in my ear

“Candlestick in your hand,

or you're just excited to see me?”

 

I feel those hands running down my chest

I shiver. Hands inside my shirt,

sliding down to the wasitband,

soft, lips on my neck

in seconds i'm naked,

falling onto the bed

 

hands rolling around

eachother's backs,

breast upon breast,

tongues interlocking

 

Hard abs, muscled arms above my head,

pinning me into the dark silk sheets

of my bed, a chilling wind swept in from a window

nipples as hard as pebbles.

That deep, dark scent

of sweat, and gym,

expensive cosmetics

strong hands massaging

my scalp, running through my hair

squeezing and almost ripping clumps out

stradling my chest, strong thighs either side

 

strong tone whispered in my ear

“Where you been? You didn't call?”

I ignored the question for now. Too many questions

on my mind, too many answers I didn't wanna give

to the Cops.

With my teeth I pulled down his boxers

he moved us as one,

I licked his feet, he licked mine,

I almost laughed,

as I moved like a frightened a child in the night

 kissed my way north,

Lips walking, tongue sliding up

strong hairless legs.

We had ceased being different

entities long ago.

Hard rod brushed my face

 

we had found eachother's mouths again

he kissed down my body

as I held the back of his strong head,

his sweet smelling hair

felt like rose petals

his mouth around my cock

 

in the darkness I could imagine

his imploring dark eyes

the uplift of my blade measured

his tantalising tongue

luring me into the garden

of Unearthly delights

Volcanic heat rising

together as one

engorged and alive

now...

he retreated softly

we're now face to face

guiding his tongue

back into my mouth

his body my salvation

his scent my promise

of a new beginning

head spinning again

swords interlocking

as he was on top

grinding, meat against meat

 

my legs rasied by his hand

glorious penetrating thrust

pierced my vulnerable heart

losing all thoughts of misery

of death

of this shitty day

his footballer strength

held me in place,

his young lithe body

my tonic for all the evils of

of my world...

 

my only desire

was his pleasure

I whispered, almost semi-consciously,

like the benedict in prayer

“Lead me, use me, breed me,  fuck me,

destroy me...save me”.

 

He was about to take me

properly, deeply

passionately when our world

was came tumbling down...

 

the intercom, burst our bubble

his manager, and his wife—again

at my door,

demanding to see their meal ticket.

 

 

Sometimes felt guilty

that neither me nor he

ever faced the realities

of what we were doing

he was worth a fortune

famous, young, handsome

All Australian Champion

married, to a harpy (ex-model)

with dollar sign eyes

meal ticket designs

she hated me long before she knew

i was fucking her husband

ruined her career

leaked the pictures of the porn

she was doing...ah that was a fun day

a hundred thousand good reasons

to be alive that day

all that money

drunk, snorted, injected

pissed up against the wall

long ago

 

I tuned out

they argued in the hallway

where I live

everyone mind's their own business

they all knew what I was, who  I used to be

 

domesticity wasn't my life

nor did I ever want it

#@&%$ had beautiful

intelligent kids

he loved them

more than he loved the harpy

more than he loved me...

 

that was fine

that was his job

to love his kids

to loathe his wife

and to use me anyway he wanted

we both equally used each other

for each other's bodies

for each other's company...

amazing how much solace

one can find in a willing,

young, agile body...

 

Muffled arguments,

all the usual threats,

bores the fuck out of me.

I put my mouth around the

eletronic vaporiser

 sucked up the weed

I got from a Cop at the local lock up.

“Keep this bullshit charade up,

we'll go to the papers”

 

“You can't take my kids off me...

gay sports star versus an ex-porn star...

who do ya think the court would grant custody”

 

“You wouldn't dare?..come home at once”.

 

“Make me”

he walks in guilt stained all over his face

I know what his gonna say...

I tell him just to leave tonight

we'll speak later...

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Hunt extract from City Noir. Erotic Horror Verse novel. James WF Roberts


WARNING: EXTREME GRAPHIC CONTENT SEX AND VIOLENCE.
 
The Hunt

Fitzroy. 45 minutes later.

 

She doesn’t see you there. Hiding in the shadows.

Did anyone see you when you pulled into the street.

Suburban park, playground 'round two in the morning

perfect little spot to hide—tonight

too bad the Hunter must only stalk at night

 all those fresh, innocent, pure

children are climbing Monkey Bars and running up and down

the slides.

 

Hiding in this park.

Hidden by the thick dark leaves of ancient gum trees.

The north side of the park is shrouded by

the gloom of the early evening sky and blinking street lamps.

 

Frostily the wind blows through the trees,

shaking branches and the leaves. That melancholic

creaking, the howling these old gums make from the start

of a storm to the end of it, is making you smile.

 

Pretty soon these beautiful trees will be gone, torn

down, raped and pillaged for more houses. More and more

people, less and less land.

More victims, less hunting grounds.

 

Can you see her? She is coming towards you now.

Can you see her? Can you see her shoes…keep them.

Only them.

 

 jellybean red shoes; that seem almost moulded to her feet,

following the contours of her

feet, her delicate and still forming bones.

“Bright pink toe nails are signalling to you

how sweet they would taste in your mouth.

Perhaps we shall share them”

 

 

shoes  clicking on the pavement, the hair on your

neck, is standing on end.

 

Her beguiling, bewitching shoes that she is too

young to be wearing are calling out for you.

They’re singing to you a Siren’s song;

 ‘Come get me! Come get me! Cut me! Fuck me!

Love me, darling dark stranger!’

 

 

In the shadows you are watching those clicking heels.

Just follow those spaghetti straps.

Can you see how they are cutting,

pinching into her sweet ankles and

into her feet.

 

Just watch those shoes. Those heels are you watching while those shoes.

 

“Fuck! I can feel your hormones from here...slow deep breaths”.

 

Her shins are starting to turn purply blue from the strain of the leather straps and the shoes. 

 

She can’t see you yet.

She has never noticed you, has she?

Your crisp and neatly pressed Blue uniform

makes you look so hot, she’ll be gagging for it.

 

Hair the right length, your complexion sickly brown, the

tan not of a solarium or a sun lamp but someone sitting

in their car all day and night.

 

Your breath is of bad coffee, stale cigarettes and

mothballs.

 

 

 Her beguiling, bewitching shoes that she is too

young to be wearing are calling out for you.

 

They’re singing to you a Siren’s song; ‘Come get me!

Come get me! Cut me! Fuck me! Love me, darling dark stranger!’

 

In the shadows you are watching those clicking heels

 

  follow those spaghetti straps.

They're cutting, pinching into her sweet ankles, into her feet.

What will she taste like?

 

Just watch those shoes.

those heels are you watching while those shoes.

her shins are starting to turn purply blue

from the strain of the leather straps and the shoes. 

She can’t see you yet.

 

She has never noticed you, has she?

Never really noticed you...

 

Your crisp and neatly pressed Blue uniform

makes you look so hot, she’ll be gagging for it.

Hair the right length, your complexion sickly brown, the

tan not of a solarium or a sun lamp but someone sitting

in their car all day and night.

 

                                Your wedding ring is shining brightly tonight,

that’s it flick it twice with your fingers for luck.

Perfection ruse to gain instant trust. Kind eyes and an old wedding ring.

                Just follow your shoes. She’s wearing your shoes.

                               

they click hypnotically, seductively into the scarred

chipped concrete pavement that so many kids and

hoods have autographed while it was still alive.

 

But now as she, your prey tramples along the

pavement, the bitter sweetness of irony makes you smile.

Nails—fuck finger nails will give you away!

No, it’s all good they’re cut short, spotless and clean just like

the rest of you.

 

Tonight you are married.

Fuck these props almost always pay for themselves.

Your disguise is perfect. Everywhere you go you’re never noticed. 

does that upset you ever?

 

How could someone as powerful, as great as you never, ever get noticed by anyone?

 

Concentrate—concentrate—soon, soon her flesh will be inside you.

Soon, soon her blood will sustain us.

 

Today on her way into the city, when she was

skipping school at lunchtime, you were behind her.

She looked at you and smiled. Her seductive come hither look.

You wanted her then and there.

 Didn’t she just want you as well.

She knew the effect she had on you.

 

You’ve been following her , for how long now? In the

darkness you have watched her bathe, shower, dress,

eat, talk on her mobile phone—you have watched her while

she is naked. Masturbating fucking around with her school

mates and you so wanted to join in didn’t you…

 

That ring looks great on you it suits you just for

these types of occasions now what will we kill her with

hands, blade, gun or garrotte?

 

She's been a bad, bad girl. She snuck out tonight, what a bad, bad girl.

She snuck out tonight—what a bad—bad girl…

Dark haired beauty, with those big green eyes,

olive skin, those delicious tits, riding high—

jutting out a little too much, from every top she ever wears

 

she's a sympton of the modern disgrace

everything about this fifteen year old girl, screamed out

Cut me. Kill me. Fuck me. Eat me. Drink me...

Fuck me hard, fuck me now…take me. Burn me.

She sees your car, she wants a ride. smiling right at you.

 

She recognises you and smiles.

She walks over, sizing you up.

Can she trust you…don’t approach her…

let her approach you!

 

“Heya, howz it goin?”

 

“I’m fine...a little late for you to be out and about, don’t you think—are you okay darlin’?”

 

Good! Good! She doesn’t suspect a thing yet…just wait for it…wait for the moment to come, the moment of truth…

 

 

“Yeah, fine just need some space you know how it is…Olds always on mah fucken case!

Can’t do single fucken thing right…y’know what I mean…?”

 

“There used to be a slogan, I read once, it was around in the sixties I think, um I think it was don’t

 

trust anyone over thirty...”

 

“Yeah—sounds about right! I know you don’t I?”

               

“Um Yeah…you do. I gave you a ride home last week, sometime I think!”

 

                She’s blushing, that’s good. She remembers you now,  driving her home in the pissing rain. Stoned and in the back seat, her legs wide, her dress riding up on every sharp corner you took.Flop it now! Take it out see if she’s put it in her mouth.

 

You take out the leather pouch, your Ganga, your papers and your lighter.

 

See how she doesn’t care how you start to roll a Joint.

She smiles and jumps up on the bonnet of your work car.

Her school dress is riding high up her thighs.

Can you see her black lace panties.

 Mmmm creamy white thighs, basking in the moonlight.

You need her now.

You need to taste her don’t you? You have to wait.

Just a few more minutes and then she is yours.

She smiles, she doesn’t care.

Or doesn’t notice, she doesn’t mind doing pot with an Old.

 

You put the stash in the paper and offer it to her.

She doesn’t adjust herself as her school dress is still proudly riding high. She takes the papers, begins to roll.

 

You can’t help but stare as she begins to lick the papers.

 

Her tongue, just watch her tongue smooth out the paper and just lips the stash,

God are you feeling it now?

 

Can you feel the power surging. You light her joint. 

She doesn’t seem to notice the Liquid Fantasy on the end of the joint.

 

Little whore is about to be no more—mmm.

 

Your hands are in her panties as she begins to trip out.

 

She moans and whimpers, “Fuck that feels so good”.

 

She opens her legs, just a little further…

the slut is going to get it now!

She is so wet can you feel it—that’s it dip your fingers in to her sweet little pussy.

 

She grabs your fingers and starts to suck her own juices off them. She’s primed. She’s ready.

 

You start to finger fuck her a little more.

She opens her legs more and you place your tongue on her clitoris.

 

She is moaning louder and louder. She wants it bad now! 

You bite her clit.

She screams as your tongue and mouth are filled with vaginal juices and hot sticky blood. You reach into your pocket.

 

Take out the knife.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t struggle. She didn’t even know what you did to her.

Not until the final blow. What were her large eyes telling you as her gagged

bounded, broken was going its death throws.

 

                What was it fear? Acceptance? Or was it why?

 

                                Why Me? Why me?

 

 

 

Thursday, 22 May 2014

Forgotten Wars (Inspired by true events)© James WF Roberts 2014

Forgotten Wars
© James WF Roberts 2014
 Legend and myth,
fuelled by the arrogance,
the ignorance of the British Bulldog.
Sneak attack in the Dardanelles.

Blunder of the century.
Passchendaele and the Somme
blood soaked poppy fields,
unknown soldiers, buried
en masse.

Forged in fire
and blood. Forgotten
stories. A day glorifying
death or blood?

Yet, sometimes those old Clich├ęs
are full of truths.

To the victor goes the spoils.
History written by the winners,
loser are succumbed to the catalogue cards
in an old dusty library.

Cenotaphs on bronze and majestic,
religious icons in a secular age,
don’t tell the story of the blood
soaked dirt, the statues were
erected on.

Forgotten language
disappeared customs,
dispersed—people;
silent song lines

Gypsies are forgotten
so are the infirmed
and the artistic; in the tomes
of the holocaust. Armenians
denied on the shores of Gallipoli.

Forgotten wars,
unhealed wounds,
Forgotten victims
of state wide crimes.

Forgotten Heroes,
well-fought causes,
Freedom of speech,
Gay marriage,
the right to vote.

Forgotten wars,
unhealed wounds,
Forgotten victims
of state wide crimes.

Forgotten stories
faded memories.
Forgotten wars,
leaves a bitter taste
in the mouth.

War crimes at least
resolve the rumours
with evidence and
investigations…

Massacres and genocide
swept under the black arm
band of history—scapegoat

of all manner of horrors…

A bird James Downs

...........A bird 
.........Is not a stone
.....A stone is not a tree
.But they have you and me 
In each of them…we are all
.Parts of stars flung across 
....The Universe...to land 
.......Upon this planet 
............And grow
-
.....A bird is not a stone
.........A stone is not 
..........A tree...but 
........They have you 
...And me in each of them
-
-
James Downs
5-20-14