SCENE ONE
(A woman wearing a large raincoat, is standing in a gallery full of pictures. The pictures are represented by empty frames of different shapes and sizes hanging all over the stage. Several of the paintings are played by one man, who also plays the gallery attendant.
(The woman looks at a number of paintings. She trips over nonexistant bumps in the floor and nearly falls into one or two of them. It is a collection of paintings on the subject of the Martyrdom of St. Sebastian. Finally she comes across a particularly famous one, played of course by the man, and fall immediately and violently in love with it. Gasping for breath, she backs away from the painting. Now the man becomes an attendant and reaches out tentatively to ensure her balance. She thanks him. They speak in hushed tones.)
She:
Thank you
He:
Not at all.
(She decides to summon the courage and return to the painting. She's feeling overwhelmed as it were.The attendant starts to return to his other business, and then suddenly gets an idea, pulls a hankerchief from his pocket and lunges back to her side.)
He:
Did you want a handkerchief to to to-
mop your brow? It's clean.
She:
(accepts it)
Thank you.
She:
(to the painting)
You men are all the same. You're either sticking or getting stuck.
He:
(attendant)
Pardon me?
She:
Oh... Nothing.
(She mops her brow, and perhaps as well inside her coat, returns the handkerchief, and returns to the painting.
(Meanwhile the attendant pulls out a cigarette. He looks around to see if anyone is going to notice his absence. Then he slips away. The woman looks around, notices the attendant is gone. notices there is no one else in the gallery. She is standing before the painting. As she watches, she goes into a reverie and begins to sway her hips. St. Sebastian, in the painting, notices, and only reacts with his eyes. She catches herself and stops, looking around, and then after a few moments she falls again into a reverie. St. Sebastian tries to look normal. Her reverie transforms into a kind of suggestive dance. St. Sebastian ignores her. then she gets an idea: She moves to the door and checks outside, looking in both directions. St. Sebastian cranes his neck to see if he can catch what she might be looking for. The woman returns to the painting, which has of course returned to normal, and after a few moments of heightened indecision, she suddenly lunges right into the canvas and yanks St. Sebastian out of it and stuffs him under her raincoat. He is bewildered by her grab and then, once buried beneath her coat, submissive and subdued, seemingly willing to follow wherever she might lead. )
She:
Quiet.
I know where we can go.
(Then she slips away out the door.)
SCENE TWO
(The picture frames and such are now transformed into the furniture for an apartment, and the man enters again with a paintbrush. He's trying to paint the walls, and he's irritated.)
He:
It's so totally the wrong colour.
(He stands up on a ladder to look some more, and then when he steps down he steps into the paint can with his foot.)
He:
Oh my God, this day.
(He pulls his foot out of the can, the shoe is covered with paint. He tries to hold it in the air while untying it and getting the shoe off. eventually he succeeds and sits down exhausted just as the woman from the last scene comes rushing in with a large framed painting barely hidden under her raincoat.)
He:
Hi.
She:
Hi Honey I'm Home. Look what I brought.
(She pulls the canvas out from under her coat and props it on the chair. The painting is now represented by a hollow frame. They look.)
He:
Oh my god, is that -(?)
She:
The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian. I stole it. I stole it from the Museum. I just walked right out with it and nobody followed me.
He:
Wow...
She:
Yeah...
He:
Wow...
She:
Yeah...
He:
You stole it?
She:
Yeah I did.
He:
Are you gonna return it?
She:
No I'm going to keep it.
He:
Oh.
She:
Isn't it great?
He:
He's so- naked.
She:
Yeah. Do you like it.
He:
Um. Yeah sure, I mean it's art right? Classical art takes naked people and paints them all the time, it's what they used to do. So sure, it's beautiful. You're not going to hang it up on our wall are you?
She:
Well, yes I mean I know its a naked man and I knew that might embarrass you, but he seemed so vulnerable in his nakedness, with the little arrows sticking out of his body, and I thought it was beautiful that I wanted to have it and I was hoping you would understand.
He:
You're going to hang it on our wall.
She:
Yes.
He:
Oh Great.
She:
You don't like it?
He:
Sure I like it. Sure I like it. You know, Annie: I think I should move out.
She:
You do?
He:
I do, yeah. I don't like the colour, and now this painting, everything's getting right out of control.
She:
Okay.
He:
Okay?
She:
Yeah. Okay.
He:
So that's it?
She:
Yeah.
He:
Okay. Uh. okay. I'll go pack my suitcase.
She:
Okay.
(He goes. She's looking at the walls, holding the painting, trying to decide where to hang the painting. As she puts it down again against the ladder, the actor returns as the image of St. Sebastian in the frame.)
He:
You can't keep me here.
She:
Shush. You're not supposed to be able to speak. You're a painting. You'll ruin everything.
He:
I don't belong here. I belong in the museum among my own kind, in an environment free of shadows. In a space that's designed for the most uniform dispersion of natural light. Plus I thought we would be alone here. who is that man.
She:
That's my husband. He's leaving, don't worry. I'm going to put you up right here.
(She moves him to a place on the wall. Sits and watches him, taking off her shoes and stockings and such.)
He:
It's so dark here. And all this bustling around is going to give me a rash and reopen my wounds. Then you'll have to tend to me, and then you'll see what a needy piece of work I am and you'll leave me - abandon me to some terrible fate.. out in the rain and the -...
It's funny you know: there I was, being used by the Romans for target practice, and let me tell you I remember there were only a couple of good shots in the bunch, but they were planning on clubbing me to death after it was all over, and so I closed my eyes and prayed, and in a moment when I lost concentration, which can happen sometimes, I opened my eyes and found I was there in the museum, and you were there too, looking at me with lust in your eyes. Not that I have anything against lust in the eyes of a woman: No: Hard as it may be to believe, I prefer being looked at by a woman with lust in her eyes than by a man with a bow and arrow aimed at my chest, even when I know for certain the guy is going to miss. I know that may not be true for some, but it is for me. Anyway, when you grabbed me it was the most amazing sensation, it was as if I had been asleep and suddenly I was awake, and now, though I am settled again, still: I remember that feeling. Though there was pain, still it was a feeling.
Thing is what I really prefer most of all, even more than the lust in the eyes of a woman, is the lust in the eyes of a - well, lust in the eyes of a man. Not just any man: a man who is about to - Once I woke up in a gallery, I don't know where it was - it's true: I left out the part about how I had woken up before, in other galleries, before this one where I saw you looking at me with lust in your eyes, I left out that part, it was for dramatic effect, I'm sorry - I did not wish to mislead you or give you the wrong idea. Still, I've never been stolen before, and I'll tell you: there was some Definite Feeling involved in that, rest assured; It was - it was something we had together I won't describe it. Anyway, my story: I woke up in a gallery, and this man came in and declared his love for me right there on the spot. And then he killed himself. Seppuku. Ritual Suicide. Right there on the spot. That was - that was really something. I've got to say I prefer it when they turn their arrows on themselves than when they point them at me. Ouch. Ouch. I remember: I felt for him; I drank him with my eyes. Life is hard for the painted.
She:
Shush. Here he comes again.
(The actor becomes the husband and returns with a suitcase.)
He:
(the husband)
Goodbye!
She:
Goodbye.
He:
Fine then. Goodbye.
She; Goodbye.
(He leaves. Then returns to become the painting. She sits again to watch him.)
She:
I work all day in a cheese shop. I shouldn't eat that stuff, but I do; I'm a lonely woman; Say something.
He:
Oh now she wants me to say something. Now, that I'm the only man in the house. But maybe now I don't want to say something. Maybe now I just want to Be: Silent; Strong; Sublime; a Painting; a Great Painting.
She:
Make love to me.
He:
What's your name.
She:
Annie!
He:
Annie, I'm a flat surface. I can't make love to you. Drink me with your eyes, and it will be enough.
She:
I'll try;
It's not working.
Maybe if I -
(they move to the floor)
tear you out of your frame, then I could wrap myself up in you, you would embrace me and squeeze me and I'd be yours and you'd be mine-
He:
No!
Drink me with thine eyes! It will be enough!
She:
Oh I'll try!
I used to like sculpture, but I'm trying to develop an aesthetic appreciation of a more perfect more untouchable beauty;
But it's not working! I want to Tear you from your -!
(She's reaching into the frame.)
He:
No! Don't you see! Don't you understand? It's not me you love. I'm just the object - the expression of another, the vestige, the shadow, the Mask! If you tear me out, you'll destroy me and I'll be nothing! It's not the painting you love: It's the painter. I know that story; It's an old story!
She:
It's not the painter!
(She starts to pull him out of the frame)
He:
Ah!
(She stops.)
She:
No.
He:
No?
She:
No.
He:
But it's - it's Beautiful! Tear some more!
She:
No! This is not what I want. It would destroy you.
He:
But maybe now I want to be destroyed!
She:
But I just realized.
He:
What!
She:
In my life, there's someone that - You Remind me of someone.
(She starts to put her clothes and raincoat back on.)
He:
But now suddenly - all of a sudden I feel - Alive! And so maybe you could - muddy me with your hands - with your two hands and your feet, muddy my surface like footprints and handprints on the white wall when two beings, two Living beings are both alive and heightened in all their senses, you could just - avoid the arrows, or even - even touch me in little circles around them with the tips of your fingers, and even if it lasts only a moment before my life is snuffed out, still I would Feel something! Oh but wait! I remember now what it was like to be alive, and to watch those bastards plug me full of arrows! Oh no, I didn't like that at all! It's amazing what the passage of a few centuries will make you think! I thought it must have been mildly pleasurable, but there was no pleasure in it at all! They're the ones! They're the ones that got all the pleasure! Oh yes, I have to Live and be Alive in the world! because Then I could pull out my arrows, and the flesh would heal over, and then I could get a bunch of bows and arrows myself - or maybe even a shotgun you shoot with shotguns now, don't you. So I'd get myself a nice shotgun and I'd go out into the world and hunt those Romans down, I'd plug them full of shotguns, and I'd look into their eyes as they died, and I wouldn't paint them - oh no, nobody would paint them, I'd just burn them and bury them in the -
(She covers his mouth with a piece of tape.)
She:
You men are all the same. You're either sticking or getting stuck. Except for one man. I think there might be one man who's neither. I'm gonna find him.
(She grabs the frame and stuffs it under her raincoat, as the actor disappears Leaves the apartment.)
SCENE THREE
(The man enters, playing a new character. He walks in sideways, with his back to the audience. He's carrying a ladder, a tape-recorder and a length of rope. Keeping his back to the audience he sets down the ladder and puts the tape recorder on the floor beside it. Then he creates a noose with the rope, steps onto the ladder and slings it over a bar above. Then he steps down off the ladder and steps on the tape recorder with his foot.)
He:
Damn.
(He bends over, picks it up, takes the cassette out and stands up straight to study it. It's broken He is grave and sincere in his manner.)
He:
Now what am I supposed to do. I'm sure I don't have another one.
(Only as he turns do we finally see that he bears a large conspicuous erection, hanging perpendicular to his body and creating a kind of pyramid in his pants.)
He:
No I don't. Aw damn. Walls. Chairs. Floor:
It is for you to remember what it is I am going to tell you, these, my final words on this earth.
For many centuries, when they condemned a man to death by hanging, people came from miles around to look on in awe and horror as he became aroused even as the life was being choked from his body. It was a public shame they associated with the humiliation of mortality. In all of the human capacity for mute physical expression, they saw the erection as the most naked and inescapable sign of our failed desire, denied again and again through life, to attach ourselves to something else... Anything else.
But it is not the gibbet that has had this conspicuous effect on me: I have always been thus. You will quail to learn that I have borne this very erection since I was ten years old. There has been no - epiphany - for me; or even arousal: I slog through life, numb, unfeeling. And so my end is fitting. Perhaps at very least it will grant me the small cry of pleasure that has eluded me so far. Le p'tit mort avec la Grande Morte. You may ask, how did this happen? How did I get here, and why, if my body has been so insistent, have I so thoroughly failed in my effort to make a profound attachment?
(The woman appears at the corner of the stage, her back to the audience.)
He:
When I was ten years old I shared a room with my brother. He was five years older than me, and once, while I was there in the room, and he was changing his clothes to go to work the nightshift, his peter got all stiff right there in front of me. It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen, and he said:
She:
(her back still turned)
Don't tell mum.
And I didn't.
She:
(turning to face front)
Christian?
He:
Ever.
She:
Is there anything that you have to tell me today?
He:
I never told my mother about the stiff peter that occurred in my bedroom on the night of April Something, Nineteen Hundred and Somethingty Something.
She:
All right then, but be in with your boots off by Seven. And look after your little brothers.
He:
That night as he got changed for work my big brother also said:
She:
(back turned)
I can't help it. It happens all the time. I can't control it.
He:
And then he went off to work, bearing his stiff peter conspicuously in his pants. Except for when he passed my mother in the kitchen, when he would have managed somehow to conceal it.
And then he died that night and didn't come home, through no fault of his own and no fault, I can assure you, of his erection.
I went to see him at the funeral parlour, with my parents and my two other brothers, and they had the bottom half of the casket closed I thought because otherwise all the visitors would see it still sticking straight up out of the casket, and perhaps as well my mother would notice and say:
She:
Christian?
He:
Yes Mum?
She:
How come you did not tell me about the stiff peter in your big brother's pants?
He:
How do you answer a question like that? The idea of this secret made my life discernibly more complicated than it had been.
Not long thereafter, I secretly tried to come up with something resembling the stiff peter that my brother had sprouted on the very night of his death. I now shared a room with my younger brother, but he was out delivering his newspapers, so I had a bit of time to myself.
(He looks down at his penis.)
Yes there it was. I spoke a little prayer in my big brother's honour, and then I pushed and prodded it for a little while, and just as I felt that I was on the verge of some kind of - thing - I heard a voice from the hallway, so clear it could have been beside me:
She:
Christian?
He:
Yes mum?
She:
Were you the one that left the honey jar open on the counter?
He:
...I'll come and clean it up in a minute!
There I was, with a stiff peter just like my brother's, and there was my mother's voice beside me, telling me to go clean up the honey jar in the kitchen. So there it was, and I tried to make it go away.
(We observe him try to make it go away.)
But it didn't go away. It never went away. There it was, and it was there to stay. Never to go away again. Ever. Ever.
What was I to do? I could not bear the thought of hearing my mother say:
She:
Christian? How did you come up with that stiff peter in your pants? And when will it ever go away?
He:
I couldn't bear the thought. So I left home and struck out on my own, with a rag on a stick and a road for a map and a peter for a compass. I got a job in the big city behind the counter of a cheese shop. I spent a lot of time behind counters, and mostly kept to myself. And one evening, in a bar downtown, I met a woman.
(He's sitting in a bar. She sidles over from her seat. He takes a bottle from the bar and pours her a drink. She continues to hold his gaze, even though he looks away and back, away and back. She speaks with a Spanish accent.)
She:
I am full of desire for you. You like being alone. I am attracted to men like that. You like the silence and the solitude. I admire that. I wish I possessed such a quality. I want to learn it from you: Teach me. Of course the only way I can learn is if I spend every waking moment with you. We can be quiet at times, though it would always be better if we spoke. Let's go.
(They go. Later they are in bed. Or perhaps she simply snaps her fingers and the lights go out, and the two evoke the sounds a couple beginning to make love in the darkness.)
She:
(discovering)
What's this? This erection. it is not spontaneous. It is not fresh. Give me a fresh erection.
He:
Uh- I- I-
She:
Give me a fresh erection. I wish to have a fresh erection.
He:
I uh I don't think that will be possible - uh - at this time...
She:
You don't think that it will be possible at this- Do you not think I deserve a fresh erection?
He:
Sure! Sure I think-
She:
Then what is the problem
He:
It's just that this is - this is all I've got at the moment.
She:
Well then let's get rid of it!
He:
Par-
She:
Let's get rid of it and start over.
He:
Well okay sure if you- but I don't understand how we could po-
She:
I will call you names until you become impotent, you waggling wet willy-boy! You broken parachute! You non-panache! Boat with no sails! Bunny's dead battery! Button Dick! No dick-in-the-box trick tonight for you little boy! Not in my boudoir, not in my-...
Hmmmm.
Can I ask you a question?
He:
Yes.
She:
This erection: She is from your mother, no?
He:
Pardon me?
She:
This is because of your mother, no? She caught you masturbating when you were a small child and its been like this ever since. Is that right?
He:
Uh-
She:
That's right, is it not? Is it not right?
He:
Yeah. Yeah I guess so.
She:
I hate your kind. I despise your kind. And I hate her kind even more.
He:
You hate my kind?
She:
I must kill her.
He:
P-Pardon me?
She:
I will kill your mother, and then you will give me a fresh, spontaneous erection and we will make fresh, spontaneous love, here, in my-
He:
You want to kill my mother?
She:
Do you desire me?
He:
Do I-
She:
I have a Better idea; we will kill her together. Let's go.
He:
So, after many years away, at last I made the journey home with this woman as my companion. We rented a car and drove all day. I was clearly nervous, as I had no real idea what my mother would think of this woman who even now as we drove was plotting her death. As we approached the house from the driveway up the walk, the door opened, and there was my mother, still looking the same after many years, only she had a strange and determined expression on her face and suddenly I noticed she was pointing a loaded shotgun directly at my com-
She:
Breathe your last you bitch! Woman of shame!
He:
And she shot her. Right there on her front porch. Her intuition had told her to strike first, before being struck down herself. Then she embraced me and said:
She:
My beautiful son; There is this young girl I want you to meet. she goes to our church. Come with me.
He:
I went. I met the girl.
She:
How do you do.
He:
She was very sweet. So sweet in fact that I took a long bandage and strapped my stiff-peter-erection up against my belly so that it could not be seen through my pants.. I had never thought of doing this before and would recommend the procedure to anyone facing a similar dilemma. The wedding was beautiful. We lived happily together for a long time. Or so I thought.
She:
I'm leaving you.
He:
What?
She:
You feel no desire for me despite that thing you carry in your pants. You try to hide it from me, but I am not afraid of it. Why do you think I am afraid of it? Because you yourself are afraid of it. I can't reach you. You see me only as a nice girl- a virgin, whom you cannot touch. But I want to touch and I want to be touched. I want to dive into life, get all wet and hold you like a baby to my breast at the same time. I want to plant sloppy kisses and touch the world with the tip of my tongue!
He:
(to her)
I-
(to us)
I didn't know what to say.
She:
Yes! And I want to build things and be all things, so I'm leaving you. You, who are as numb as that numb tulip that deflowered me in such an unmemorable way! Goodbye!
He:
She called my penis a tulip. A numb tulip. These words were shocking, coming from the mouth of this woman - this chaste beauty; this Virgin, preferred by my mother. Here I had avoided sexual relations out of respect for her nature, and suddenly she was no different from the other woman, the one who'd been gunned down on my mother's front step. Were all women like this? Was there no one who would simply wish to take care of me? Were they all twisted duplicitous monsters instead of just some of them? If this was true, then the world was no longer safe for me. I realized that the best thing would be to simply speed up the end of my life. Hurry up and get it over with. And here I am.
(He's back on the ladder with the noose around his neck. There is a knock on the door.)
He:
Damn.
(Knock again.)
Who could possibly- I wonder what that could be about.
(He decides to go off and answer the door. The noose follows him, still around his neck. He returns with a telegram.)
He:
My mother is dead.
I don't have to hang myself.
(He takes off the noose and it disappears up into the flies.)
He:
No: Instead I can lay down on the ground and die right here and now.
(He does so.)
He:
(supine, morose, trying to convince himself)
I am full of grief...
My Life is Full of Death...
The World is Full of Ugliness.
(His erection is now sticking straight up. He doesn't move for several moments, although his erection grows considerably larger. Again there is a knock at the door.)
He:
Now who could that be? Who could that be now?
(He decides to get up and go answer the door. He returns to the room followed by a woman in a large raincoat She rushes in after him carrying a large framed painting.)
She:
Christian. You are here. You're okay. When you didn't show up to the cheese shop for a few days there I was worried, and I thought you might be sick, I thought perhaps you might be dying in the hospital and I thought I would come and pay you a visit. Are you feeling a little under the weather?
He:
Uh - yeah, yeah - uh - I guess I - am.
She:
Oh and I see you have a lot of empty wall space here in your apartment, and I happened to bring along a little something that maybe you might be able to- hang up.
(She pulls the canvas out from under her coat and props it on the ladder. They look.)
He:
I think I know what that is.
She:
The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian. I stole it. I stole it from the Museum. I just walked right out with it and nobody followed me.
He:
Wow...
She:
Yeah...
He:
Look, uh- Why did you-
She:
It's for you. I brought it here for you.
He:
Me?
She:
Yeah, you. Do you like it.
He:
Um. Yes it's beautiful. Look at him, he's at the end of his life.
She:
Yeah. I mean I know its a naked man and that might embarrass you, but he seemed so vulnerable in his nakedness, with the little arrows sticking out of his body, and it reminded me of - I mean I thought you might like it, so I brought it here for you. It's for you. So.
He:
It's for me.
She:
Yeah, it's for you.
He:
Wow. Why'd you get something for me? How'd you find out where I live?
She:
Well Christian, I got something for you because I-
He:
Yeah?
She:
Because I love you, I - I think.
He:
Oh!
She:
Yeah.
He:
Wow, that's so-
She:
Yeah, it's-
He:
No, I mean it's different, I mean it's different than I expected!
She:
Oh yeah?
He:
Yeah, I mean cause when I look at you like at work, and you look back at me I always look away cause I always think you look kinda pissed off that I'm looking at you and-
She:
Oh no!
He:
No but you know what I mean? You look kinda angry, you know what I mean? You kinda look like this:
She:
Oh no!
He:
You look kind of angry. And too I mean I'm looking at you and plus don't forget I've got this -
(He's about to indicate his erection.)
She:
Like an arrow in your body!
He:
What?
She:
Like an arrow in your body that was shot through your waist but it's got your heart pinned helpless and bleeding to your ribs!
He:
Is that true?
She:
And more- what's more is the arrow is made of living flesh and its fired through with electricity that's held your body in the grip of a thunderstorm for so long that you don't even feel it anymore Christian! I'll bet you don't even feel it anymore! Oh what I would give to be running full fling in the flood and the torrents of your body.
He:
How can you know me so well?
She:
Cause I- Well because I- cause I-
He:
What?
She:
Cause I look at art.
He:
You look at art.
She:
Oh Christian because I look at the history of art!
He:
It's okay, you don't have to explain!
She:
I want to explain!
He:
Yeah but I'm saying you don't have to because I love you too!
She:
Really?
He:
And I don't know what this means but St. Sebastian's got nothing on that!
She:
I adore you!
(She hurls herself onto him and they fall to the floor with her on top.)
She:
I was in a museum! I was looking at art, and I thought about the first painting, the very first painting: They say that the first paintbrush is a man holding on to his penis, some people get all red in the face when they say stuff like that, they get all angry, but I tried to imagine it: The man holding onto his penis to make a painting. That would be hard. Unless - Oh! This was the thought: Unless the only paint into which he had to dip his brush came from the womb of the woman who embraced him on the cold ground centuries ago, when the world was cold and brutal and everyone was numb, before we had any of this. And as they lay there he had a thought, and she had a thought, and then she said "Dip it in me baby!" And he did, and pulled it out again, and then she laughed and he got vexed and worried, cause there was blood there, and he tried to get up and run away, but she held him in the grip of a cavewoman - a cavewomanesque grip - and she grinned in his face and said "Whatsamatter my man, can't you take it?" and he screwed up his courage and said "Yeah, I can take it," and to prove he could, he made a little smudgy painting on her belly, and she laughed, together they laughed, as he had made the first painting, and then-
-but then some warriors came from another tribe, they came with their quivers and their numb arrows, and they happened upon these two, just like that, and they stuck them full of arrows, and the two died, they died, and that was the end of painting I thought
-but then when their own people found them, found them and prepared a place of burial, they discovered the painting on the belly of the woman; and so they buried them with much ceremony, and they went home to their cave, and each one grabbed a stick and wrapped it in fur, and in their great cave they dipped in a bowl of buffalo blood and painted the walls from morning till night, from night till morning and night again, till the walls they gave off a glow: till there was a light that came from the walls and not from the fire in the middle of the room, such a small fire in the middle of the room. But the room fire flickered, and the wall fire answered, and the painters were surrounded by light; so the dead were remembered, their dead were remembered with feeling, with much feeling, and their walls were painted from bottom to top, and that's what I think about that, my man, that's what I think about-
He:
(cries out)
Ah! Oh Mama, I'm so-
She:
When I Look at You! Because that's what it was, that's what your penis was, before the world was created that kept you frozen and hard and numb, and kept me bewildered, the women walk the world bewildered, and the men stumble through the world rock hard and numb in their pants, trying to figure out whatever happened to them, whatever happened after that simple time when they used to paint the bellies of their wives and laugh, the world it keeps you hard and numb, and you're thinking, you're always thinking, and you're pointing your penis this way and that, and you're always afraid, you look at your penis and think of the arrow that could be sticking out of your body when the time comes to be St. Sebastian and you slowly bleed to death. This is what you make me think about, with your penis. But I must confess I was thinking about it all day, ever since I was at the MuseeooaahhhhHHHHH!
(She collapses on top of him and they lay there panting for awhile.)
He:
I agree, with everything you say. I agree entirely. stay with me forever. Stay with me forever. stay with me forever. stay with me. Stay with me forever.
(She continues to breathe against his chest. The End.)
