The reader

The reader is sitting on a park bench
his pale fingers turn the pale pages, as the cloudy breeze licks his earlobes, though the weather is mild.

His black jacket shines under the sun-less light of this afternoon of a city of the hemisphere. He's a stranger:
some people, effectively, fear -or in the best-case scenario-, mistrust the strangers...

... because, a stranger might be full of unmentionable, obscure things inside.
Full of terrible things inside. Or not, but: how could one know?

Who could know?



The reader -who is sitting on a park bench- is eyeing with certain fruition the albino-esque pages of the book which his hands hold, with the fierce malice of an eagle and its prey... it's a dirty book, full of filth and amorality:
some meters to his left, little girls play and run in front of the stare of their mothers (have you ever seen the stare of the mothers in the parks, yellow and fixed like lionesses?)


The book in question, the book, that book which lays on the hands of the reader... it was written by one of these modernist or degenerate authors... dare one say, worthless authors who find in the transgression a poor way to legitimate themselves.
Lost animals who enjoy including smut in the text, just for the mere smut itself, because their minds are sick.

The exact paragraph in which our wretched reader is submersed seems to expose crudely a sort of sapphic-lesbian scene:
in the scene a woman is loving her young maidservant with a strap-on dildo, the belt has two rubber cocks, so that both women are penetrated at the same time... the dominatrix (the one who has the belt fastened to her waist) fucks the maidservant pushing the rubber pole rhythmically into her girlfriend's cunt, and licking her rosy nipples at once; she fucks her vigorously, imitating the movement of a male:
the reader reads:


"On the swaying white silk of the bed, the vaginas of Gimena and Hermione are soaked in pleasure, as they are pumped by the orange rubber dicks, but, just before her lover may reach a solid orgasm, Gimena takes the wet dildo out of her twat, and inserts it in her anal delight, with profound and nice slide...
... the shiny and vacant vulva of Hermione maddens when her girlfriend starts fucking her anally, so the indispensable masturbation provided by her left hand gives the girl vaginal pleasure again, while Gimena buttfucks her gentle and deep non-stop, with her hands possessing the milk of her nates...
... is in that moment when Hermione feels an unbearable compulsion to caress and knead her own tits, and bite her own and erect nipples, leaving the cunt alone, just stimulated by the anal fucking, which is extraordinarily painless and sweet for the girl.
With the sighs and screams of Gimena filling the air of the room, Hermione reaches a furious climax through anal fucking only, which explodes into an intense orgasm with vaginal ejaculation, more intense than any orgasm she ever had when she was vaginally fucked by A*****, the Gimena's husband..."


The commissure of the lips of our man get slightly humid reading these passages of the book, his slightly shivering hands grasp the black and hard cover with a firmness worthy of other efforts:

the little girls keep on running, now around their mothers, who are talking about recipes and husbands' tastes.




As it seems, in a next sequence of sexual deviation, Gimena forces Hermione to be vaginally fucked by a donkey. It is too much for the sex servant, her vagina gets brutally ripped by the colossal cock of the brute:
days later Hermione dies, prey of a horripilating disease... the plot seems to enter suddenly a slow motion recess:
A*****, the husband of Gimena just returned from a travel to Va*****, appears in the scene and sees her lover, Hermione, dead and rotting on the stained and stinky bed
he gets mad at Gimena, and blames her for this horrid disgrace and her insatiable viciousness

the reader, meanwhile, reads, sitting on the same park bench, with his protruding and brilliant eyeballs he reads:



A***** swears something terrible, his sibilant curse words cut the oxygen of the room, Gimena looks at him petrified, blonde like the death


the reader still reads, a vein in his left temple beats abnormally, the little girls still run and play, screaming atrociously like their mothers used to scream on the marital bed, years ago:




in slow motion, monstrously, the right arm of A***** swirls in the air of the room like a helicopter

a black pistol shines at the yellow light

a shot

Gimena lies dead on the wooden floor with a black bullet in her forehead

a shot

the reader lies dead on the grass beside the bench with a black bullet in his cranium


the mothers of the little girls scream atrociously, like they used to do years ago on the marital bed

now they run, like little girls

on the bench, the pale pages are turned randomly by the cloudy breeze, stupid.