Valarie C. Pawlowski: Selected Works
Fiction » April 2001

The Vixen Muse - a fairy tale

There is a vixen muse who walks into the lives of others. Men     WomenChildren         
 and           dogs, she

Preys without bias.
I'm
sitting outside smoking a cigarette and Chris is still fucking me. Four days
later he's still fucking me.

I'm wearing the same clothes he fucked me in.

I beat him in Playstation football. He kissed me. I was the one he wanted.


I want you Carol
I was single

I was drunk
Wasted and incomplete
Inside I was bubbling


There she is, there she is! The sailors scream and scatter.
A few stay behind. They're curious like kittens.

I fuck Chris good. Probably the best he's had. It lasts six minutes maybe less.

He's fucking me. My silver satin feathered beaded angel rubbing against the cement floor of his
basement. I smell his breath. It's deep and shrunken and tastes like milk.
Grainy  
cement back and forth the floor feels like sand from inside the satin.

Chris kisses hard at the Halloween Party, not gentle like my boyfriend who right
now is sleeping under a green comforter across town. Chris kisses hard not Long
& Lasting like the man I had sex with two weeks ago.

  Chris grabs my cheeks with both hands       bringing       banging       my face to his and he pushes my head away like
an explosion. He thinks someone is coming downstairs.

             His girlfriend is passed
out on the tan couch upstairs.

They find their bravery is rewarded as the vixen muse dances with each of them to jazz music.

I check my email to see if Long & Lasting I Had Sex With Two Weeks Ago has anything to say to me.

He doesn't, but Chris keeps fucking me while Kim sleeps on the couch upstairs.


I was single Carol
You were with Lawrence
I wanted you so bad
I want you

Push me away someone is coming.

She whispers in their ears exactly what they want to hear. You're so smooth, Your words are like flowers. Your lips like pencils

11-1-00
Dear Lawrence,
I'm not sure I love you anymore.

The first of many Dear John letters I know my hand has yet to write.

sick Sick sick. Chris why are we in the basement I know I'm whining


someone will see
I want you Carol
Oh my god oh my god
Youareincredible

The sailors love her and they write poetry to her on crude pieces of driftwood.

I still have my boots on.

Shoes are the most awkward part.

Two Weeks Ago I took the time to unlace my black boots first. Those boots
broke in Toronto last Tuesday so I bought imitation Chuck Taylor sneakers to
replace them.

When it looks like she might leave the sailors cry and scratch their legs with sticks.

I'm not even looking at you, know that your        pants are off        and I think
          you are inside me now but I'm too drunk to tell for sure.


IiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiii want you

I can't speak.
Chris you are such a pretty boy
I never thought you'd want
Me

Baby, I wanted you for so long
Now, come on are you alright
This is our secret
Kim and Lawrence don't have to know
God
God
God
Are you alright

[1 of 3] » [1], 2, 3




ISSN: 1492-7748 · all works copyright © 2000-3 nasty and its authors. · email the webmaster

» articles · fiction · poetry