Authors: Edward Lee
The Minotauress (13 page)
Balls straddled the girl again. Her combination of kicks, flails, and screams filled the clearing with a unique dervish of pandemonium. Balls found that he enjoyed the aural effect. "Dicky! I needs ta get this ‘ho simmered down. Sit on her knees."
Dicky frowned but did as he was told. Now the poor girl was pinned to the ground. Balls put a knee on her cheek, squashing her other cheek into the dirt, and then he started cranking away on the brace-drill. It was tough going at first. That auger-bit turned like a barber pole, making a sound sort of like a meat-grinder, and when it finally ate through her skull, he cranked it into her raw brain about an inch. The girl's screams were extraordinary; they sounded more like a bad wheel bearing than any mode of human protestation. But once that bit sunk in an inch, the screams abated, and her maniacal flailings digressed down to a steady, low-grade convulsion.
Balls and Dicky stood up, looking down. Balls smiled. "That shore took some spark out of her, huh?"
"Ya done drilled a hole in her head," Dicky observed with a roiling gut. "But she ain't kicked the bucket. Where'd ya learn that trick?"
"‘Member 'bout a month ago we'se was in the bar watchin' 'bout that Dahmer fella? He took the zing out'a some'a his victims the same way—said so on the news. Figgure if it's good enough fer him, it's good enough fer me, and see?" Balls gestured an opened hand to the convulsant girl. "Works like a charm."
Dicky made every effort to keep his eyes from lingering too long on the girl. Her eyes looked up at them, darted back and forth, and her lips moved but uttered no sound. All she did was lie there and tremble. The 3/8th-inch hole in her head effused surprisingly little blood.
Now the baby, however toothless, was gnawing on the pubic scalp like hairy jerky.
Dicky's eyes beseeched Snot McKully. "How's that fer a ruckin', Mr. McKully?" hoping the fat moonshiner was satisfied by the demonstration.
McKully inspected the unfortunate girl from his seat. "Ain't bad but I've seen better."
Balls guffawed. "What? You think I'm
done?
Shee-it," and then Balls grabbed that battery brush from the old guy who looked like Larry, and was sitting on the girl's stomach. He tweezed a nipple between his fingers then began to vigorously scour at the flesh with the brush's stiff, iron bristles.
done?
Shee-it," and then Balls grabbed that battery brush from the old guy who looked like Larry, and was sitting on the girl's stomach. He tweezed a nipple between his fingers then began to vigorously scour at the flesh with the brush's stiff, iron bristles.
"How's that, baby? Feel good?"
The girl's convulsions heightened again, and Balls found that the sensation against his crotch was pleasurable indeed. When the first nipple had been essentially scoured off, he proceeded to the next. All the while, the girl never uttered a sound. She simply convulsed.
Balls brought his lips down to the bleeding abrasions and began to suck.
Dicky could only wince. "I think ya done rucked her up enough, Balls... "
"Naw. Ya kiddin' me?" Red-mouthed, then, Balls got back up and grabbed the rope that Dicky had brought from the vehicle. McKully watched raptly as the girl's ankles were tied to a nearby tree. Then Balls cut another length. "Git in the ‘Mino and start her up, Dicky."
"Whuh—what?"
"Go on!"
Dicky shuffled back to the El Camino and started up the hefty 427 big block.
Balls made a noose out of one end of the rope and secured it around the girl's neck, then secured the other end to the ‘Mino's trailer hitch. She was still alive but beginning to bleed out.
"Okay, Dicky-Boy! Let the clutch out! Slow!"
The ‘Mino's engine revved once, then Dicky slid the Hurst into first. The car chugged forward a few inches at a time, eventually taking up the rope's slack, and when there was no slack left at all, the girl's emaciated frame stretched fully out and rose from the ground.
"Keep goin', Dicky!" Balls called out over the engine-noise. "Nice'n
slow!
"
slow!
"
The girl's eye bugged, her frog-belly-white face going first pink, then heather- blue. Her tongue stuck straight out, then—
POP!
—a vertebra in her neck gave way. Dicky kept inching the ‘Mino forward while the neck stretched like a column of pale taffy. Balls clapped, amused, when the neck stretched out past a foot. The baby watched with a mild curiosity, until—
POP!
—a vertebra in her neck gave way. Dicky kept inching the ‘Mino forward while the neck stretched like a column of pale taffy. Balls clapped, amused, when the neck stretched out past a foot. The baby watched with a mild curiosity, until—
POP!
—her head snapped off and her body thumped to the ground.
"Good job, Dicky! Shut ‘er down!"
McKully nodded approval. "Gots to admit, boy. That there was a dang fine ruckin'."
Balls cut the corpse's ankles free with the Buck, then shot McKully an exaggerated look of dismay. "Well, I'se hope you don't think that's it, Mr. McKully. You don't think I went ta all this trouble to call it quits ‘fore I have me some
real
fun, do ya?"
real
fun, do ya?"
"Well, seein' that you just scalped her pussy, drilled a hole in her skull, and popped her head off, it don't look to me like there's much more you
can
do."
can
do."
"Shee-it," Balls grinned.
Dicky leaned against the ‘Mino's tailgate, his face going ever paler as he watched Balls flip the corpse over and part the very dead legs.
Balls dropped his jeans and found an erection hard as a glass-cutter sprouting from his groin. He got on his knees, spread the corpse's buttocks, and spat. When his penis sunk in, his eyes rolled back in the most potent wave of ecstacy, and he proceeded to hump the lifeless rectum with gusto.
Aw, shit, that's good...
His grin flashed back to McKully, who was actually raising a brow. "See, Mr. McKully, there cain't be no doubt in yer mind that we can do the job, see? I'm fuckin' a headless corpse in the ass, after all. That sounds pretty down'n dirty ta me."
Aw, shit, that's good...
His grin flashed back to McKully, who was actually raising a brow. "See, Mr. McKully, there cain't be no doubt in yer mind that we can do the job, see? I'm fuckin' a headless corpse in the ass, after all. That sounds pretty down'n dirty ta me."
"I ain't denyin' it, son."
"I mean, I want'ja to
know
that I walk it like I talk it."
know
that I walk it like I talk it."
"That you do... "
"I wouldn't want you ta have no reservations 'bout me'n Dicky not bein'
bad
enough ta work for ya."
bad
enough ta work for ya."
"Ya done proved yer point, son," McKully said.
Yeah?
Balls thought, and then on the next stroke, his orgasm stunned him. His own rectum felt like it was trying to take a breath as his penis dumped a half-dozen big belts of sperm.
Balls thought, and then on the next stroke, his orgasm stunned him. His own rectum felt like it was trying to take a breath as his penis dumped a half-dozen big belts of sperm.
Balls gulped and collapsed on the corpse's back, exhausted, and at once he felt the full force of his epiphany and the ultimate revelation of his newfound calling...
That was the best nut of my LIFE...
He pulled his jeans back up, then dusted off his hands. Now his grin toward McKully sharpened to a cunning glare. "Down'n dirty enough for ya, Mr. McKully?"
"I'd say so."
"
Hardcore
enough?"
Hardcore
enough?"
"All right, boy, now don't git cocky. I just done admitted ya proved me wrong. Yer badder than I thought. Yer hardcore."
"Good," Balls gloated. "So's just you watch
this...
"
this...
"
Even McKully looked appalled now. Balls kneeled back between the corpse's legs and spread the buttocks wide. Then—
"Aw, no, son!" McKully objected. "Don't do that! Ya done proved yer point!"
Balls wedged his face right into the corpse's ass-crack, guttering muffled laughter, and then planted his lips in a tight circle around the sullied rectum...
And sucked.
He sucked hard,
good
and hard.
good
and hard.
Of course, the girl hadn't been fed in a week, so there wasn't much in the way of fecal matter down there, but there was plenty of pasty, tacky, revolting stink, and there was plenty of something else as well: Balls' semen.
Balls sucked it all out of her ass right into his mouth. McKully, Dicky, the blond girl, and even the baby stared open-mouthed.
Balls rose. He picked up the severed head, then spat his own sperm into the dead girl's lips.
He cast the head aside and grinned right at McKully.
"Now
that,
Mr. McKully, is how Tritt Balls Conner puts a ruckin' on a gal."
that,
Mr. McKully, is how Tritt Balls Conner puts a ruckin' on a gal."
(II)
This is how much of his new novel the Writer had completed in a month's time:
WHITE TRASH GOTHIC
CHAPTER ONE
There was a knock at the door. When Nikoff Raskol opened it, he
That was it. The Writer stared at the lone page in the Remington Model No. 2, dismayed.
One and a half damn sentences in a month?
Robert Lewis Stevenson wrote
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
in three days! But when the Writer scrutinized that sentence and a half—really just one independent clause, and a prepositional clause, he saw no falseness in it.
Time means nothing to true art,
he reminded himself. He was one of a privileged lot: a full-time fiction writer.
Percy Shelley didn't rush
Prometheus Unbound,
and Eliot didn't rush
Prufrock...
And wasn't it Flaubert who said that not only was it the author's luxury to spend the morning putting in a comma and the afternoon taking it out, it was also his obligation?
One and a half damn sentences in a month?
Robert Lewis Stevenson wrote
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
in three days! But when the Writer scrutinized that sentence and a half—really just one independent clause, and a prepositional clause, he saw no falseness in it.
Time means nothing to true art,
he reminded himself. He was one of a privileged lot: a full-time fiction writer.
Percy Shelley didn't rush
Prometheus Unbound,
and Eliot didn't rush
Prufrock...
And wasn't it Flaubert who said that not only was it the author's luxury to spend the morning putting in a comma and the afternoon taking it out, it was also his obligation?
Yes, the Writer was certain of it.
"That's enough work for today," he talked to himself and stood up and stretched. He lit a cigarette, opening the shade to let his gaze plummet down to the moonlit junkyard. Small animals which he presumed were rats scurried about the debris, and he could swear the dog defecating next to a junked car was the same dog he's seen doing the same his very first night. A bum staggered about, then plopped down by a heap of trash, opened a bottle of something. After several chugs, he tilted his head, vomited, then continued to imbibe.
Real life,
the Writer thought with some satisfaction.
Ideology reduced to material elements and physiological addictions contrary to the ethereal pursuit. Biological mechanism versus determinism...
the Writer thought with some satisfaction.
Ideology reduced to material elements and physiological addictions contrary to the ethereal pursuit. Biological mechanism versus determinism...
Of course, the word "addiction" was subject to interpretation.
He went to the bathroom, then, and considered his use of the name Nikoff Raskol—the protagonist for his novel—and wondered if it were too obvious a reversion of Dostoevsky's protagonist in
Crime and Punishment,
the greatest fictional work of existential enlightenment in the history of the written word.
Might critics think it trite?
The Writer urinated mightily.
No. Of course not. Great painters often paid homage to their contemporaries by ingeminating authoritative themes.
He flushed the toilet and smiled, knowing beyond all doubt that
White Trash Gothic
would herald him as the Dostoevsky of the modern age of literature.
Crime and Punishment,
the greatest fictional work of existential enlightenment in the history of the written word.
Might critics think it trite?
The Writer urinated mightily.
No. Of course not. Great painters often paid homage to their contemporaries by ingeminating authoritative themes.
He flushed the toilet and smiled, knowing beyond all doubt that
White Trash Gothic
would herald him as the Dostoevsky of the modern age of literature.
He turned on the old radio, which always drifted off the only classical station he could find. "Jaysus WANTS you to drive fine cars!" an evangelist trumpeted, "because it's Jaysus who rewards the faithful so long as you remember the importance of charity and leave those fine cars to the church in your wills!" The dial pushed through static, then he caught a snippet of moody slide guitars and a man singing, "I will fuck you until you die, bury you and kiss this town goodbye!" The Writer winced—
Gracious!
— finnicked further, then stumbled on insipid hard rock and some sports stations before he found the following manic voice-warble, asserting, "I could be Raskolnikov, but Mother Nature RIPPED me off!"
Gracious!
— finnicked further, then stumbled on insipid hard rock and some sports stations before he found the following manic voice-warble, asserting, "I could be Raskolnikov, but Mother Nature RIPPED me off!"
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