Sex, Death and Nightmare Fuel

You know what’s interesting? Why my brain mixes filthy sex in an absurd setting with the horror genre.

I mean, one minute I’m hiding in a factory warehouse with a beloved actress from her friend transforming into a werewolf she beast — and the next I’m driving an American car while a Greek woman is naked and grinding into my kitten from the passenger seat of the car.

If I were to tell my mother, the gentlest human I know, the woman who would literally wash my mouth out with soap for cursing, this she would stop and think a moment — and say ‘Well, you didn’t get this from me.’

So why, brain? Tell me, why.

I’m an avid horror fan, ladies and gentleman. If you’re a long time reader you may have probably picked up on that fact – I merge erotica with dark fantasy and usually horror and I can tell you right now that a lot of my stories are purely from dreams – there’s hardly any fat or any filler I add later, it’s purely dream or nightmare fuel.

But yes, I’m an avid horror fan – Be it through books or film or tv, I soak up any media. Less so since I’m growing older and softer — but as a genre it’s something I gravitate towards because it’s such a liberating genre in a way – an artist can take this imagination and illustrate it via writing or via a movie with effects or lighting or animation – and that creation and ownership of fear, of that feeling of dread, is exhilarating and such a purge of emotion. I mean the world stops dead. You exist in the moment with this piece of media, do focused by this fear.

And sometimes not – sometimes you’re watching a bad movie you’ve seen way too many times before. Sometimes it’s a different purge, it’s a killer and these teens are going to get it. They’re stalked in a build up that is unleashed in a violent climax. Which, by the way, was always kinda sexy to me in a way I didn’t want to talk about because I felt guilty and fucked up. It was very primal and in a manner of being predator / prey.

So why is my brain mixing horror with eroticism? I have no freaking idea. Maybe because dreams are a funhouse of thoughts waiting to collide in some kaleidoscope of colours that is dependant on what you absorb in your life? Which, in my case, is the psychology of sex and…werewolf movies? I haven’t seen any lately? But I do like a good tortured human / beast movie!

I could be here all day talking elements – Why was I driving an American car? Why a Greek woman? Why on my lady? Because – back off, stranger – she’s mine! And why in a warehouse harbouring a werewolf?

As a horror fan, in the waking world, I was always intrigued by how horror films stimulate in their own way – how pressure builds and relaxes, builds and relaxes. Especially in, say, a slasher film, where sex is so often associated with death. A cynic would say that’s all marketed to the teenage demographic – and that’s correctomundo – but so many of the people I’ve met and friends made along the way as I’ve handled this blog have been into horror – so there’s a definite sexual link there beyond selling tickets to horny teenagers. It’s been interesting to find, in my own personal journey, that people who enjoy slasher films particularly are primal, whether they are aware or not.

But! It’s 2:43am in the morning and my caffeine is wearing out so it’s totally possible that I am just overtired and over-thinking!

The Dream, The Nightmare, The Incest

Have you ever had a dream that felt so real that you thought it was your waking life?

I was house sitting for my older sister by a couple of years while she ran some errands. A few hours later and she returned home complaining that she was feeling funky and needed a shower.

Okay, I had said, and sat on her second hand couch that shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is.

Sister – exit stage centre.

A few minutes go by. I’m petting her dog, a fat black sausage dog with a face of a pug.

She calls me up stairs. Uses my full name.

I’m confused but I walk the wooden stairs upwards. They creak. I’ve been here before, I think. This old house feels familiar.

I remember rounding the corner in the shower and seeing her ass first – so smooth, so beautiful. The perfect shape, covered in luscious beads of water.

‘I want you to watch me’ she says, her voice hushed.

She turns to face me, a razor in her right hand. From my deductions (elementary, dear Watson), she’s finished shaving her cunt.

‘I want you to watch me shower’

Her words have meaning, conviction. They ring true, despite of their strangeness, their otherworldly feeling.

But I just don’t watch her shower. I’m moving – no, I’m watching myself moving – and I’m reaching down to cup the curves of her ass.

And I’ve never thought of it before but my sister – slender, slightly tanned, olive eyes, 5 ft 9 – is shorter than me in ways I’ve never processed.

I remember how that feels, my hand on her ass, my ring finger resting between the smooth curves. I could slip it into her anus, I think, but I don’t, I’m staring into her eyes. Eyes that are confident and calm. They have no doubt, no fear.

I kiss her. And it’s amazing. It’s a full kiss, if that makes sense. Lengthy, no tongue, deep and sensual.

All the while I’m lifting her ass up to be level with my cock, hardening by the second.

When I enter her, it’s like nothing I’ve previously known. Warm, smooth, slick. Forbidden.

She eyes me, her eye colour flickers from olive to grey blue, eyes I’ve seen somewhere before.

But I can hear her mind, it’s loud and reverberating and it says I’ve wanted this too.

And I can’t stop pounding into her, it all feels good, the shower water – warm, just right – my hand on her ass, my mouth on hers.

And I think to myself as I kiss her – who else dreams? Who else feels so hot and aching and SURE but in their waking moments refuses to mention their dream out loud, out of fear of judgement, because it’s taboo and unwanted? Because, I think, I’m not alone. I refuse to believe that I am. I never have been before.

And then perception shifts significantly. I’m the audience now, not so much the main star.

There’s a mother, a decorated police officer, having tea with her only daughter.

Both women are slender, sandy blonde hair. Athletic.

While the mother takes away the empty tea cups, the daughter is surfing the web. Why? Only she knows. I’m just the observer.

Accidentally, she pulls up a folder. A folder full of video files – the mother, naked and masturbating, reclined on her bed, her hands working herself furiously. She’s moaning her daughter’s name.

The daughter cuts off the footage, calls her mother in and furiously unloads on her.

I can feel the mother’s shame radiating off her like heat. Not just shame, sadness. A huge hole where her heart should be.

The daughter demands to be driven home this instant. But I can feel the daughter’s thoughts too – burning brighter than her mother’s shame. There’s shame, indeed. But guilt. Guilt for what, I wonder. Then it hits me. The daughter enjoyed what she saw.

Have you ever had a dream that felt so real that you thought it was your waking life?

The time is now 

  

I am the entity that lives in your closet. I’ve been watching you for some time. Waiting until the right moment. Until you were at your weakest.

Why, weakest? So I could have you rise above and soar – like the wild wolf I’ve seen inside you. The one that likes to talk dirty to herself as she masturbates alone.
You’ve heard me once or twice. Fumbling about getting comfortable as you slip out of your teal cheetah print panties. I’ve inspired thoughts from your childhood. Something about shadows visiting you in the night. No matter.  
Come to me, child. Come to the wardrobe where I lay in wait. Slip that skimpy nighty off and let me see that skin of yours. The one those false Angels have clawed at on nights. But you and I both know that they were weak and undeserving. You know you have been waiting for the monster to take you to a nightmare. So: undress. I’m waiting. Can you hear my breathing? Listen closely. 
Undress. We have the time. 

What, you thought I was kidding child? Start to undress this instant. I don’t like to be kept waiting. Tonight is the night I can invade.

Are you staying still? Undress yourself for me now, you will do as I say. Don’t make me tell you again. I’m watching you, child, I know when you will be completely naked. 

There we go. All the way. There we go, there’s that trimmed cunt. Just the way I like it. 
Kneel for me, child. Swear your allegiance to me. I am the monster you begged for as your juices spurted across the sheets of an evening. Where is that animal now?
I have waited long enough. It is time now. It is MY time. All those men that have come before – they will not compel you like I will. They will not claw you like I can. I will make you float, dear girl. 
With upmost force I will possess your body with a pleasure beyond your world. Beyond your knowledge.
Understand you will not simply moan, you will scream so hard you will not recognise yourself. Understand you will come so hard you will gasp to push out that scream. 
Watch your sweet pale body rise above the floor as I open these doors. Watch as all reason leaves your mind, as it drives you mad. Watch as your breasts sting from my strikes, as the delicious bruises you have prayed for while laying in bed – the prayers that invited me in – appear on your breasts. Is the sting dizzying?

Watch as your juices smack against the carpet below. Once, twice. Three times. Your sweet cunt is flooded, child.
One last thing: do not be afraid of me. I mean you no harm. I will release you as an ascended being. Broken and bruised – but alive. Ascended. Your mind — opened. 
This moment has been a long time coming.