Hubert Selby Jr. Last Exit to Brooklyn

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.He tried thinking of something so he could ignore her and what she was doing and what was happening.He tried to concentrateon the fight he saw on t v last friday where Pete Laughlin beat the shit out of some fuckin nigga and had him bleedin all over the face and theref finally stopped the fight in the 6th and Harry was madashell that he stopped it.but still he was conscious of her hand on his thigh.Hetried remembering how the boss looked last week when he told him off again he smiled twistedly that bastard, he cant shove mearound.I tellim right to his face.Vice President.Shit, He knows he cant fuck with me.Id have the whole plant shut down in 5 minutes thecaressing hand still there.He could control nothing.The fuckin bitch.Why cant she just leave me alone.Why dont she goaway somewherewith that fuckin kid.Id like ta rip her cunt right the fuck outta her.He squeezed his eyes shut so hard they pained then suddenly rolled over on Mary, hitting her on the head with his elbow, squeezing herhand between his legs as he turned, almost breaking her wrist Mary stunned for a moment, hearing more than feeling his elbow hit her;struggling to free her hand; seeing his body on hers; feeling his weight, his hand groping for her crotch.then she relaxed and put her armsaround him.Harry fumbled at her crotch anxious and clumsy with anger; wanting to pile drive his cock into her, but when he tried hescratched and burned the head and he instinctively stopped for a second, but his anger and hatred started him lunging and lunging until hefinally was all the way in Mary wincing slightly then sighing and Harry shoved and pounded as hard as he could, wanting to drive thefucking thing out of the top of her head; wishing he could put on a rubber dipped in iron filings or ground glass and rip her guts out Marywrapping her legs around his and tightening her arms around his back, biting his neck, rolling from side to side with excitement as she felt allof his cock going in her again and again Harry physically numb, feeling neither pain nor pleasure, but moving with the force andautomation of a machine; unable now to even formulate a vague thought, the attempt at thought being jumbled by his anger and hatred; noteven capable of trying to determine if he was hurting her, completely unaware of the pleasure he was giving his wife; his mind not allowinghim to reach the quick climax he wanted so he could roll off and over; unaware that his brutality in bed was the one thing that kept his wifeclinging to him and the harder he tried to drive her away, to split her guts with his cock, the closer and tighter she clung to him and Maryrolled from side to side half faint with excitement, enjoying one orgasm, another, while Harry continued driving and pounding until eventuallythe semen flowed, Harry continuing with the same rhythm and force, feeling nothing, until his energy drained with the semen and he stoppedsuddenly, suddenly nauseous with disgust.He quickly rolled off his wife and lay on his side, his back toward her, and gripped the pillowwith his hands, almost tearing it, his face buried in it, almost crying; his stomach crawling with nausea; his disgust seeming to wrap itselfaround him as a snake slowly, methodically and painfully squeezing the life from him, but each time it reached the point where just theslightest more pressure would bring an end to everything: life, misery, pain, it stopped tightening, retained the pressure and Harry just hungthere his body alive with pain, his mind sick with disgust.He moaned and Mary reached over and touched his shoulder, her body stilltingling.She closed her eyes, her body relaxing, and soon went to sleep, her hand slowly sliding from Harrys shoulder.Harry could do nothing but endure the nausea and slimy disgust.He wanted to smoke a cigarette, but was afraid, afraid that the slightestmovement, even the taking of a deep breath, would cause him to heave his guts up; afraid even to swallow.So he just lay there, a sour tastein his throat; his stomach seeming to be pressuring against his palate; his face still buried in the pillow; his eyes tightly squeezed shut;concentrating on his stomach, trying to think the pressure and foul taste away or, if not, at least control it.He knew, after years of fighting it,losing each time and ending up hanging over a bowl or sink if he was lucky enough to make it there, that this was all he could do.Nothingelse would help.Except crying.And he was no longer able to cry [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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