The Eighteenth Party Congress © 2007
Zhou An and Li Lian entered the large, ornate hall, carpeted in deep, plush red. An enormous chandelier dangled from the ceiling. At the end of the room, the gigantic white bust of the dead but revered leader looked down on them with blind, unseeing eyes.
“Wow,” gasped Zhou An.
Li Lian giggled and popped her gum. “Cool, huh?”
In the background, an amplified, strident voice announced new agricultural policies and exhorted increased vigilance against encroaching western decadence.
They stood there, proud party members, sipping their complimentary Pepsis.
Later that evening, Zhou An, bent over the back of a garishly brocaded sofa with her army green skirt pushed up over her hips, grunted as a uniformed septuagenarian pounded her pert little ass. His numerous medals tinkled on his chest with every thrust.
Naked but for her sam brown belt and her peaked cap, Li Lan sat on the sofa watching. “Chin up, comrade. The motherland expects self-sacrifice from all its members.”
“But he’s so….old!” whined Zhou An.
“He’s a hero of the revolution, sweetie,” retorted Li Lian.
“This wasn’t what I joined the party for. I thought it was—you know—a party. Like the ones on MTV.”
* * * * *
A Man of Flowers © 2005
The obscenity hung cradled in hothouse bondage in the cool morning air. He misted the trailing, silver-skinned roots and then dried them with soft puffs of his breath. Viridian, lingulate leaves trembled in scent-aroused resonance.
As the sun crept higher, he pulled the netted shade overhead, cosseting his sybaritic beauty.
Twenty-three years of genetic coaxing, its Chysis origins lost in fanatical hybridization, this single monstrous bloom nodded heavily on its stem. Rich vermillion and trumpet-throated, its labellum strained outward in blind desire.
At dusk he came naked into the garden, cut the flower, wept, and then penetrated it.
* * * * *
Early Morning at the Temple of Amun-Ra © 2005
In darkness, Seshseshet performed her ablutions in the soda-laced water. She anointed her skin with myrrh oil and lined her eyes with khol and lapis.
Walking naked between rows of white-robed sisters, Seshseshet entered the dark chamber. Though the single narrow window, the stars of Nut’s belly glimmered.
On the obsidian altar, she straddled the monstrous oiled phallus. She whimpered prayers as she forced herself down onto him. Seshseshet began to ride the god.
Chanting urged the god onwards as Seshseshet served him feverishly, faithfully. Then suddenly he erupted inside her, bringing her to climax, and the world into sunlight.