New Fiction: The Slave by Julia Long
Nate was looking at pornography on the computer. The girl in the photos had hair down to her ass and an awesome squiggly body type. There was enough variety:
- hanging upside down from monkey bars
- fucked by Latin dude
- all fours on the roof of a car
- giving/getting head in a public restroom, blindfolded
At the top of the page it said AMBER’S PLAYHOUSE in a glittery hot pink font.
Lamb let himself in and found Nate in the basement. Lamb was Nate’s friend. “This is my cousin,” said Nate. Amber was not Nate’s cousin. Nate was showing Lamb a video of Amber roleplaying with a man. “He’s going to pretend to be a chiropractor now,” said Nate. The man in the video pretended to be a chiropractor. “He’s going to nut on her face,” said Nate. The man ejaculated on Amber’s face. Nate said “Got damnnn” and Lamb had no opinion about the video. Lamb was fantasizing.
He was thinking about a sandwich:
- a triple decker sandwich with caramel-filled chocolate chip cookies instead of bread
- a full 4oz stick of melted butter
- ~20 dill pickle shafts
- french fries soaking wet with oil
- glistening Buffalo chicken cheese balls
- Canadian bacon
- bacon jerky
- candied bacon
- normal bacon
- creamy melted asiago
- Swiss with all its gorgeous holes
- two runny fried eggs dribbling their hot gold egg jelly all over the rest of the damn thing
- deep fried in bacon grease and extra virgin olive oil
- so fresh off the squealing pan it’d still be smoking
- double penetrated by olives on toothpicks
He’d eat the whole thing in one bite.
“It turns POV now, it’s good,” said Nate and Lamb had no opinion. “Oh hell yeah,” Lamb said on autopilot. Nate’s sister/housemate Stephanie came downstairs too. She was all wet from the shower, wearing a towel. Everyone said hi.
“My friend got in a car accident,” said Stephanie, “she’s okay but she crashed her car into a utility pole. People’s power went out.” Lamb felt normal. “Should we order pizza?” said Stephanie. Pizza. Lamb’s head became sick with dirty images of ribbed to-go boxes, blushing pepperoni, and gymnast-limber cheese with conscious bubbles. He felt hot. There was no excuse for being hot. They were inside; there was no weather.
“I don’t really care either way,” said Nate. I can’t relate to you, Lamb thought. Stephanie pulled up a chair so she could look at porn too. Everyone started talking about life and what they were doing with it. “I actually got a job at the pub on 5th/Harlow,” said Nate, “I’m gonna be a bartender, I start Tuesday. I thought you need a license to be a bartender but I guess not, which is good since I don’t wanna take all the classes.” “Get paid!” said Lamb. It seemed like the right thing to say. “Those wouldn’t even be hard classes,” said Stephanie, “Try being in real school.” She was in real school. Nate just did what he wanted. Lamb paid rent with money from his dead grandma and savings from high school jobs. He had yet to do a thing. One day he would get paid, one day he would take a class, one day he would make a porno, one day he would do a thing. It all sounded like stuff he could be bad at. Lamb’s chronic leg twitch got really obvious. It was panic attack time. He said he had to go meet Amanda.
Amanda was in her ‘new’ underwear. She was on top of Lamb in bed. “They’re new,” said Amanda. She snapped the thing against her hip. It was the only thing she was wearing. Lamb felt neutral. “All I can say is wow,” he said on autopilot. “I need this us-time right now,” said Amanda, “I just went to my mom’s and met her boyfriend. He was wearing gauchos which just no. Then my mom got mad at me when she caught me in her room looking through the divorce papers.” Lamb couldn’t think of anything more dull in the world. “Sorry baby girl,” he said. Lamb wasn’t sorry about whatever the fuck Amanda said.
Amanda’s breasts were breasts. Her breasts looked like, like, like fruit. Her skin was okay and there and had no effect on the world.
“I want you in my mouth,” said Amanda. It was head time but Lamb felt normal and couldn’t get it up. “Think about me fucking you,” said Amanda, “Think about my asshole.” Lamb started fantasizing:
- expired fish sticks with caramel drizzle and whipped cream
- house-sized block of white chocolate
- coconut cream cake + salsa
- brownie lasagna
- brownie lasagna + mashed potatoes
- an entire package of cupcakes
- an entire all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet
- stale cereal w/ chocolate milk + sugar + salt + pepper
- a bathtub of butter
- s’mores + gravy
- oatmeal + fries
What was supposed to happen did.
Lamb woke up in the evening (that was normal for him). Amanda was gone. He felt a super kind of relief. Lamb went to the grocery store feeling so high. He had a sense of being outside himself, like it was a video. The door in was automatic. Lamb got a basket. In the nut butter aisle, there were USDA certified organic options as well as MSG-filled generic brands in bulk sizes. Lamb got a 40oz Family Size jar of a brand of peanut butter he knew was MSG-filled and evil. Then he went to the aisle called Snack Time. What’s the most evil thing here? he thought. Hostess Twinkies, he realized, were the most terrible, evil things ever. He put a huge box of Hostess Twinkies in his basket. In the frozen food section he found an evil TV dinner that combined pizza + wings + waffles.
Lamb was a smooth criminal. It was self-checkout time.
By the entrance/exit was a rack for an international newspaper with a cover story on bombings in Syria. Human Rights Watch thought Syria was using barrel bombs. Lamb didn’t know what a barrel bomb was and badly didn’t want to know. He had little to no knowledge and planned on keeping it that way. He didn’t read or watch the news and whatever he learned by accident he made sure he forgot on time to develop zero opinions. Barrel bombs. His black inner place flashed red and he looked away from the papers, the overwhelming world.
He felt like a baby. The door out was automatic.
When Lamb got back to his apt he didn’t take off his shoes, piss, breathe or turn the lights on. He made 100% sure the front door was locked and shut all the blinds. It was like he was about to kill himself. His resting heart rate was maybe concerning. The buzz he had going was so overwhelming he threw his head back. It was like drugs. It was kitchen time. He touched every place on his body and checked the shopping bag for barrel bombs.
He opened the pizza + wings + waffles TV dinner and made a seam in the plastic covering with his little claw. While the thing was heating up for four painstaking minutes, Lamb opened all the Twinkies and mixed them into the Family Size jar of evil brand peanut butter using an egg beater. When the microwave beeped, Lamb smothered the pizza + wings + waffles TV dinner in the peanut butter/Twinkie ‘sauce.’ It was major. It seemed like something he would go to hell for.
The plan was to eat it with his bare hands.
Lamb posted photos of the thing on an online forum for people with similar interests. Lamb’s username on the forum was Saddleup. Fellow member Partingofsensory typed to Saddleup THAT IS SO FUCKING HOT. HOW MANY CALORIES?? PM ME IF U TAKE CLOSEUPS. Saddleup typed to Partingofsensory THX PARTING BUT THIS IS GOING IN MY FACE BEFORE I CAN TAKE ANY MORE PICS LOL. Partingofsensory mostly commented on other people’s stuff but he posted his own pics sometimes too, i.e. a cheeseburger that had drugs in it.
Now it was eat time.
The Twinkie-peanut butter-pizza-wing-waffles were going to be in Lamb’s body. They were gonna go in his mouth and down his throat and through him. Lamb became very excited. This was something.
He felt like a toy.
Read it: http://theneweryork.com/the-slave-julia-long/