she came to us like a drowned rat, in a skimpy hello kitty t-shirt, torn and wet, stuck to her body
like how our cum would stick to her body in the days to come.
and of course there were strange signs before her arrival. the blackouts – both loss of electricity in the night and the passing out of consciousness. the wavy pink dreams, the smell of cunt from nowhere, the premature ejaculations while watching cartoons completely drugged out.
when we first saw her standing there at our gate, dripping wet, gripping her damaged, neon green tote bag bulking with vibrators, we thought we had consumed a bad batch.
“you’re a figment of our imagination” we said. she was too half frozen, teeth chattering to reply. she had one white long stocking on. tight stretched spandex thing with black unicorn heads printed on. we could see her erect nipples through the soaked t-shirt.
“you’re a figment of our wet-
“food” she said. before passing out.
and of course we kept her in the cage. too dangerous these days for young girls to be wandering around the streets in the dark with no shorts or underwear or weapons. we kept her warm with our unwashed blankets, a bowl of milk by her head in case she woke up. a stack of black garbage bags in case she died in the night. but she didn’t die. she didn’t wake up either, for two days straight.
during those 48 hours, time vanished when we expected it to. we sat before her sleeping form in the cage and tried not to touch her. our hands grew strangely hot if we tried. we touched ourselves instead but felt a holy need to conserve our spunk.
our phone line had mysteriously gone dead. our organic drugs started growing out of its containers on their own, so we simply consumed and studied the mysteries of flesh beneath the blanket. no other stupid thoughts like calling social services or fixers or gang bangers. she became an edifice, a bundled breathing altar of delights and worship, an exciting detour in the banal roads of our lives. we didn’t know what it all meant, at least not then.
her first few words when she regained consciousness were “panties” “knife” “batteries.” we gave her a butter knife but she spat in our faces. we slapped her and she liked it. She had finished our stash of milk like a ravenous kitten. we left the cage gate open, tried to coax her to crawl to our spread legs but she didn’t want to come out. we looked for a leash but couldn’t find it even though we knew we had it.
we went out to buy bread and cheese but she refused to eat such things. we had no extra money yet to buy her little underthings or new pet accessories.
“white drink” she kept saying in between periods of comatose sleep. we assumed it was milk she wanted, but after another day of guzzling nothing but milk, she appeared to be well fed but fed up, turning her head away in defiance every time we pointed to the bowl or to our grounds. she didn’t drink for another 24 hours. it was getting exasperating.
she then decided one morning at six a.m. to teach us the real meaning of ‘white drink.’ “wake up motherfuckers!” she yelled. “give me your cock.” she whispered.
our first orgasm from the first blow job she ever gave us made us pass out into a world of hazy, neon fogged dreams. in those dreams we remained conscious of her warm, slippery tongue rollicking, twirling and flickering against sensitive spots we never knew we had. she kept swallowing, eyes rolling into her head with severe ecstasy. When she was done, smacking her lips, she curled up to sleep with her fingers in her cleanly shaved pussy. “Get some fucking batteries” she kept muttering before she passed out again. we found it harder and harder to emerge from our weird dreams.
We had to convene with ourselves to decide what was happening.
– I think we have to restart our medicine.
– We’re trapped in the visions of a bad batch.
– We are stuck in the head of a perverted writer.
– She’s real guys, I mean, come on, we can smell her, we can feel her tongue!.
– I still think she’s a figment of our wet/
“I need a job if we’re going to get through this together.”
Her voice startled us.
loud and resonant like the sound of god scolding.
She was kneeling outside her cage, legs slightly apart, completely naked before us, pussy juice dripping, eyes clear, almost full of light. Her hair, long and black and glorious like a lamb.
We didn’t even know her name…
“My name is Kei. And you are my fathers.”