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The following part of this blog entry is pure fiction and no relation to existing people or events is implied.

Skeleton key: Black Blood part 2
by drs. Efthimia Dilpizoglou
(c) 2014 all rights reserved

Read Skeleton key: Hidden place part 1 here.

Walking into the S&M pornographer’s office the blogger trips over a bunch of thick cables laid randomly across the floor and falls. She tears her stockings and a small stream of blood starts running down her leg from a wound on her knee. She ignores the pain and the blood and has a look around.

The blogger stands before a huge iron dining table covered front to back with stuff. VCRs, audio cds, floppies from the dawn of home computing, all sorts of paper. Rolls of toilet paper, kitchen rolls, cosmetic tissues, decorative paper napkins, some used, most still in their wrapper. “Must be OCD.”, guesses the blogger. She continues to dig through the pile of junk on the table looking for clues.

She pulls out a translated draft of a book with the title “Black Blood” on the first page. “Black blood, black blood, where have I seen this before?”. The blogger thinks hard but can’t remember. Glancing through the draft, the blogger notices that the page numbers are missing on every page. “Damn, you must be one helluva sadist to want to torture your readers by not numbering the pages. What a great way to get them to read your book over and over again!”, she thinks. The blogger flips the book open at a random pagenumberless page and starts reading at the top.

To be printed in issue # 81…

Four years had passed since the fatal accident of Adam’s wife. He was working overtime more and more to avoid coming home. At home there was only Eve. A woman from the barren empty lands of the North who was fussing over him all day and night. Adam was sitting in the living room watching one of those stupid adventure series featuring Dolph Lundgren on the SATURN tv channel before the evening news. Eve was getting ready to leave the house. She came down the stairs and asked Adam whether he thought she was pretty. “Oh my Gawd, they look so alike.”, he thought to himself.

The blogger yawns. “Boring characters in boring settings living boring everyday lives doing boring everyday things like watching TV, working overtime and worrying about being pretty. Bland urban faces in even blander urban spaces. How on earth does he sell these books?”. She keeps on reading, more out of a baseline curiosity rather than sincere interest on her part.

She was wearing a small black top. Her toned tummy bearing a pierced navel drove him crazy. To hell with that 100 euro fee paid every month to the Gym-plastics Studios. Her tits were bigger and firmer than those of his wife. Eve noticed the bouncing throb in his pants and made a meaningful grin needing no further response. On her way out the door she allowed him a peek at her voluptuous ass so he could see that she was wearing a g-string.

“That is so dated,” protests the blogger, “girls no longer wear low cut jeans showing off their whale-tails. Pr0n is always so embarrassingly dated. Can anyone watch grainy black & white pornography from the 1930s without the dawning realizion that ‘eeew, yuck, I am watching my grandparents getting fucked when they were younger’?! Kids born a decade ago will feel the same way reading this within a decade. ‘Oh, that was back in the day when mom was still a young woman and was bearing her whale-tail of a g-string sticking out of the top of her ass crack in order to get caught by the whalers.’.’That’s right kiddo, that’s how you were born, because momma flapped her whale-tail showing off her ass crack and her g-string earning herself a load. It was all the rage amongst girls back then.’.”. The blogger LOLs and continues reading, out of sheer but barely admitted perversity now.

He rubbed his dick which had gone as hard as the baton he was carrying at work every day. He was a cop!

“How can anyone get off fantasizing about the sex-lives of cops?!”, wonders the blogger in disgust. The blogger had had some run ins with the police in the past, and reading about cops was extremely triggering for her. Reading about the sex lives of pigs even more so. “What could be more off-putting than a fucking cop? People in Greece are more likely to get off fantasizing about killing cops than imagining a bunch of fucking pigs. It’s American cultural imperialism. Americans insist cops are hot. I once knew this American sicko in Burbank who couldn’t get off unless she was RPGing she was the District Attorney getting kidnapped in a dark parking lot like the one in the movie Highlander by a huge blond Nazi with tatoos all over his arms cartwheeling across the lot, and then violently raped in the Nazi’s basement. She was a filthy rich Burbank suburbanite and had the money spare to hire herself a transnational crew of 7 mansluts to reenact this RPG scenario. Her sex-life was as elaborate as any film-set. Even the professional S&M pornographer could’ve picked up tips and cues from that piece of crazy work. She could only climax the moment an Italian manslut acting as her copper husband drove bullet through the brain of the Nazi thrusting away ontop of her, whereupon she’d throw the Nazi’s lifeless body off of herself and proceed to suck off her pig husband on the spot to celebrate hubbie the pig killing the Nazi rapist. Unbelievably depraved I tell you. This is why I hate all pornography. Because I would rather not know how totally messed up people’s minds are. Her streamed videos of the RPG action sold like hot cakes on her porn website to likeminded perverts all over the world, because who doesn’t want to see the American Public Prosecutor getting raped by a huge Nazi only to end up sucking off the big Italian dick of the police in gratitude? People in Greece would certainly appreciate the perverse irony of the metaphor. And there you were thinking the S&M pornographer was the worst one yet. Oh, I have seen far far worse than him.”. The blogger keeps reading. Why? Only to see what will happen next, of course.

Adam opened the door to her room. He could barely make her out in the dark. He stepped away from the door to make way for the light in the hall to shine in. He stood still staring at her naked tits. Without a second though he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his huge erection. He began jacking off over her right there. Drool was running down his chin. He stretched out his arm and grabbed one of her tits. With one hand he was rubbing her breast and with the other he was playing with his dick 3 inches from her face. His excitement took control over him. Unable to hold back much longer he came over her cheeks and breasts.

“This book is sooo awful!” exclaims the blogger and throws the draft across the room. “Just like his film-scripts, the book is plotless! No one is doing anything! They are just looking at eachother being sex-bombs and jacking off! Such garbage! A cop named Adam is jacking off over the face and tits of his servant named Eve thinking of his dead wife Lilith? They might as well be sitting at a καφετέρια having a φραπέ and oogling one another while playing with themselves. At least that would’ve been a somewhat more interesting scene because of the outdoor setting…”. The blogger pulls the emergency lever handle on her bullet-train of thought, which grinds to an instant halt. Her thoughts almost get derailed as a result. She can hear the emergency windows break inside her head, life intent on survival pouring out in panicked droves. No one will be joining this band-wagon. “Um, wait a minute,”, thinks the blogger as she collects her thoughts, “was I so bored by that book that I ended up imagining an outdoor sex scene at a καφετέρια? WAS I SO BORED I ENDED UP IMAGINING PR0N?!”. That’s how dangerous this book really is. Everything in the book, the characters, the setting, the sex, everything is designed to be so bland and boring that it causes even the most reluctant reader to dream up their own pr0n instead. “What a truly depraved mind… he wrote a book so boring his readers end up filling in the gaps and finishing the book for him!”, says the blogger. As she collects the pages of the draft from the floor where she tossed them, she recalls, “No page-numbers! How will I get these pages back in the right order?”

…to be continued…

References:

Quoted segments were excerpted from the 2011 book Μαυρο Αιμα (“Black Blood”) by Alexander Voulgaris, translated from Greek to English by myself. The Greek original can be read here.

 

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