House-Mouse Cock -- The Adventures of Sex Ableton (3 more) --

More Sex Ableton (House-Mouse Cock) Adventures:


4) Alcohol - Donkeys - A Pill - The Fray - Gusto

Red got drunk and ended up in a barn with a bunch of horses and donkeys. It wasn't a barn really. It was her bedroom. Their bedroom. Her and Sex's. And, then, in the middle of rugged couplings, triplings, fourlings, neighings, brayings and all manner of frothed moanings, Sex walked in. And he was flawed. And lock-jawed. And frozen like a cold hummingbird I'd like to walk up to, palm, bring in the house and place down in the middle of the dining room table.

Sex's heart was barely beating. (The scratching of a trapped rat.) His soul an ice age. Red didn't blink. She leaned over (the donkeys still inside her) and slipped a small white pill into Sex's mouth. And he was instantly revived. Demonically. But calm. And horny. Insatiably horny. Rust-in-the-blood horny.

And, so, he walked into the long-eared fray with frightening aplomb and handled and received those gruesome beasts with an honest, brilliant and surging gusto.


5) Purring - Street-rat - Clydesdales - - HMCMPOC - Fumes

Sex goes to a penis-enlargement center. The doctor says he can help.

"But young man," he purrs into his ear. "There are physical limits that govern us. Irrevocable limits we dare not and must not cross. When I'm done with you, though, your penis will be much larger than a small House-Mouse's cock. It'll be the size of an average street rat's cock. And street-like and rattish in color and appearance too."

Sex was crestfallen. How would this help this social life? His esteem? His career?

Sex had always dreamed of more and more heroic endeavors. Dreamed of himself on top of a bright red fire engine stroking a pretty dalmation. Dreamed he was urging on, in a bright opium wind, a team of Clydesdales who frothed up magnificently beneath his heroic whip. Dreamed that he strode up to burning buildings and blew them out with heroic breath. And if that didn't work: heroic piss. But now these dreams all lay in ruins.

A Street-Rat's Cock! Sex crawled away into the rubble. His tail coiled sadly behind him was the last thing the Doctor saw.

"Come out of there," the doctor begged. "I'm not finished yet."

A tear-filled eye appeared between two bents pieces of rebar. Sex was baited.

"Tell me, Doctor," he implored. "Tell me!"

"Well, young man," the Doctor began. "I think you're an excellent candidate for the HMCMPOC."

"Huh?"

"The House-Mouse Cock to Mammoth Progressive Operations Center. The HMCMPOC, which I head up, by the way, by the by and by, o my, takes a young man like you through progressive operations and gene therapy and dietary supplements and patches and transfusions and delusions and pancakes and syrup and sap and quack-quack quack---- Voila! The House-Mouse Cock's turned into a Mammoth-Cock!

Generally we go from House-Mouse Cock to Street-Rat Cock. Then on to Peacock-Cock (their cocks are bigger than you'd think.) And then on to Street-Cat Cock. The next operation lifts you up to Iguana-Cock (big mature orange iguana cock). Then we sail up to Weasel-Cock. Lap-Dog Cock's next. Then the Olive-Ridley-Sea-Turtle Cock. Emperor Hirohito's cock. Then, a brief stop over with a Hedge-Hog's Cock (African variety, they're the cutest). Warthog-Cock's the obvious progression. And, gathering speed now, on to the Whooping Crane (tho that's quite expensive. but don't worry we have a very flexible payment plan and further discounts are possible if you'll be a HMCMPOC spokesperson)..."

This excited Sex terribly. His eye, still framed in rubble, started to roll back. He was obviously, inside all the toppled concrete and wrecked wood, etc, etc, pleasuring himself. The Doctor was completely nonplussed. He'd seen this sort of thing before. And things far more sordid. Unspeakably sordid! And, so, on he continued.

"Surprisingly the Dung Beetle's up next. Then the Bull Shark. A short stay with the Koala bear. The impala. The great-horned Owl. The pygmy owl. The common barn owl. (that's what we call the OTS, the Owl-Three-Step.) Then we push on seriously. With real commitment. No room for error now. No wiggle room at all. No sitting on the pot and thinking What-if-what-if. No! Behold: the brown bear. The forest pig. The okapi. The Paramecium. (yes, strangely enough the Paramecium. Sometimes, young man, you must take a step backwards before you leap into glory.) The mountain goat. The open boat. (that's for aesthetic reasons.). La Scala. (for aesthetic reasons too, obviously.) The leaning tower of pisa. (now we're cooking, man. now, we're cooking.)

And then in one finally elegant and brilliant leap: The Mammoth.

The Great-Woolly-Mammoth Cock!!

How about that, young man??"

But the Doctor was alone. All alone in the delicious and highly-addictive fumes of cock progressive verbage. And, for a moment, he was frightened. Then everything lost its pale-green hue. Settled nicely back into place. The Doctor sat down. Took out and lit a cigarette.

Sex's eye was closed--the eyeball, beneath its lid, pulsing vigorously.

Sex, buried in rubble, sated and drifted off into sleep, was dreaming. (And that's a whole different story.)


6) Trembling - Geese - A bed- Yaboo - Devil's Magic

I am still trembling. Not two blocks from our house, on the way, this morning, to buy a new Torah for uncle Abie I stumbled into and found myself enveloped in chaos.

Here in the middle of the street, on market day (geese slaughtered on all sides) was Sex Ableton on a four-post, canopied king-plus bed carried ably aloft by twelve dark-burning eunuchs. The bed was bedecked with white-silver sheets and dozens of burning-red pillows and gold-green streamers were rustling and quivering everywhere.

Framed perfectly in the middle of this stunning ensemble, in a blue Speedo (marked, if you looked close and hard--and I did, with the letters HMC) and a fox-fur coat, dyed pink and purple, and unbuttoned to reveal a smattering of puny but resplendent chest hairs, lay the decadent and luminescent Sex Ableton.

The procession inched forward. The crowd pressed in. Geese screamed and bled. It was utter mayhem. Like Mescaline trying to squeeze you in its fist: every moment broken into a billion moments. Roots of blood sinking deeper and deeper in lost accelerated sinking. All spread out and shivering into ever great eternities of distance. Geese-screaming. Trees shattering. Dogs and shotglasses and whales' tails broken into streams of infinitely broken shards multiplying, bloody and screaming.

And Sex turned to his companion (a small Hindu boy with green eyes, in a diaper and orange t-shirt sporting a crude but excellent likeness of a smiling mouse. The mouse was sitting on his heels and its tail curled back and up towards the child's chin. I was transfixed. That mouse, in my transfixion, transformed, transubstantiated into a young Rimbaud--that sweet-looking vicious child-elf-monster!)

"O, Yaboo," Sex lamented. "I just want to shock myself. I mean really shock myself. Shock myself into complete submission and outrage. Kicked in the face, drooling-- that sort of submission. That sort of shock. Like Blue Velvet. Forget these sheep, Yaboo. And be my Queen. My Queen and My King if you will. O, Yaboo, you've been toying with me for years. O, Yaboo, I am yr shoelaces, your butt-plug, your gun-powder, your floss and yr fleece, your rabbit's foot, yr cloud's eye. I'm the shining hand of a dead charioteer. I'm the bumper of an old combie. O, Yaboo!"

Whereupon, of course, Sex began to sob. Yaboo snuggled up to him. Took his head in his head and started to chant. It was all so beautiful. I started to cry.

But it was evil too. A blue and a black ocean. A cheap bit of devil's magic. I turned and shoved my way out. All the way home. And up the steps.

Even now I can feel the crowded voices, suspended in one needle of sinister darkness, the geese dying, the vultures descending, all the silk and ribbons, and bloody featheres-- all of driving into me, wave after wave. Possessing me. And destroying me.

This must be love. O, Sex Ableton!

I want to cover you in bat shit. Want to scrape you clean with a stale toothbrush. Want to kiss you, kiss you, and kiss you.

Forgive me, Lord.

I am trembling. Damn it, I am trembling.