The White Hotel
“The treesmerged into the horizon of green sea.I said, Please fuck me, please. Am I too blunt?I’m not ashamed. It was the murderous sun.But there was nowhere in the ship to lie,for everywhere there were people drinking wineand gnawing chicken breasts. They gazed at ustwo invalids who never left our rug.I went into a kind of fever, sobesotted by your son’s unresting stroke,Professor, driving like a piston inand out, hour after hour. It wasn’t tillthe sun drew in, that their gaze turned away,not t...o the crimson sunset but the blazecoming from our hotel, again in sightbetween the tall pines. It outblazed the sky—one wing was burning, and the people rushedto the ship’s prow to stare at it in horror.So, pulling me upon him without warning,your son impaled me, it was so sweet I screamedbut no one heard me for the other screams as body after body fell or leaptfrom upper storeys of the white hotel.I jerked and jerked until his prick releasedits cool soft flood. Charred bodies hung from trees,he grew erect again, again I lunged,oh I can’t tell you how our rapture gushed,the wing was gutted, you could see the beds,we don’t know how it started, someone saidit might have been the unaccustomed sundriving through our opened curtains, kindlingour still-warm sheets, or (smoking was forbidden)the maids, tired out, lighting up and drowsing,or the strong burning-glass, the melting mountain.I couldn’t sleep that night, I was so sore,I think something inside me had been torn,your son was tender to me, deep in meall night, but without moving.MoreLess
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