❖ Blog post by lwflouisa
There was a white mug spilled on the pavement of the parking lot. The manager didn't seem to pay attention, as he was to busy picking fights with other motel tenants.
My sexuality was like a constantly moving train, no matter what stops you have you will always come out ahead. The lady lump was beginning to develop into a sore subject. The desire for human contact fading nightly, and yet some calling need to find out where Anna-Marie had gone. Anna-Marie was the opposite of a digital cyberspace dream girl. I had known others only briefly outside of the inter webs. I clung to the idea of some vague notion of human innocents from game console flower girls in science fantasy games. And yet some or the lack of it had become a moot point.
I never found myself willing to hold onto relationships. They were a burden I simply did not even need. The closest I ever came to a relationship was being sucked off by a slightly homely but not altogether ugly girl. I didn't want to break her heart as we both knew it was arranged by some other slave master.
As I wander to find Anna-Marie, I am consumed by my inner thoughts and worries about whether she might do something stupid. I wasn't the type to rescue girls.
I merely wanted the entrainment.
I hadn't seen a beheading of someone I liked. I had mixed feelings of whether I wanted it to happen at all.
As I allow her decapitation to happen I am in a state of shock, the angled blade cutting through flesh and bone reverberating across my junk. I have a mixture of sexual feelings and depression as I say goodbye for the last time, watching blood spill into the basket.
My digital cyberspace dream girl was gone. Originally my feelings of Anna-Marie were that of shameful reluctance for love. She would become my Anna-Marie. Cyberspace girls cant be hurt or broken. There is only digital innocence on the web.
I wondered when the dream scanners caught her, I just needed somewhere to be.
Glad I wore three extra layers of jeans. A mixture of some horrible eroticism and sadness.
Dating girls had always been a tricky prospect for me, after all I had issues with girls ever since I first came out as trans. In my mind I wanted my own cyber pet dream girl, yet I always had one girl who would always follow me around to talk me as I felt down about Anna-Marie's death. She was a short girl, a little under five feet, yet her proportions were like that of a smaller person rather than someone who was suppose to be taller.
I never could quite tell what region she was an immigrant from, but it almost definitely was not France or Ireland. She had the longest black curly hair, and black eyes you could stare into all night on a lunar evening under the stars. Looking back on it I should have taken the opportunity to date. Yet I was so lost in my personal sorrows without a worldly care.
Yet she was always there.
"So what's your name?" I asked.
"They call me Dog, Dog Snacks. It's a long story."
"Oh I love those."
She rested on my shoulder, her bare feet dipping her toes in the artificial lake, artificial in the sense that it was a lake crafted by engineers when building this here hotel. "Well I once accidentally ate dog treats confusing them for cocoa puffs when I was a real young girl. Family hadn't been able to let go of the idea sense."
There were many aspects of Dog I didn't know. I just saw her as some annoying cute girl that would follow me everywhere she went.
We would go everywhere together, she would notice my boner when girls tap danced. It seemed to take a lot of will power for her not to masturbate me on stage nights. But one day she went missing. She kept hoping, hoping, and hoping I would rescue her. She got angry when she scraped by being guillotined.
And yet she stood with me till the end. Forgiving me for not going to games.
She became the girl that would eventually lose her head in the arcades.
No wonder she never told me about her family.
Her family sucked.
And yet here I am feeling like I failed Anna-Marie and my girl named dog. My dating life would never be the same.
"She sounded like a great friend to you." the wine glass washer said.
"Yea she sure was." I said. She was more then a, friend.
She a girl named dog.
Devoted until the end.
It was a few months since I lost Anna-Marie.
After she died I heard about a Guillotine gun street gang. They were the most feared gang in from NashChat to Seatak, traversing across the country at the speed of an electronic train; they could ride the coat tails of corporate men, and slash the throats of ladies held for ransom. They killed close to ten thousand women, the trail of severed heads paving the road like new marbled floor.
And yet the time I met them, they didn't seem to pay any particular attention to me at all. They didn't seem to care about the fact that I knew they were after a particular artifact from the old era of the US. I was minding my own business, trying merely to live my life, as I'd never been one for gun fights. After all in my opinion gun fights were things macho people did to prove their worth. But when you get to where I'm at, you're just trying to live your life as a writer, jotting down personal journals about your experience across what the Japanese called the west--the United States as a whole. So I didn't think I'd ever been in the situation where I'd even consider saving someone's life. That was until I saw the Rattle Snake Insignia.
The thing about Rattle Snakes, is they were like spiders to me. They could pop in and out of existence at their leisure. At night I would have dreams of giant spiders and rattle snakes attempting to bite me while I traversed the wild woods of the mind, scattering sanity like shattered glass. But I wondered what Anna-Marie would have wanted, certainly there was something in her eyes that trusted me like nobody else ever had before. I wanted some way to return that favor, even if I didn't like the French girl that I was going to save and--at the time was entirely uncertain whether I'd guillotine gun her myself. After all a kink for decapitation was part of my human nature, as natural to me as for you you might consider breathing.
And there was something in those eyes that softened my soul, and made me realized all my personal issues from that point. There is something about looking straight into someone's face, and finding despite unconditional love they find in your eyes someone they fear greatly, and through their own trust issues have a look of total betrayal. And they continued to love you despite your faults. My first girlfriend Dog had this trait, and to some degree also Anna-Marie. With Anna-Marie it was even more special, because I finally managed to succeed at something I never thought I could before she died, as she gradually came to trust me.
I saved her from killing herself.
And that makes all the difference when you hate yourself. Therefore I needed to find a way to tempt the gang when they came to my town. I didn't want to save whatever girl they captured, as that simply wasn't my thing. But I was willing to allow that to happen if the gang were more tempted to decapitate me, so that perhaps I could be with my Anna-Marie.
If not for her than for Anna-Marie.
"Go on, save yourself. Don't worry about me." I said to the dark brunette, likely of French immigrant origin.
As she ran her bare feet glistened in the sun like manicured hands, her heels forming the shape of hairless puff balls in the wind as they bobbed up and down in her Jesus sandals. I found that my lady junk was beginning to become a lot wetter. I managed to attract the attention of the gang, and they managed to get the loop around my own neck.
Then a bullet was fired. An actual bullet. Not a flying guillotine blade, not shrapnel. But the actual old time bullets left over from before the French take over, before they outlawed gun altogether in French controlled regions. I'm surprised the French did not take over the inter webs, but I suppose that wasn't their thing. I may be cyber sexual, but I am romantic--almost to a fault.
A second shot was fired.
Everyone else besides her ran.
"Nice to meet you, Francisca is the name." the cute girl said. Evidently she was less reluctant to save me than me to her, I hate it when I owe others my life. But I suppose that's how it goes.
"Why didn't you let me die."
"I couldn't resist the mix of joy and sadness."
Wow, the bitch enjoyed my sadness. We were outlaws beyond the dreamer's edge, so I couldn't complain. The life of me being a mix of reality and non-reality, the conceptual life bleeding into the real. I wasn't sure how she would take my cyber sexuality, or my inability to trust her. But she didn't mind. Not enough not to go down on me.
I'll fuck anyone who hot who will go down on me.
I'll fuck them up badly.