PYGMALION JONES I

“Am I the vision of the Wax Wing slain?” Benfred Jones thought to himself. “That slammed it’s body into the winter’s frosted window pane? There to twitch and breathe it’s last amid the fray? No warmth, cold gulps of air to lift it’s tiny soul away? To where? To whom? Who will care?”

“Could I be the essence of the dust sailors that ride the currents of my breath in this late afternoon stillness. See how I can control them? Blow harder and they sail away quicker in the sunbeams. I can make them suffer the turmoil of the tempest with the wave of my hand.”

“Am I become Chanute unto myself? Holding forth the dust wave Sea as a God to Sunbeams? Does Jesus want me for a Sunbeam? To shine for him each day? Why did his Holy Daddy put the Beast between my legs?”

“Hard to be a Sunbeam when all you can think of is choking your Chicken! Do you love me, Jesus? Even if I play with me Wanger eight times a day!! Do you, Jesus?? Huh?? I call to you just before I shoot each load! Oh, oh, Sweet Jesus......Oh!!”

“Couldn’t you hold me in your big Jewish arms and kiss away my fears, Jesus? Tell me not to feel guilty that your were there with me to enjoy what your Daddy meant for my body to do? Huh, Jesus?? I would gladly hang on your cross for you Master if you’d only take this one away from me!!”

“Swap Crosses with me, Jesus?? Your Cross for mine, Huh? Then we could be Cross Swappers! What’da ya’ say Sweet Jesus??” Ben yelled in his thoughts at the passing scenery only to be answered by the silent Druids of the Cosmos.”

“The unanswered question! Cold! Distant! Calling of a single Trumpet! Asks the question, over and over, presented in the most unpassionate manner! Only to be answered by the pretentious fluting of gathered wisdom. Archived to the thickness of a plot! Never eased through the eternal frustration of personal conundrums. Is it better to be Damned because you do or because you don’t? Or is it better to mock the Question?”

“So much for “Just as I am without one plea.......” Fanny Crosby where are you when we need you!” He thought?

“Can I change the cosmos with my thoughts? Am I right to change the nature of my urges? Create an alternate reality where I have control of my base instincts? To force my consciousness upon my Animal subconscious, restrain it, rebuke it, admonish it, plan for it’s demise.”

“To speak of my body as my soul-cage. That which surrounds and contains the winged creature of my fancy. Given my Amen to Pegasus my slightly bent steed and have it eased away from it’s moorings with the coldest of steel.”

“Uncaring eyes on the face of a Vinegar Fly, spoiled wine, a Surgeon-Butcher, with money-sullied hands move deftly for hired purpose to relieve me of my Man-claim.” Ben finished writing in his Laptop and looked up to see the fauna change on the countryside from greens to burnt desert-like scenes as the Bus lumbered Southward toward the inevitable boarder crossing.

“God it’s warm in this Bus even with the air conditioning right on me!” Ben thought. “And why does the Sun have to hit right on my stupid dick and get it roaring, rock hard. It’s just one more reminder of the lack of control that I have over the damnable thing! Easy Tiger!” He told himself.

“I’ll have to hold the fucking Laptop in front of me to get to the pisser. Then stand there and wait for the hard to go down so I can take a leak! Fuck!! It’s past time to get rid of it!!” He thought angrily.

“You’re on this Bus to take you to the Clinic where you can take a positive action to gain your freedom from that thing between your legs. You wont be so fucking obsessed with the son of a bitch. It wont be there to distract you from the things you want to get done in life.”

“Getting rid of it will be little to sacrifice to rid you of the wasted time, the supreme guilt of playing with it until you force it to shoot. Then the guilt afterwards! Oh God! The guilt!! Horrible guilt!! The feelings of worthlessness, having no control over yourself! Your own sexuality! It’s driving you nuts!”

“How many times have you thought about suicide, taking your life, ending it all, the big blotto, the dark nothing, because you fucking can’t leave it alone long enough to even have a life! If your right hand offend thee, cut it off! If your eye offends you, pluck it out! If you can’t control your penis then rip it out by the root!! On the road to be Nulloville! You wont find Hope nor Crosby on this trip.”

“All because it screams at you in the night, on a plane, on this fucking warm bus. Just look at the wet spot in your good pants. Oh Fuck!! Its oozing pre-come again. The paper towel you folded as a sanitary napkin slipped and now this!! Take it away from me! Oh God, please, take it away!!”

Send it forth into battle with the Philistines to be taken as a memento by some drop dead gorgeous Jewish Warrior that answers to the name of Absalom-Ben Juda. Absalom, my Son! My Son!! Lacra-mimosa!

He takes his cold knife, unsheathes it from the warmth of his leathered scabbard on his hip, smiles at you as you lay dying on the battlefield, cuts the thong to your leather loin covering, roughly grabs your dick and balls in his left hand, as if he were about to prune your grape vine!

The Warrior deftly cuts to the base of your manhood, raises your bleeding cock and balls to your face, dripping your own blood, holds it to your lips for one last kiss goodbye, thanks you, strings your dick, balls and all, on a wire to adorn his trophy belt.

Just one more penis from the infidels, who knows nothing of self control. (I thought they only took foreskins! You think to yourself!) You lick your blood and pre-come from your lips, you blow him a kiss as he departs. What a thoughtful Victor to let you kiss your own cock goodbye! Nice Man! Then you smile to yourself knowing you died fighting the good fight, doing battle with a million prudes with ape turf under each arm.

Your life force eases from your body as you lay among the Human rubble relieved of your sin with a smile on your face as enigmatic as the smile on the face of a dead baby!

The Gods have won! The Unclean, who know only the sickness of wallowing in carnal lust, rutting like Animals and never cleanse themselves after committing the Unholy sin of Onan. Better they should spill their seed into the belly of a whore. Better their hands should be separated from their bodies to keep them from their sins.

(But alas, they would only find someone to do it for them, while they in turn would offer the most foul and Unholy acts of their other two mouths to gain that one unjustifiable release that all Men find undeniable in their shallow little lives.) Is that all there is to a dog and pony show?

What Gods there be! Preserve us! Protect us from the Animal within us! God never meant for Man to be part of the Animal Kingdom as the perverted Pantheist would have us believe. We have choices! That alone makes us above the Animals and capable of communion with God.

We will build the bridges to Heaven and no one will be allowed to cross into Paradise unless he pays our toll. Luther thought otherwise but what the Hell, indulgent homage can be found on any stage or level. Pay and you can masturbate more. The more you pay the more you can play with yourself! Simple! Efficient! It’s short and business like.

Now why can’t God run the Heavens and Earth like a Corporation. There is only one answer to that conundrum! Mankind must take the end product of God’s creation, misguided, although well meant, and tie down the loose ends of the plan. He left it for us to do!

Better, he left it for ME, the anointed one, to tell you to do as I read to you from this book.....See! It says right here.......Chapter and Verse that, “you are a little less than the Angels! And because I am God’s anointed, you must do as I say!! Thou shalt not pound thy pud!"

Glory! Can I hear an Amen! Brother! We know them Angels are of God!!Would God have created you NOT to listen to me?? I’ll tell you what his word says and you’re to do exactly as I tell you or you will, I say WILL, suffer that eternal lake of Hell Fire Damnation!! Now get out your check books, the ash trays in my Limo are full!!

Dirty, dirty lines from that Orff piece. Cartulli Carmina, “Oh vos papillae, Oh, vos gross papillae!” That’s me alright! Gross prick! Your point? Not real big! Not real small! A handful!

A wonderful delightful handful that when it fills my hand becomes a vehicle to ride to any sex scene I chose. Warm delicate mouth! Tight clean Boy-Butt! The firm rough grip of a Buddies big hand threatening to pull his own Goddamned Caboose unless the little Train that Could, Does!

I have several favorites! My sense of smell become heightened. I run my fingers around my ass hole, hold them to my nose, and sniff them to smell my own funk. Grand Funk Railroad: The ‘Little Train of the Uri-puri’ is in the station ready to pull the Caboose! Chug! Chug!~ Hector!

Will you blow my whistle?! Toot! (You wont be able to lug Casey Jones around the roundhouse (They’ll never corner you there!) without “Tooting your whistle” the next time you shoot! Trust me! Then you’ll laugh and whisper to yourself, “That Son of a Bitch!”)

My funky fingers makes my step child harder! Taunting me to get it off. Knowing that my hand will gently wrap around it and start playing with it like it wants me to. I can’t help it! It’s stronger than I am! Then when I come, I lay back and think, is that all there is??

So much for so little? How long until my next fix? Is that all there is to the Circus? To a fire? To any sexual encounter? Straight, gay, bisexual, what ever? Some one did send in the Clown and it spent it’s tuppence ‘tween my legs! My furry palm can’t wait for it’s next visit to Thigh-land!

“Why? Oh why, did God make sex such an Opiate?? What made fatuous sunbeams toil, to break Earths sleep at all??” Reproduction, Honey! Can’t blame it on the Bassa-nova! Man don’t got no bone to keep it up on call, ya’ll! He needs that fix! Does it give the Bee a rush to pollinate that flower?! Bet your sweeter ass!

You gets your sugar where you can! (I gets mine from my sweet, sweet, lover-boy! Da do Ron, Ron! Da, do Ron, Ron!! Greek chorus in background singing, “Sweet, sweet, memories are made of this.......” Can’t get enough of them sweet slave-boy hugs and kisses!! Da, do Ron, Ron!)

As he screams, “Hold me down Daddy I’m sitting on a fat one!” I yell at him, “Don’t cut it off Son!! Ride it down hard, harder even, all the way to the base! Let Daddy see that little Butt gobble up that big thing!! Let your little Moon shine on my wicked face! I watch your’s form a moue as your hole expands so will your mind! Pop that son of a bitch, Son, ‘till you understand!! Daddy ain’t got enough crazy glue to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again!!

“You cut it! You nicked yourself!” Rim shot from snare drum and bass! Ka-chink! Boom!! (Word merchant! Word merchant! Parse me a line!Three puns for a buck! Five for a Blow-Job! Get ‘em while their hot! Offer open to all comers!)

“Winter is a cummin’ in! Lay-hude’, Sing Goddamn! Rain, stain, sloppith us, and argue hath my Ham! ” Earthy! Ripe!! Guttural sounds from the gutter! Rutting red cocks plowing firm ripe, well furrowed, bleeding, rouged Earth. Fuck the World!! Hump the Planet!! Rape the Whales!! Plant the Corn! Sow for the raping of Humanity!! Plow the furrowed hills of humpdom, Brother Anthony! Thy Kingdom come! Thy rump be humped! Suck my Butt!! Lick my Dick!! Kiss anything you fool!! Kiss your ass good bye you stupid cock!! I’m cutting you off!! Oh God!..... Only just this once! Only one more time! SWEET JESUS, I'M COMING!!!

The ‘Trailways’ lumbered on down the two lane, headed for the boarder!Ben cleaned himself inside the tiny restroom as it tossed him to and frow.He returned to his seat. Shoulders slumped! The weight of his sin upon his conscience. A cloud of despair over his being.

End Part I~
Waddie Greywold
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