Purity

I think everything we see and how we understand the way things work, it's all, like, programmed into us from the beginning. We're like empty computers. We probably have these powers, maybe like superheroes, when we're still in the womb, hanging out wherever it is we hang out while our bodies are still in the shop.

My head is spinning. It's hard to concentrate. I have to tell you everything before it all goes away, it stops existing.

No, really. Poof! Gone. Just like that. And you, you'll fade away, too. And this restaurant and everyone in it. Poof! It's all gonna go away. I can feel it.

Here's how I figure it: I can't unlearn everything that's been programmed into me. I can remember flying, but daddy beat me with his belt all the time and that's probably why I stopped. I used to see monsters all the time: under the bed, up in the big tree outside my window, all those bad grownups in preschool who laughed when I fell into the toilet, or stuck their finger up my butt like they were looking for something. There were monsters in cars, monsters in alleyways, monsters pretending to be aunts and uncles who'd watch and smile while daddy beat me with that belt.

All the monsters went away after a while, after I went to school and ate their poisoned food and read their poisoned books. Maybe they even gave me pills. I can't remember.

Oh, dammit. I'm losing track. I told you it was getting hard to concentrate.

I'm sitting in a Jack in the Box eating an Ultimate Cheeseburger. I used to eat these things after my fiancee and I had sex up on the hill. Eating this god-awful hamburger makes me remember her, which makes me remember how much I hated her. Therefore, I hate this hamburger. I wish they could make me forget her like they want me to forget everything else. At least then I could enjoy a greasy burger again.

What they don't know is that I don't forget everything. Well...at least I don't remember forgetting anything. But that's logical -- how would I remember what I forgot?

What I can't figure out is how they decide what I should remember and what I should forget. I can remember riding on somebody's shoulders when we visited Rawhide in Arizona. I remember monsters dressed like cowboys, waving around fake guns but looking damned scary anyway. I must have been just a year or two old, tops. Aren't you only supposed to start remembering after you're seven or something?

But then there's these long chunks of time, years and years, where I can't clearly remember anything. Elementary school, the house I grew up in, relatives I've seen in pictures but I swear I could't pick out of a crowd. There must have been some serious programming going on those years.

Okay, concentrate. So I've figured out that I can't see things like they really are, and I can't fly or do anything else I used to be able to do, and it's because I forgot along the way or they made me forget. I could try and figure out who "they" are and maybe work out some kind of revenge, but I already have a good idea who's responsible. Basically, I figure it's everybody but me.

I also got this figured: the only time we don't get lied to and confused is before we're born. There has to be some place we wait until all those little cells line themselves up and you have a body. Wherever that is, that's where you're still pure.

Half the answer I already have, inside my body. My balls. It's all that semen. Every little sperm has half of somebody still pure. That was the start.

I read someplace that there's two kinds of guys: the guy who whacks off and the guy who lies about it. So let it be known, from this day forward, that I do it. Masturbate, that is. Beat the meat. Spank the monkey. There, I said it.

I used to screw, like, all the time. That was before I starting thinking through this stuff. My fiancee sure opened my eyes, though. We fooled around like there was nothing more natural, but then she started using sex to get favors or presents or control. After a while, I couldn't take it any more. I couldn't get it up, much less come, with her. Then I saw her as the monster she really is, and freaked out and left. I figured I was just angry, but based on what I know now, I was on the right track.

I hated working so hard at getting laid after we broke up, so I just stayed home. Whenever I got laid, I got all relaxed and mellow and I would start forgetting again. So it was the women, see, who kept me away from the truth. As long as I kept my cum for myself, I'd keep seeing monsters, so I must have still been on the right track.

The first breakthrough was learning how to hold it in. I had to stop before I came, or else I'd be right back where I was before. Then I'd be my own woman, and that's no good. The more it hurt to hold it in, the better. If my balls felt like they were going to explode, things would be almost as clear as when I was really little, like before school and work and all the programming.

Well, just like getting laid, beating off the same way over and over gets pretty boring. I got pretty good at holding it in, but that was just because it wasn't very exciting any more. Hardly any pain at all.

Thank god for computers. As part of my new stay-at-home plan, I set myself up with an Internet account with what little money I had left in my savings. Since I quit working, too -- to keep the lies to a minimum -- I had to keep my expenses really low. But having that account was worth it.

Did you know you can get anything on the Internet? Once I figured out how to download pictures, I found heaven. You can pull down pictures of little kids getting fucked, dogs screwing women, five-way orgies, drugged out teenagers sucking old men. I even found a picture of some chick in leather taking a shit into some guys mouth.

It didn't take me long to refine my taste in pictures, stuff that'd get me so hard that it really hurt when I held it in. The best shots didn't have anything to do with how pretty the girls were or how big a cock the guys had. I went for facial expressions. Picking out fakes was easy; I wanted sincerity. Faces of pain on people getting huge black dicks or wine bottles or whatever getting shoved up their ass. Little kids getting fingered by grownups. The look of genuine disgust on somebody getting screwed by a donkey. It didn't even matter what sex the people were. I realized gender is part of the bigger lie -- my second breakthrough -- so I figured it didn't matter what turned me on.

We all have our kicks -- big tits, fat chicks, whatever. The fact of the matter is, there are lots of people like me. So somebody out there posted a message one day: "Looking for screaming faces, the real deal. Can anybody help me?" Sure enough, a couple days later, somebody with the call name, "Life's A Bitch But I Love Her Anyway" (long name but I liked the sentiment) posts back the Internet address of a site with what we're looking for. No advertising, no come-on, no bullshit. Just an address.

The files I found there burned themselves into my brain forever. I can't even bear to think about them now. I picture one in my mind, and there's just a flash, and then I feel sick. But the pain between my legs gets so intense that I can barely walk. I started seeing monsters I never saw before, disgusting inhuman things pretending to be like everybody else. Still on the right track.

The images downloaded onto my screen night and day and helped me finally see my path. My body was so full of cum now -- fresh cum, rotty old cum, cum I couldn't hold in so I ate it, swallowed it while it was still warm -- that I could feel the truth this close. I had headaches all the time, from holding in all that cum and the pain that made my guts squirm. But I came to realize my own cum, my little bit of purity, wouldn't be enough.

Months had passed since I had seen my ex. Our relationship had been short and intense, but we both knew it was doomed. I couldn't take her power games, she couldn't take my power. She must have known about my power even then, because she couldn't control me with sex like she could control every other guy out there. We sort of halfheartedly kept in touch after we broke up, but since I locked myself in my apartment and quit work, we had drifted apart.

Knowing my path gave me power when I went to see her. I felt confident, driven. She must have felt it too, and felt compelled to take that power away from me. The only way she knew was sex.

We went up to my apartment. The place was a shambles, mac and cheese boxes and beer cans all over the place. My computer was still downloading and flashing images as we walked in. I turned off the screen and told her some bullshit -- it was a game or something, whatever.

It was really hard to get it up for her; the stabbing pain behind my eyes didn't help, either. She stroked my dick and bit my ear. I closed my eyes and watched the unbearable images flash and fade like the backs of my eyelids were tiny computer screens. I couldn't help but get rock-hard.

There's a mirror at the end of the bed. I used to be embarrassed to look at myself having sex. This time, I directed my ex toward the mirror and pulled her head back by the hair so I could see her face has she crouched on all fours.

She made one of those fake fuck faces when I took her from behind. That really pissed me off, so I shoved my dick as hard as I could up her ass. Ah, there...that face was much more sincere. She screamed and yelled and tried to get away, but the pictures behind my eyelids kept my power strong. As she fought against me, she started crying, then bawling. Oh, so much better than before. Sore from pounding her dry hole, I made her put my dick in her mouth. Her expression was better than all the disgusted donkey-humpers in the world.

The point of this little get-together wasn't to have fun, though. I grabbed her by her hair, the beautiful curly hair that had turned me on way back when it mattered. I bashed her head against the headboard. She screamed and blood trickled from her nose, and then she was quiet.

As she lay there, barely breathing, I staggered over to my computer and picked up the Polaroid camera hidden among a pile of wet tissues. As she began to come to, I pointed the camera and shot a few frames.

She started muttering "Why? Why? Why?" She said it so many times that it didn't sound like a word at all, just an animal noise. I bashed her head against the wall again. Snap snap snap, the instant prints whirred out of the camera and fell to the floor.

I was dizzy with all the cum and power in my body. I could feel the little pure sperms swimming around in my veins, under my skin, around my brain. The pain behind my eyes was almost unbearable, but I still remembered the path that was so clear to me.

One particular knife in my kitchen waited patiently for its purpose. It was wrapped in a towel, protected and perfect as an uncircumsized baby. I unwrapped it, walked to the bed, and shoved it into her belly. As blood puked out around the blade, her eyes opened once more. Snap, whirr...snap, whirr...

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for -- I was always lousy at dissection -- but I let my power guide my hands as the knife parted the halves of her belly. Sure enough, among all the blood and organs, my hands found the pair of nut-sized orbs.

Eating her ovaries wasn't the hardest part, I don't think. It was pulling them out of her body. Well, hell, maybe it was the eating part. Oh well, doesn't matter. What's done is done. Don't give me that look; we can't go back and change the past.

I scanned in all the prints I could, careful not to get any blood on my computer. Oh, how wonderful a machine it had been, how it had helped me find my path to the truth. It was only right and honorable to give something back. I can only hope my modest additions to that vast and secret repository of pictures would help somebody else find their own path.

And that brings me here, to this fast food restaurant. The teenagers running this place are trying to get its last customers out the door so they can close. What they don't understand is that their nightly ritual won't matter much longer. You don't understand, either, do you?

Finally, I can feel her ovaries digesting into all that cum. I can feel them merging, becoming a single pure thing, a being unprogrammed by the world's lies, a creature without memories. Now it's obvious to me, the truth and the bullshit. Everyone in the restaurant is a monster -- why can't they tell the end is near? The streets outside are filled with monsters lurching along the sidewalks or driving demonic machines I once thought were cars.

I walked into the bathroom a few minutes ago and a monster looked back at me from the mirror. I pissed blood into the sink. It's the new, pure thing inside me discarding the dirty and confused man I once was. It's the same purification as a woman's monthly cycle. I'm both man and woman now that my insides are pouring themselves out.

Ah, there. It's all starting to fade now. I can feel it.

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