Hello, you sane motherfuckers. Must be nice. To fuck your mother, I mean. Mine never comes to visit me here. Small wonder... Hey, speaking of mothers, did you know that this place used to be run by nuns? I picture punk rock nuns in stilettos and garters, cigarettes dangling. The thought of God attempting to assert His will in this place cracks me up, so vile and depraved and hopeless are we. But I do like to imagine the nuns alone in their rooms at night, furiously rubbing themselves, rosaries shoved halfway up their asses while Jesus smiles benevolently down from his crucifix.
So let me tell you a tale, a tale of depravity and sex. (Why else do you think I come here? To practice my secretarial skills?) Here goes, my lovelies, can you handle it? And by handle it, I mean have you got a nice firm grip on your dick there? A slim, wet finger pressed against your slit? You do? Well okay then…
I slink through the club, the air heavy with smoke and sex, a panther on the prowl. I'm looking for you.
I order a shot of tequila, fuck the accoutrements, and feel the slow burn trace its way down my throat. I order another, and give the bartender a wink. He knows the score. He smiles and wipes the counter as I tip the second drink back, over my lips, onto my tongue, down my throat. Where are you?
And, suddenly, my spider senses tingling, I look over my shoulder, and through the smoke and the sex, there you are. Weak, vulnerable, alone. My prey.
I make my way through the smoke, feeling the burn in my insides, feeling the thrill of the hunt make my heart beat faster, feeling you watching me as I make my way over to you. I catch your eye and you are unable to look away. In that instant, you are mine.
You follow me as I leave the club, pressing through the doors into the warm night air, from darkness into darkness, and I lead you down an alley. The tension is palpable, and in that second before I kiss you, before I push you into the brick wall, I am alive, gloriously alive, despite the cancer burning its black way through my cunt. And I push you into the brick wall, and I kiss you hungrily, all lips and tongue and teeth, and I feel the heat and hunger and sickness radiating from us. And I yank your jeans down and yank my skirt up and I fuck you up against the brick wall in that dark dank alley and, in that second before we come, I know that I have passed it on, my disease is contagious and I have given it to you, my sweetest darkest gift.