"An Instilled Corruption"

He had the back of his hand stamped. All Ages. Ecstasy induced trance throbbed, pulsed, and pounded him into the chill room. "What shit," he thought, "Amazing what 'ya must endure just for a whiff of pussy."

She was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, attempting to read a book in the blacklight. To Ravage-gorr, what she was doing seemed futile --- just another pose. She acted like she didn't notice him, too engrossed in her intellectual pursuit.

Of course, maybe she couldn't recognize him from where he stood --- the lightning being so annoyingly psychedelic. He knew this was her, though. She could be no one else.

He'd just have to rearrange her focus. He could see her. Now it was her turn to view him.

He walked up to her, asked what she was trying to read.

"Oh. It's you. Stalking me again," she remarked.

She handed him the book and a penlight. Paperback, an old wreck. It's cover, almost a blur in parts, looked stained --- here and there blobs of color.

The paperback's title and author suddenly came into psychedelic clarity. Electric purple and pink colors and flowery lettering jumped out at the reader. No matter the paperback's overall decrepit state, its title and author's name seemed vivid as ever, unaffected by the years and had obviously been designed to be read under blacklight and lava lamp conditions --- not unlike this chill room where a teen vixen was trying to play with him.

But she wasn't trying --- she was. Playing with Ravage-gorr as if he were an insect.

'Free Trip Mama' seemed the paperback's title, though the upper half of a circle of colorful psychedelic lettering made it a challenge to decipher. In the lower half of the circle appeared the author's name. Psychedelized even more than the book's title, it translated non-conclusively as G. Assid.

"A real find... collectors will die for such shit," he thought. With the penlight, he inspected the cover a little more closely. "Yea, stained alright." Then slowly an old underground style of illustration began to assemble itself.

Depicted was a busty, topless curvaceous tramp in tight, unzipped cutoffs lolling on the ground. Legs apart. One hand down the front of her crotch, the other behind her head. Her eyes half mast, tongue out and curled up from pleasure --- just a bitch in heat in stoned abandon. And angling off to one side of her, in the foreground, was a line of empty cycles --- while angling off to the other side of her, also in the foreground, was a line of beer guzzling hippy bikers about to bang her and make her day.

Detailed sex sleaze graphics has taken up every inch of space within the circle of psychedelic letters. Once Ravage-gorr had discovered and begun to explore the emerging horn dog's comic throughout the center of the book's cover, he had trouble pulling himself out.

He was aware he was spending too much time perusing the paperback's artwork. He didn't care. He could feel her watching him in the blacklit room.

"Well let her watch," he thought as he stood over her with the book in his hand, "She just needs to keep sitting... oh baby --- learn to behave."

He began flipping through the paperback. Some pages were loose, and the penlight exposed some of the book's pages as being more obviously stained than the cover.

Ravage-gorr read a few passages here and there. Porno. Nothing more, nothing less. 100% Straight up GRADE A trash.

"Want your book back?" he asked, motioning her.

She stood up. He let the penlight's shine linger on her face. He noticed she had slipped on a pair of horn rimmed glasses. Not the trendy kind, but old fashioned.

She was blinking her eyes --- was it from the light or was it from some nervous twitch, he wondered?

She stopped blinking. He concluded she probably didn't need glasses --- must have bought them at a thrift shop, worn sometimes just for effect. They made her look conservative, mousy, bookwormishly sexy. Not the least bit girlish though.

She seemed to be always changing, he thought. How many times had he seen her now? Not many. And each time she had a different look and act.

Then he smelled her perfume --- or maybe it wasn't her perfume, maybe it was naturally her, organically her --- dangerously breezy, floral --- something else in which he'd always remember her.

No, this female wasn't wearing any perfume tonight, he decided. Of course he could be wrong. Yet her age was bullshit --- she was definitely a woman, not a girl. This he felt strongly. Thirteen be damned.

"Thirteen? How'd that age, that number get into his head anyway?" he asked himself. He never remembered her ever telling him her age. He assumed she was young, but thirteen? Well, he hadn't ruled out the possibility. With her anything could be true. Right now she seemed closer to twenty three.

Standing before him, she didn't fidget --- arms hanging by her sides. Patiently she waited. Waited for Ravage-gorr to say, do something... anything maybe... at least give her book back... anything.

Ambient electronica had been lulling itself to death in the chill room and had gone unnoticed by Ravage-gorr until now.

"Death, dumb death," he thought, "maybe it's like this if you find yourself alive, floating around in space after you've died. Fucking stupid."

He wanted to kiss her hard. Here. Right now. In this ridiculous space tomb.

He gave her book back.

"Ever heard of Roman Polanski?" she asked.

"Yea, the director," he answered.

"Huh, huh. Sharon Tate, actress, his wife... She was pregnant, you know, when Charlie Manson killed her," she said.

"Manson wasn't even there. Some of his, uh, family said he told them to do whatever the fuck they did. I heard there was a mix-up, they even killed the wrong person. Really don't know much about it." Ravage-gorr said.

"Read the book," she whispered in his ear.

" 'Family' by Ed Sanders. Better 'n what I'm reading now."

"Shit's old," he said. "Been driven into the ground and dug up too many times. Don't even bother with the news. All lies for money."

Ravage-gorr was trying his best not to let her ear breathing get to him. But it had. Very much. She owned him --- both now and before --- ever since their first encounter.

"Whatever," she said, moving away from him. Then added, "Polanski lives in Europe now. Can't live here. He'll go to jail. Got busted --- partyn' with a couple of thirteen year old chicks."

"So what's your point?" he asked her.

"Saw 'Rosemary's Baby' the other night. My friend said he directed it. Did he?" she asked ingeniously --- then playfully "Groovy, huh?"

"Never seen it. Dunoo," Ravage-gorr lied. He'd seen it. Liked it. The director --- Ravage-gorr could care less.

"It's about... oh never mind," she said, "I told you I'm a virgin. Wanna, gonna stay that way forever. But never told you I'm thirteen."

"Now I know," he mumbled, attempting to hide his astonishment.

"Yea. You do. Now. Of course you don't really, do you? Oh yea, I've got a fake ID. Didn't need it tonight, but you never know. Makes me twenty-three. Can you believe that?" she said, laughing. Yet the laugh seemed a little strained.

Ravage-gorr didn't know where this conversation was going, but he felt it was time for it to end.

He handed her back the penlight. As he'd already given her back her book, he turned to go.

"There's something I must tell you," she said, as if what she already told him wasn't enough.

Reluctantly he turned back to her.

She continued, "Don't drink. Don't smoke. I'm clean. No drugs. And don't scare easy."

"That I believe..." he said, "don't scare easy."

"My family's in Singapore, on vacation. Or is it Egypt? Don't know. Who cares. I'm part Lebanese, Chinese, African, a little Indian --- a real slut of the world."

"This is what you wanted to tell me," he said, interrupting her, "you're a virgin and a slut?"

Ravage-gorr knew he'd just set himself up for more of her diversions, but he hadn't been able to resist. He should've been gone by now. Or fucking her virginity.

For a few moments, she said nothing. Next, pouted "Lemme finish." And then gravely, in near mock solemnity, she began "Our house alarm is broken. All the live-ins are at a funeral wake getting drunk. Can't lock my window for some reason. A friend of mine says I can stay at her house, but her parents are weird... oh her cousin's even worse. You saw my gun. I sleep with it under my pillow. Know how to use it, believe you me do I, and not just the way you think. I can protect myself, shoot better 'n any cop."

"Want me to stay over? Just for safety?" he asked her, almost expecting her, though never quite wanting her, to say yes.

She didn't disappoint.

"No. Definitely no."

And then she added, "If any of the servants came back and found you there... well, they'd have something on me. No matter how much I bribed them, my parents 'd find out for sure. Be in major trouble for having a man in the house alone --- no excuses."

"Yea, she's crazy... nothing new," he thought.

"Just offering," he said.

"Guess I'll stay with my friend. Maybe better not. Just go away. Leave me alone. Need to think about it. It'll work out. Could stay at a hotel. Yea, that's what I'll do," she said.

"Yea," Ravage-gorr said.

"Ok. Go back where you came from. Never wanna see you again. Quit following me," she said.

Ravage-gorr turned away again. She didn't say anything else. Walking from her, he imagined her sitting in the blacklit chill room with the old used porno paperback and a penlight, discreetly masturbating, somehow avoiding anymore male contact. Though turned on, he was utterly confused.

He left the club and walked back to his car illegally parked a few blocks away.

The side street was deserted, except for silent construction from equipment. A church across his parked car appeared gutted, abandoned. Near it was the only street light that gave off any illumination at all, and it acted more like a strobe --- flashing on and off intermittently.

Ravage-gorr could hear cats mating somewhere, probably in the church. Their screeches, violent and anguished, were haunting.

"It must be late," he thought. He hadn't looked at his watch all evening. He didn't bother doing it now.

He drove around for a while, listened to the radio. Sports talk. Changed the station. Sex and relationships. Changed the station. News. Changed the station. Classic Rock. He liked Rush... wasn't too far from her house.

Metallica came on. Changed the station. Couldn't stand what they'd become.

Stones. 'Satisfaction'.

He knew where she lived. He'd seen her walking down the street and had followed her home. It hadn't been as late as this, but was night.

He'd watched her enter a mansion. It's only light on had been by the door. Waited. Then walked to the side of the house where a light had just come on. Here, upstairs, in what he'd assumed was her room, he watched her undress before pulling the curtains closed. It was as if she'd known someone was watching. The room went dark.

He'd asked himself "Where'd she been coming from? Why'd she been walking alone at night? Exercising? Ha! Walking slowly, casually like a whore. Yea. Hips swaying like a whore. And dressed in a school girl's uniform. Catholic?"

Ravage-gorr had never been able to find out where she went to school --- not that he'd really ever tried, much.

"Maybe she'd been studying with a neighbor friend," he thought. He'd remembered her little backpack, perfect for books. But where she went to school, he hadn't a clue. "What year was she in? And where were her family, servants, anyone?" Inside, the house had seemed dark when she'd entered.

Ravage-gorr parked a good ten minute walk from her house and not on its street. When he got out of his car, he realized he'd been sitting on a paperback stuck in his back pocket, along with a penlight he'd use to read with from time to time --- like the penlight she'd had in the chill room back at the all ages club. Ravage-gorr often had the urge to read from time to time --- a compulsion for a fix --- much like hers perhaps.

He pulled out the paperback and penlight. The book was in better shape than the sleaze trash she'd had, and written many years before.

"Journey To The End Of The Night', by Louis-Ferdinand Celine. He opened it, read a few pages, then tossed the masterpiece onto the front seat of his car, returned the penlight to his pocket. Locked his vehicle.

Ravage-gorr went to the car's trunk and opened it, got out a long neatly rolled up rope.

He'd been practicing with the rope earlier in the week, upon discovering a secluded, vacated building with balconies. He'd become proficient throwing one end of the rope onto a balcony's ledge, easing it thru a space in the railing, manipulating it around several bars, then looping the rope through a space between these and others, bringing the rope's end back down to his feet. Here he would tie a knot, climb up the rope, pull and swing himself up and over the balcony railing, reach his destination.

After being able to land on the balcony quickly and smoothly a number of times, he congratulated himself. "Better 'n comic book kids."

Ravage-gorr's rationale for perfecting his rope feat had been to use it in a Truth Thru Sacrilege performance. Now he knew --- of course he'd really know all along --- that his performance tonight at the multicultural girl's mansion was all for which he'd been readying himself.

With the rope under his jacket, he drifted to her house. He felt as if he were in a dream. The world he was passing through now was peaceful, quiet. As he moved along the sidewalk, it was if he were slightly above it. He couldn't hear his own footsteps, nor anything else. The street light, trees, big houses, manicured lawns and impeccable gardens seemed not unlike an installation at a museum.

Getting onto her Balcony was almost too easy. Ravage-gorr found himself standing there, the rope bundled up by his feet, yet he couldn't even remember climbing to get to where he was. The night had grown cold, windy.

Her window was actually two panes --- French. He found them unlocked, as she had said. And they served as doors as well as a window.

He opened the window doors. The drapes had been pulled back --- an entrance anticipated perhaps. Carefully --- oh so cautiously --- he closed the panes behind him, infiltrated her room.

Ravage-gorr immediately moved to one side of a window door, fumbled with a drape, felt ruffles and lace, unclasped a tieback, let the drapery half fall. Next he stealthily moved to the far side of the other window door, played with another drapery tieback, unclasped it as he'd done with its opposite.

Now the room was very dark. To Ravage-gorr, it felt warm, cozy. He had the rope loosely coiled about his neck, and trains of thought flowed --- magical, fanciful --- even at a time like this, especially at a time like this.

"To slay your demons, you must invoke. Carouse... comingle."

"Thoughts... a grave train, or maybe gravey soul for the gravey train... just depends on the station... if you're getting on, or off."

This last idea Ravage-gorr had whenever other thoughts seemed to be coming from outside him. Nevertheless it seemed to make sense. Still, he took it more as a warning than as an insight to something he couldn't rationally understand.

"Shall I coerce?" A voice inside him asked.

Suddenly he was enslaved to this reoccurring melodrama of the out and in. And with who now --- if anyone other than himself? Well, whoever it was, wasn't far --- and it was a girl woman, and she was getting in.

"You need to love your hang-ups to be free... your Celeste... I'm your thirteen year old virgin whore," he heard her say in his head. "Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis... true blue... had Lolilita. Rockabilly Super Stars... True Black Metal, what's the diff between one man's heart and another man's anyway? Guess it's how you truly love, hate --- you're all about your laws," Celeste coo'd in his brain.

"Fuck your True Black Metal Rockabilly Super Stars." Ravage-gorr shot back at her --- in his brain, from his brain. His brand of True Black Metal was not that of some pelvis gyrating redneck, he swore to himself. Or was it?

"Drive My Truck, boy. Burn My Church. Lick the sweat off my unwhite brown yellow black skin. I will reward you in Hell! Burn My Church down! Fuck, I don't go to church. I'm not christian. Yet I'm in your church, honey... your sweet holy slut goddess." Celeste screamed.

"So you're a Satanic chick," Ravage-gorr thought back to her.

"I'm muslim, hindu, buddhist, a voodoo child... atheist --- yea I'm that too. Satan is christian --- I'm not that except to you." Celeste answered him.

"SATAN IS NOT CHRISTIAN!!" Ravage-gorr shouted in his mind.

"Religion is man's greatest crime." Celeste calmly replied, "Thy Original Sin."

She was scarily precocious. Yet in truth, of course not. She wasn't a teen --- Ravage-gorr had to keep reminding himself --- even after this last conversation of thought which had seemed to make her older than himself. She could have been very old, possibly. He then thought, thousands of years. Yet he had the urge to protect her --- her implied innocence --- while ravishing her, somehow at the same time.

Ravage-gorr reached into his back pocket and retrieved the penlight. Flicked it on. Shone it about the room. On one side was her dresser. He thought of her bras and panties. Grew aroused. On top of the dresser was a candle.

Across from the dresser, she lay supine on her bed, naked and uncovered. Ravage-gorr was not surprised --- in fact he knew she had been waiting for him.

He walked over to the dresser and lit the candle with a match from a match pack lying next to it. Then he walked over to her bed, the rope still coiled about his neck.

Soon he was hovering over her. With her eyes closed, her hair spread out across the pillow, she looked so virtuous and young. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for her man. Lou Reed had had it all wrong, Ravage-gorr laughed to himself.

He began to watch her tummy rise and fall. Next he thought, "A virgin's breath is fucking nazi... really fucking nazi." Yes, she had convinced him once again that she was dangerously young, and unsullied... And all the while holding the key to both his freedom, and incarceration.

Next he realized, that in her state of seductive purity, lying vulnerable to him and his every whim, she was a lot more than a dark underage taboo --- she was darker than dark --- fuck more blacker than black --- she was truly his angel of love and death.

Pathetic. Thirteen years old. Yea, right. How do I know your age... or if you're pure? Yea, he thought, not just are you more woman tha girl... you're more nympho than cherry. And I want you, slut. Freak.

Her breasts were fuller than when seen in the forest, and her dark nipples --- mre prominent than ever. He looked down between her partially open thighs. Her labia had thickened since he'd last gazed at it, or at least he thought so. And her vulva seemed to have a few more wisps of black pubic hair.

He remembered how she'd stood naked directly above him, legs spread, her inner ankles touching each of his outer ones, aiming a hand gun at him, then using the side of its barrel to massage her pussy's mound down to the top of its slit.

Next, while arousing her clit with the gun's butt --- at least that's how he was remembering it now --- she had the gun pointed at his crotch... or was it his heart? She could've shot him as she came. But she didn't. Didn't shoot him.

Didn't seem to orgasm, though maybe she had --- how would he have known? He remembered she'd just moaned and smiled, while he got so hard he ached to the point of torture. Every cell in him had exploded. And his cock had continued to hurt, seemingly about ti rip out of its skin. Then suddenly his orgasm tore up his spine, spread through his brain and incapacitated him to the point of cataniac numbness.

He could never forget how she had introduced herself. Never. And he was recalling every detail now.

He remembered how he was left paralyzed and astounded as she turned and ran away laughing, waving the gun in the air. And he recollected how his hard-on has slowly relazed as she disappeared.

Now she was the one lying down, Ravage-gorr knew she was just acting like she was sleeping, waiting for him to do something. But he wasn't going to fuck her, or even jack himself off, he decided.

He had the rope. And it was feeling very sexy. I can kill myself with it, he thought. Naw. Too mundane.

First I'll have to tongue her cunt... No... Not tonight. Something was holding Ravage-gorr back.

Getting sentenced for having sex with a minor wasn't a concern of his. Prison --- he wasn't afraid of it. He could take care of himself there --- defend himself against any gang boy pervert --- of this he was confident. If anything, physically damaging someone supremely would be a good release of stress for both him and his aggressor. And the Solitary Confinement --- so much the better! He could meditate on his Satanic Beliefs until he reached a state of no mind --- no thought --- and then bathe himself in emptiness. To Ravage-gorr, Satanic philosophy and practice was the Western version of the Tao.

Actually though, most of his waking time, he felt like he was in prison. But there were different kinds of prisons, while now there was The Cage --- that in which he presently found himself. A cage within a prison, and he was finding it more than tolerable.

He now needed this virgin slut. And he wanted her unfucked. Unsullied. She had instilled a corruptness in him through her wild pureness. He had become an addict, and there was no escape from his addiction --- perhaps hers as well --- this game of The Sex Cage.

He, her Satanic cagemaster, She --- his virgin whore, and cage mistress.

Ancient. An ancient game. The teen virgin whore... an old spirit playing with him. He felt time closing in, choking him... he had been caressing the rope around his neck instead of his seductive prey.

Something else had begun to creep into his mind, though. Had begun to gnaw into him. He suspected she had other demons besides Ravage-gorr to play with --- feed her addiction --- and they were far more lethal than anything he, or she, might offer.

Slowly Ravage-gorr grew tired, weary of these oceans of thought. And yes, Celeste was the ocean and the sea. Ravage-gorr could never weary her. But these thoughts... he could take no more of them tonight.

Her bed was now empty. And she was gone, like before... had disappeared as always.

Finally the room emptied itself, grew cold. The candle burning down to nothing, went out. Hi spenlight... dead.

Ravage-gorr. Vagabond.

The building in which he found himself later was a haven for vermin and littered with maggot infested body parts.

He took a deep breath. Tasted piss, shit, rotting flesh.

Morning came and went.

Black Metal reached for the sun.