98 Wounds Read Online Free Page A

bloodied mucus from my forearms on your back and go home to my cat, my computer, my books.

    You put on your clothes, clean up, and return to your lover, your ex-wife and kids and job and politics and upper income life, you call to make plans to meet again, you drop everything when I call you, you do everything I tell you, you buy me gifts and take me to places I cannot afford to go, you tell me your problems with life, work, and love, I listen and make no judgments nor comment, I feed you my cum on occasion though you never ask for it and I seldom offer, and with each tender caress, each deeply done kiss, we slowly become the objects of our hate so much that we wish for nothing more than to see the other dead.

The path is different for everyone… Drugs will take some
people directly to Heaven, others to Hell. Some, to both
over time. Your body is your temple and how you choose to
worship amongst your own congregation is entirely up to you.
    â€”Neal Drinnan, Izzy and Eve

S ugar
    The diarrhea had gotten so bad that fucking his ass was like poking at an overfilled water-balloon with the jagged-edged finger of a chronic nail-biter. He knew this would happen, it always does. He needed help and he needed help fast. No bulking agents for this boy. He wanted something hard, something that would score his ass. He ended up at his dealer’s. At any point of your life, you might have to have sex with your dealer, so it helps to have a dealer you wouldn’t mind having sex with.
    He is in a dingy residential hotel. Sitting in his underwear on the edge of the scant mattress. He feels the fleas or mites, something, biting him underneath his thighs, he thinks he can feel them burrowing into the elastic band, setting their nests. His dealer is arranging and measuring the baggies. Scattered on the bed is an assortment of dildos and buttplugs. Sticky half-used bottles of lube – some with dust balls and lint, matted twines of fur and stringy hairs stuck to them – litter the bed, too. His dealer lets him take a small hit from the glass pipe. But there are no small hits really, only ravenous gulps of air, and whatever might be in it. He wants more. He can feel his bowels solidifying. This is good, he thinks.
    â€œYou see this dildo?” the dealer says, pointing to one of the large fleshy disembodied cocks on the bed.
    â€œYeah,” he says. He swallows another hit.
    â€œIt’s big, huh? You think you can take it in your ass?”
    â€œIt is a little too big for me,” he says.
    â€œWell, if you want anything at all, if you want me to give you anything at all, you will let me put it in you. Fuck you with it.”
    He thinks for a while. He takes another hit. He takes his prepared shot. He agrees.
    He lies on his back with his legs spread apart. The hit is prickling right through his body. He can feel it spread through him as if every capillary was trying to go neon. This must be what it feels like to be pickled, what a beetroot or an onion or a cucumber undergoes, he thinks this funny.
    The dealer is lubing the dildo. He grabs a bottle of lube and squirts some of the tacky fluid onto his fingers, smears it onto the ass. He runs a finger or two into the ass to loosen it up.
    He can feel the warm slush of his shit still there.
    The dealer pokes at the butthole with the head of the dildo. The butthole puckers up. The dealer pokes at it with a bit more force.
    He tries to loosen up, and the hits he has taken is helping. Poppers, he thinks. That will open everything up. White Rabbits would fall through. Rosebud would not be the name of his sled.
    The dealer mercifully changes tactics and proceeds with a smaller training butt-plug. The dealer pushes the butt-plug into the ass.
    He breathes in the right moment and motion, and the cruel projectile slips in but not without some sharp pain.
    The dealer lets him have another hit, a good big beautiful deep one while twisting the butt-plug around.
    His hole feels