Kiss Me, Deadly
"Her hands were soft
on my face and her
mouth a hot, hungry
thing that tried to
drink me down.”
—Mickey Spillane,
Kiss Me, Deadly”
.
tall, long, lanky—
a pair of basketball legs
tight around my neck
yeah, i kissed him all right—i loved fuckin’ kissing him to death, you know what i mean? i had this love-hate relationship with my cute sullen kid brother. i loved him bad—and i hated him too. he felt the same way about me—nothing’s worse than havin’ a fag older brother. kinda like cain & able. especially when your older bro—is like queer for you.
that’s the way it was—
with my kid brother tyrone
he be mulatto…
it got down & dirty sometimes—like all the fuckin’ time. when i kissed my kid brother—I did it all the way down-low. down-low and dirty—i got every squirt i could. in his bedroom upstairs late at night—with the door locked and the lights turned off.
my afro-boyfriend—
sixteen years old and trouble
every inch of him
he let me have it—in between girlfriends. they were all over him—those devil girls from mars. i was so jealous—i’d hang up the phone on them. i was so fuckin’ possessive—i slammed the door in their faces. i was 18—and he was 16. he had a big piece of mulatto meat—and he knew it. all the girls knew it—and so did i. he was hot—and needed it bad.
mother liked it black—
and so did me her fag son
the whole town knew it
that’s why i kissed him deadly—doin’ the deadly down-low. i never knew whether—it would be the last time or not. he always said—that’s the last time, dickface. but it never was—there was always the next one—and i was there to get it. i was addicted to my kid brother—i wanted to become it.
after her divorce—
from my crummy deadbeat dad
no one can blame her
tyrone was my cute young mulatto kid brother. actually he was only my half-brother—yeah, and that was the best half, baby!!! my mother got the fuck outta town after her divorce—my father was such a slimy asshole. she got sick of him—and his stupid stoic kansas city cock. she took a santa fe midnight special—up to chicago to get away. who can really blame her—she was a cute young redhead chick.
off to chicago—
she found a little romance
a young afro-stud
tyrone was my half-brother—that’s the half from chicago. the whole town back home knew the skanky truth—but i knew it even better. mommy dearest was gone—for a whole long year. she found love—and love found her. i stayed back home—living with her parents. there on come back little sheba street—in ingeville named after the playwright.
she found somebody—
a cute young saxophonist
who played in a band
every time i kissed him—i kissed him down & dirty deadly. every time he kissed me back—i swooned & fainted like maria montez. i got to be queen of cobra island—tyrone be my king cobra man. he packed a mean killer heater—mighty joe young was his middle name. I had a rough time every night—his lovely godzilla penis. tokyo had it easy—compared to what i had to endure. only fay wray knows the awful truth—young king kong was rough trade.
she got a job there—
at some swank black cat nightclub
a cocktail waitress
every time i kissed him—he died a thousand deaths. and every time i kissed him some more—i didn’t wanna let him go. every time i kissed him—it was big daddy’s tool i got to suck. all the way from the windy city—all the way from the chicago south end. tyrone was packin’ a lotta baggage—his family jewels were thick and runny. that big black lizard—was a long ways from home. it slithered its way into adolescence—right under our roof. it was an apocalyptic anaconda—that i caught in the shower after school one day. my innocent little young teenage kid brother—he had a huge ugly boa constrictor down there. how could a kid brother—be so much more well-endowed than me? me his queer cocksucking brother—suddenly finding myself weak in the knees. going for it as he bent his legs—losing it in the spray & steam of that bad boy bathroom afternoon sex soiree? it was like raising something—up from the long lost african dead. tyrone be my dead long-gone lazarus kid-brother—every night from then on i’d be tryin’ to fuckin’ raise it from the dead. all the dead afro-american slave-meat from chicago. down the long lanky mississippi—all the way up from the slave-blocks of view carre. it was like a jacques tourneur movie—“i walked with a zombie.” except i didn’t just walk with it—i got to know it real good. the real darby jones “carrefour” zombie dick—down there between tyrone’s long lanky legs. down there in the living dead kinky jungle pubes—getting’ tyrone up from the fuckin’ grave again & again.
they fell in love fast—
got a south end apartment
both of them happy
mommy dearest would show me pics—outta a picture album of hers. tyrone looked just like his father—tall, goodlooking, playing a sax in a jazz late night chicago nightclub. she fell in love with him—she needed love pretty bad back then. she’d had it with the usual vanilla red state repug religious whacko right routine—who could blame her. her parents lived in this huge old haunted mansion—denizens of a former age. her father a county commissioner—on the take like all the others. her mother a GAR queen—along with her DAR old cronies. they’d have religious socials—down in the basement pounding “john brown’s body” on the piano. they all lived in the civil war past—but they sure made exquisite lemon meringue pies. they were kind & understanding tho. after they died—mother, tyrone and i lived in the big old dump. things went bump in the night—but it wasn’t john brown’s boner.
.
mother was happy—
for the first time in her life
it lasted a year…
i was gun-crazy for tyrone—i couldn’t keep my hands off him. he had the smoothest mauve, light golden skin all over—except for his you know what. it was jet-black—with a big pink head. like a piece of halloween candy—i’d suck on it all night long. i felt like jonah going down way deep inside the whale—way down there deep beneath the apocalyptic sea. i’d kiss him way down there—and he wouldn’t let me go. i’d hold my breath as long as i could—and tried not to choke to death.
she came home pregnant—
tyrone be her cute love child
the town tongues wagged lots
it was just simply awful—so fuckin’ awfully nice. he had big thick lips—it was prime el perfecto uncut. when i pealed it back—it was like sacred seminal cheesy halloween heaven. licorice on the outside—pink on the inside.
tongues wagged even more—
when i turned out like tres gay
limp wrists with a swish
no wonder i was queer for him—half the women in town were in love with it too. You’d be surprised at the people that tried to make him—the typing teacher after school, the gym coach behind closed doors, the minister in the men’s room, the used car salesman in the back of a cadillac, the next door chick with big boobs, the nurse in the doctor’s office. but i’m the one that got him the most—despite all the skanky ho girlfriends hangin’ around. they hissed and looked away—when i came down the hallways. knowing what i was getting—and what they weren’t.
i lisped every word—
mincing down the school hallways
such a little snot
i’d check my whitey complexion in the mirror every day and every night—wondering when my skin would go dinge dontchaknow. old queens told me that once you went black, baby—there was no fuckin’ turnin’ back. I wanted to be like my kid brother—an african prince with a venus torso. Broad shoulders, slim hips—and a fire hose to set off the sirens. I wanted to be my dinge brother—so I could feel what he felt. Feeling him get off was—just what the doctor ordered. But I wanted more than that—I wanted to be my kid brother. All twelve thick veiny inches of it—I wanted to have his baby. i went with some fags to a kansas city porno-theater—and watched a really great notorious blaxploitation skin-flick from back then. It was about a chick in Paris—who falls in love with this black guy. They fuck a lot of course—and she ends up pregnant. The opening scene has all these sirens and ambulances—she’s whisked off to the local hospital. There’s this skanky doctor smoking a cigarette—as he’s delivering the kid. The look of mock horror and shock—on all the fuckin’ nurses’ faces. That’s when the opening credits—glom onto the slimy porno screen. There it is for everybody to see—back then in the civil rights dayz of the early Sixties. The title glares out shamelessly—I knew it made my virgin eyeballs bulge out of their sockets. “my baby is black!!!”—screams the poor slutty chick. Not only is it black—but it’s a baby boy with a big black dick.
my oh my, they’d say—
it’s gonna sure happen to me
my baby is black!!!
i didn’t care—i was bored with high school. i was gonna leave and get the fuck outta town anyway. i couldn’t wait to get to san francisco—i knew a rich sugar daddy there on nob hill. i was gonna be a young hippie ho—and stay high all the time. i had a lot on my mind—it was the summer of love. i’d graduate from blow job high—and get the fuck outta town. that senior year tho—i’d live it up as best i could. in bed with my dinge bro lover—getting tyrone to bang his head on the headboard. wrapping his long lanky legs around my neck—getting him to strangle me to death while i milked it dry.
i was so nelly—
gliding over the dance floor
dracula’s daughter
i was desperate for tyrone. i knew he was getting it on—with a couple of chicks. they’d call up late in the middle of the night—i’d laugh and hang up on them. they wanted it bad—they wanted to get some of it. so i unplugged the goddamn fuckin’ phone—i didn’t need any of their fuckin’ competition. i wanted tyrone bad—all twelve inches of him. and i got him good—i got him good a lotta times.
the ogling gym class—
big boners in the showers
they were all jealous
tyrone was tall and lanky—a born basketball player. he was only 16—full of oozing young black male afro-hormones. he was six-feet ten-inches long—lean and mean and definitely bad-attitude and wise-ass. he didn’t much want to—but i took advantage of his young male vulnerable weakness. i knew how to make him close his eyes tight—and turn his head away from me. digging his face in the pillow—wrapping his neck down around the edge of the bed. i still after all these years—get weak in the knees just thinking about tyrone. he’d go bang with his shooter so hard sometimes—he’d faint and sprain his fuckin’ neck. he’d go spaz all the way—like a hanged man at the bottom of his noose. i could hear it snap—his neck and then his nice smooth luger.
my brother tyrone—
wouldn’t do no gym glass
no showers for him…
there’s nothing worse than a tall goodlooking wise-ass kid brother—with something you want and need. he knew i was addicted to it—he played hard to get all the time. that made it even better—goin’ spaz when he didn’t wanna. like after a heavy date—and getting off with a chick-ho at her place. they had this cold-blooded look in their eyes—these high school chicks meant business. the same with the guyz in gym—he wouldn’t let them see it. that’s all he needed—was some of them goin’ queer for it. the gym coach was bad enough—and the basketball coach wasn’t any better. he took it all pretty cool in stride—he’d limp down the hallways with it goin down the side of his leg. and everybody knew—and everybody stared at it. and then they’d look at me—and smirk at my klingon ways. i clung to him in between classes—i followed him home from school. i should’ve felt ashamed of myself—and i really did both day and night. the more ashamed i got of myself—the more i wanted to do the down & dirty. nothing else meant anything—all i knew was i was in love. and i didn’t have to date it or marry it—to get it. all i had to do—was live with it. under the same roof—in the same house. there on come back little sheba street—in that quaint little dingy town of dingeville usa. he was gonna join the navy—when he was seventeen. get outta town—and outta my fuckin’ clutches. and i was gonna leave for sf—after graduation. that’s all i knew—i had a year left to do my thing. to be close and intimate—with my exquisite mulatto kid brother. i needed some more sexy negritude in me—before we said goodbye.
"Her hands were soft
on my face and her
mouth a hot, hungry
thing that tried to
drink me down.”
—Mickey Spillane,
Kiss Me, Deadly”
.
tall, long, lanky—
a pair of basketball legs
tight around my neck
yeah, i kissed him all right—i loved fuckin’ kissing him to death, you know what i mean? i had this love-hate relationship with my cute sullen kid brother. i loved him bad—and i hated him too. he felt the same way about me—nothing’s worse than havin’ a fag older brother. kinda like cain & able. especially when your older bro—is like queer for you.
that’s the way it was—
with my kid brother tyrone
he be mulatto…
it got down & dirty sometimes—like all the fuckin’ time. when i kissed my kid brother—I did it all the way down-low. down-low and dirty—i got every squirt i could. in his bedroom upstairs late at night—with the door locked and the lights turned off.
my afro-boyfriend—
sixteen years old and trouble
every inch of him
he let me have it—in between girlfriends. they were all over him—those devil girls from mars. i was so jealous—i’d hang up the phone on them. i was so fuckin’ possessive—i slammed the door in their faces. i was 18—and he was 16. he had a big piece of mulatto meat—and he knew it. all the girls knew it—and so did i. he was hot—and needed it bad.
mother liked it black—
and so did me her fag son
the whole town knew it
that’s why i kissed him deadly—doin’ the deadly down-low. i never knew whether—it would be the last time or not. he always said—that’s the last time, dickface. but it never was—there was always the next one—and i was there to get it. i was addicted to my kid brother—i wanted to become it.
after her divorce—
from my crummy deadbeat dad
no one can blame her
tyrone was my cute young mulatto kid brother. actually he was only my half-brother—yeah, and that was the best half, baby!!! my mother got the fuck outta town after her divorce—my father was such a slimy asshole. she got sick of him—and his stupid stoic kansas city cock. she took a santa fe midnight special—up to chicago to get away. who can really blame her—she was a cute young redhead chick.
off to chicago—
she found a little romance
a young afro-stud
tyrone was my half-brother—that’s the half from chicago. the whole town back home knew the skanky truth—but i knew it even better. mommy dearest was gone—for a whole long year. she found love—and love found her. i stayed back home—living with her parents. there on come back little sheba street—in ingeville named after the playwright.
she found somebody—
a cute young saxophonist
who played in a band
every time i kissed him—i kissed him down & dirty deadly. every time he kissed me back—i swooned & fainted like maria montez. i got to be queen of cobra island—tyrone be my king cobra man. he packed a mean killer heater—mighty joe young was his middle name. I had a rough time every night—his lovely godzilla penis. tokyo had it easy—compared to what i had to endure. only fay wray knows the awful truth—young king kong was rough trade.
she got a job there—
at some swank black cat nightclub
a cocktail waitress
every time i kissed him—he died a thousand deaths. and every time i kissed him some more—i didn’t wanna let him go. every time i kissed him—it was big daddy’s tool i got to suck. all the way from the windy city—all the way from the chicago south end. tyrone was packin’ a lotta baggage—his family jewels were thick and runny. that big black lizard—was a long ways from home. it slithered its way into adolescence—right under our roof. it was an apocalyptic anaconda—that i caught in the shower after school one day. my innocent little young teenage kid brother—he had a huge ugly boa constrictor down there. how could a kid brother—be so much more well-endowed than me? me his queer cocksucking brother—suddenly finding myself weak in the knees. going for it as he bent his legs—losing it in the spray & steam of that bad boy bathroom afternoon sex soiree? it was like raising something—up from the long lost african dead. tyrone be my dead long-gone lazarus kid-brother—every night from then on i’d be tryin’ to fuckin’ raise it from the dead. all the dead afro-american slave-meat from chicago. down the long lanky mississippi—all the way up from the slave-blocks of view carre. it was like a jacques tourneur movie—“i walked with a zombie.” except i didn’t just walk with it—i got to know it real good. the real darby jones “carrefour” zombie dick—down there between tyrone’s long lanky legs. down there in the living dead kinky jungle pubes—getting’ tyrone up from the fuckin’ grave again & again.
they fell in love fast—
got a south end apartment
both of them happy
mommy dearest would show me pics—outta a picture album of hers. tyrone looked just like his father—tall, goodlooking, playing a sax in a jazz late night chicago nightclub. she fell in love with him—she needed love pretty bad back then. she’d had it with the usual vanilla red state repug religious whacko right routine—who could blame her. her parents lived in this huge old haunted mansion—denizens of a former age. her father a county commissioner—on the take like all the others. her mother a GAR queen—along with her DAR old cronies. they’d have religious socials—down in the basement pounding “john brown’s body” on the piano. they all lived in the civil war past—but they sure made exquisite lemon meringue pies. they were kind & understanding tho. after they died—mother, tyrone and i lived in the big old dump. things went bump in the night—but it wasn’t john brown’s boner.
.
mother was happy—
for the first time in her life
it lasted a year…
i was gun-crazy for tyrone—i couldn’t keep my hands off him. he had the smoothest mauve, light golden skin all over—except for his you know what. it was jet-black—with a big pink head. like a piece of halloween candy—i’d suck on it all night long. i felt like jonah going down way deep inside the whale—way down there deep beneath the apocalyptic sea. i’d kiss him way down there—and he wouldn’t let me go. i’d hold my breath as long as i could—and tried not to choke to death.
she came home pregnant—
tyrone be her cute love child
the town tongues wagged lots
it was just simply awful—so fuckin’ awfully nice. he had big thick lips—it was prime el perfecto uncut. when i pealed it back—it was like sacred seminal cheesy halloween heaven. licorice on the outside—pink on the inside.
tongues wagged even more—
when i turned out like tres gay
limp wrists with a swish
no wonder i was queer for him—half the women in town were in love with it too. You’d be surprised at the people that tried to make him—the typing teacher after school, the gym coach behind closed doors, the minister in the men’s room, the used car salesman in the back of a cadillac, the next door chick with big boobs, the nurse in the doctor’s office. but i’m the one that got him the most—despite all the skanky ho girlfriends hangin’ around. they hissed and looked away—when i came down the hallways. knowing what i was getting—and what they weren’t.
i lisped every word—
mincing down the school hallways
such a little snot
i’d check my whitey complexion in the mirror every day and every night—wondering when my skin would go dinge dontchaknow. old queens told me that once you went black, baby—there was no fuckin’ turnin’ back. I wanted to be like my kid brother—an african prince with a venus torso. Broad shoulders, slim hips—and a fire hose to set off the sirens. I wanted to be my dinge brother—so I could feel what he felt. Feeling him get off was—just what the doctor ordered. But I wanted more than that—I wanted to be my kid brother. All twelve thick veiny inches of it—I wanted to have his baby. i went with some fags to a kansas city porno-theater—and watched a really great notorious blaxploitation skin-flick from back then. It was about a chick in Paris—who falls in love with this black guy. They fuck a lot of course—and she ends up pregnant. The opening scene has all these sirens and ambulances—she’s whisked off to the local hospital. There’s this skanky doctor smoking a cigarette—as he’s delivering the kid. The look of mock horror and shock—on all the fuckin’ nurses’ faces. That’s when the opening credits—glom onto the slimy porno screen. There it is for everybody to see—back then in the civil rights dayz of the early Sixties. The title glares out shamelessly—I knew it made my virgin eyeballs bulge out of their sockets. “my baby is black!!!”—screams the poor slutty chick. Not only is it black—but it’s a baby boy with a big black dick.
my oh my, they’d say—
it’s gonna sure happen to me
my baby is black!!!
i didn’t care—i was bored with high school. i was gonna leave and get the fuck outta town anyway. i couldn’t wait to get to san francisco—i knew a rich sugar daddy there on nob hill. i was gonna be a young hippie ho—and stay high all the time. i had a lot on my mind—it was the summer of love. i’d graduate from blow job high—and get the fuck outta town. that senior year tho—i’d live it up as best i could. in bed with my dinge bro lover—getting tyrone to bang his head on the headboard. wrapping his long lanky legs around my neck—getting him to strangle me to death while i milked it dry.
i was so nelly—
gliding over the dance floor
dracula’s daughter
i was desperate for tyrone. i knew he was getting it on—with a couple of chicks. they’d call up late in the middle of the night—i’d laugh and hang up on them. they wanted it bad—they wanted to get some of it. so i unplugged the goddamn fuckin’ phone—i didn’t need any of their fuckin’ competition. i wanted tyrone bad—all twelve inches of him. and i got him good—i got him good a lotta times.
the ogling gym class—
big boners in the showers
they were all jealous
tyrone was tall and lanky—a born basketball player. he was only 16—full of oozing young black male afro-hormones. he was six-feet ten-inches long—lean and mean and definitely bad-attitude and wise-ass. he didn’t much want to—but i took advantage of his young male vulnerable weakness. i knew how to make him close his eyes tight—and turn his head away from me. digging his face in the pillow—wrapping his neck down around the edge of the bed. i still after all these years—get weak in the knees just thinking about tyrone. he’d go bang with his shooter so hard sometimes—he’d faint and sprain his fuckin’ neck. he’d go spaz all the way—like a hanged man at the bottom of his noose. i could hear it snap—his neck and then his nice smooth luger.
my brother tyrone—
wouldn’t do no gym glass
no showers for him…
there’s nothing worse than a tall goodlooking wise-ass kid brother—with something you want and need. he knew i was addicted to it—he played hard to get all the time. that made it even better—goin’ spaz when he didn’t wanna. like after a heavy date—and getting off with a chick-ho at her place. they had this cold-blooded look in their eyes—these high school chicks meant business. the same with the guyz in gym—he wouldn’t let them see it. that’s all he needed—was some of them goin’ queer for it. the gym coach was bad enough—and the basketball coach wasn’t any better. he took it all pretty cool in stride—he’d limp down the hallways with it goin down the side of his leg. and everybody knew—and everybody stared at it. and then they’d look at me—and smirk at my klingon ways. i clung to him in between classes—i followed him home from school. i should’ve felt ashamed of myself—and i really did both day and night. the more ashamed i got of myself—the more i wanted to do the down & dirty. nothing else meant anything—all i knew was i was in love. and i didn’t have to date it or marry it—to get it. all i had to do—was live with it. under the same roof—in the same house. there on come back little sheba street—in that quaint little dingy town of dingeville usa. he was gonna join the navy—when he was seventeen. get outta town—and outta my fuckin’ clutches. and i was gonna leave for sf—after graduation. that’s all i knew—i had a year left to do my thing. to be close and intimate—with my exquisite mulatto kid brother. i needed some more sexy negritude in me—before we said goodbye.
No comments:
Post a Comment