Tuesday, July 2

Blood

IF VIRGIN’S BLOOD is so pure, who decided so? Apparently vampires have a penchant for virgin’s blood. Someone somewhere decided that virgin’s blood was the purest, and all the young women and all the young men flew into a craze, mounting each other in the streets, flexing their delicate genitals and gazing nervously into the sky, on the lookout for swooping vampires. I can’t blame them. Mineral and tap water.
So, presumably, if you take this theory further, then one’s blood is tainted upon the first experience of coitus. A moment occurs – one cannot be sure the precise moment – during sex when two different brews of blood are mixed. For instance, if we were to fuck then my blood would go into yours and yours into mine. Work harder, marrow! let us flood our lover with our overworked, tobacco-smothered blood!
I wish I’d known this before I lost my virginity at the – some might say old – age of twenty-one. So when she said – ‘Have you got a condom?’ and I rushed up to my room for that four-year-old condom, what she was actually asking was – ‘Want some of my blood?’ If only I’d known.
Now Victoria’s blood flows in my own.
That’s ancient history now; hers and mine are still keeping me alive. What an idea! Victoria has been helping me stay alive for the past six years! Alex, well, she ran out of my mouth a little when I flossed once – the floss turned pink! – and Sid has been sprayed over my guitar many, many times. I’d like to believe that Filipino bled out of me with all the damage she did to my cock, and Helen is the most obvious blood in me right now because hers is all I seem to feel these days.
‘Don’t slit your wrists,’ a friend told me – ‘There’s a vein in your groin that’s much better, it’ll bleed out in no time … one of the benefits of being a nurse.’
So, if I slit this vein, in my bathtub where no one can disturb me, then all of this tainted blood will run out of me? And what if I should die? Are small parts of small lovers dying with me? alongside me? in the bathtub?
I wish I’d known this before I lost my virginity at the – some might say old – age of twenty-one. I’d have expertly blended my blood like a cocktail. It’s seems exhausting for my heart to pump on behalf of women who didn’t swallow my come or have tight cunts, or give a damn whether I lived or died, girls I never even cared for. We’re all in this together now.
And I was robbed! my blood is in them! All of them. How awful. For me and for them. For a start, I have terrible genes, I hope they don’t get any of that – sincerely. Excuse me if I say so but I have beautiful blood; just the right shade of red (oxygenated) and just the right consistency; some of it can be so thin.
Then the time I pierced a virgin myself and had her blood on my penis, which the condom turned into the colour of champagne. God knows how many girls I’ve licked when they’ve bled in rhythm with the moon. I knew the risks. I like the taste of blood. Forgive me.
Out of all of this, though, is the charming thought – and it does charm me! – that a piece of all those girls is still flowing round me, every minute of every day. I take them with me. Maybe they scorn the idea, though I am in love with it. Their passionate motions of sex polluted me with their blood, their own, made in their marrow, more wonderful than my own. I’ll take them with me when I leave. They put themselves into my fingers as I type. They fill my penis when I masturbate over their memory. When I am scared they rush round my body; when I am relaxed they take their time. When all is forgotten and my family is weeping, they will dry up with me in the fire. I will say once more, that I am charmed by the idea of that.

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