Gone Finishin’.

Clementine was on her back masturbating in her room. Her room was next to her dad’s. Yeah.

And yeah she was silent.

And yeah,

Somewhere it occurred to her that they were masturbating at the same time.

Clementine pictured nude men. She gave them the faces of the men on the poster on her door called The Rise And Fall Of Peoples And Nations For 4,000 Years. It was a timeline of world history with little portraits of the greats. Yes.

All the world’s leaders, all monsters, all heroes. Men.


On the other side of the wall Clementine could hear her dad.

She pictured her nipple as a little door her dad opened and stuck his finger in, doing a come-hither motion.

Clementine finished.

This was all over. Gone.

Clementine got out of bed and stood naked in front of the mirror. Behind her eyes there was a little picture of her dad’s head.

She felt like a dog.

To the reflection she was saying, “You wanna piece of me kid? Huh? Yeah okay I fuck you up good!”

Clementine could hear her dad going downstairs.

Clementine ran her tongue along her bottom teeth and lingered on the crooked ones. Then she rubbed the special teeth with a finger. It hurt. Clementine smiled.

Downstairs Clementine noticed her dad’s body. Tall. Mostly muscle, very little body fat; straight up and down. Efficient. Productive.

So different from her mom’s, those heavy sagging breasts weighing her down, imprisoning her. She had upper back problems from them actually—the big uglies disfigured her further. Sagging bag of the childbearing stomach. Cellulite. Stretch marks.

That was gonna be Clementine. That was Clementine. She felt dysphoric.

Clementine was sitting on the kitchen counter. She saw a man and a man maker. Yeah, her mom was the one cooking dinner. Her dad was at the table, like, waiting. Reading. Yeah he looked good. Clementine thought about intellectual and creative conquests. Different types of men ran through her mind. A few phantom pieces of her were stimulated.

Clementine could smell the food cooking. It was getting her going. Sexually yes. Clementine crossed her legs, overwhelmed.

Clementine’s mom moved and her inner world went purple. She thought about medicine. That made her feel sick, so she thought about something else.

“How’s crew,” said Clementine’s mom.

Clementine noticed she could see her own eyelashes. Her rich inner world hurt.

“You feel like a Viking. You fall into a very tight schedule. You’re waking up early in the morning um it fluctuates from year to year. You’re going all out.” It was like Clementine was talking about someone else. The walls of her throat were stimulated when she talked. It hurt.

Clementine’s mom’s face was close. Her breath was disgusting. When her mom went back to cooking Clementine moved to the table and sat next to her dad.

Clementine was thinking about her genitals. In that area she sensed a tiny bomb. She noticed her saliva.

“So who won today,” said Clementine’s dad. No one won. It was practice.

“We did,” said Clementine.

“A father knows.”

It felt like there was a bee in the head pictures. Clementine smiled. It felt like there were wet towels under her skin.

She shifted her position and tried to get comfortable. Wet towels, every place on her body. She had no opinion about that.

The food was ready. Steak w/ gravy. Clementine’s mom was serving everyone, giving herself barely any, Clementine way too much, and Clementine’s dad something normal. Clementine checked out the stuff. She was staring. The meat glistened and sang.

Clementine turned over a piece using her fork. There was an obscene display of pink. The gravy moved.

Clementine looked at the rich creamy thing and all she saw was sex.

It occurred to her with every bite, she was choosing to maintain estrogen. She was choosing to develop her breasts.

I choose sex. Clementine smiled.

Clementine bowed her head to eat. She inhaled the food smell and her whole body throbbed, all those wet towels. She felt humbled by how sensual this was.

Clementine was picturing her eyes rolling back into her head right into her sense of self and staying there, floating. She realized before this inhale she was holding her breath. Yeah, also she had to piss. This was a bad time. She would restrict water during the meal. Clementine’s sense of self was just barely above her mouth. When she chewed the food little sparks went off in her sense of self. Yeah in her sense of self she felt multidimensional pressure. It felt similar to having a creative thought.

Nobody was talking, just eating. Even though Clementine was really stimulated she found herself just wanting it to be over.

Yeah. Clementine finished first. She washed the plate slowly and used a finger instead of a sponge to clean off the food scraps. She watched them go down the drain. Seeya.

Clementine went to the bathroom and pissed for some time. She could hear the drops in the water, tiny mad gods. The harsh bathroom light hurt and Clementine smiled. She bowed her head. She stayed on the toilet way after she finished pissing. It felt like sitting on wet towels.

Clementine flushed and it sounded really loud. Instead of washing her hands she just drank water from the sink for some time. She felt some vague notion of filth weigh heavy on her hands but no she still didn’t wash them.

Back upstairs Clementine was masturbating in her room. She was thinking about all the stuff under her bed. Clementine pictured her bed transparent with all that shit under it exposed. She pictured her stomach transparent with all the food inside.

Clementine constricted her chest. Her head filled with men and she felt alive. Obsessed and humbled and charmed. Something shifted in the room. She was done.

All that food, all those men, sucked up by her sense of self, gone.

  • Zakk

    Intriguing. Truly thought provoking. Beautiful

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