Posted on September 17, 2005 at 23:28:36.
No.44 Nogasm
By M Satai
No.44: Nogasm
M.Satai
“We need to invent a series of imaginary sexual perversions just to keep the activity alive.” –JG Ballard
Castrate me, you bitch! Her desire for a real (nonexistent) man leaves her towering above you. She looks down on you with eyes as distant as one of the undiscovered planets. She is assembled from toothed-gears, heat-resistant alloys, incomprehensible motherboards, and leather. She is a monster, a robot, a terminatrix from the future. Her face is a beautiful shield as impenetrable as the blue light of a B-movie horror reflected in your worshipful male face. All B-movie scream queens are the result of a radical feminization process towards an imaginary dream girl born from the corpse of all maleness. This dead goddess has a bellyfull of whirring blades: such ecstasy! This is the transsexual reflection, the overlay of desire, the masturbatory peepshow stall where you are watching yourself. Every slasher film exchanges female blood for male semen: this is the hidden alchemy of patriarchal arousal, the anti-homomale desire for its own anti-maleness. These filmic murders are celluloid circle-jerks, communal male sacrifices, autoerotic self-castration fantasies enacted in public. At their center the iconic victim is always the same: the trans-male dream body disguised in streaming gore. This transfemme-fatale is always disappointed, forever dissatisfied. She doesn’t want your semen--she wants your blood. Look closer at the man looking at the beautiful, bikini-clad corpse punctured with cannibal arrows: that’s the transgirl with the penis in his temporarily feminized hand, that’s you on screen and in front of the screen, that’s the red ejaculate on your belly.
The homoclinic The annihilating smell of disinfectant as the attendants mop up the floors after each ejaculation. Sterility. The x-rated hospital surgery. Here you lie, propped up on the steel table, balls hanging down, as the hormonal injections begin to take effect. In a world without women, there is no need for ejaculation, no place for cum. In a world without men, there is no one to ejaculate, no one to cum. The path of arousal is a closed, self-sufficient circuit: a self-impregnation, an autoerotica that is not only barren, but also sterile. Wards filled with men bound piggy-backed into cum-machines while watching x-rated video: a stimulating sensor on the tip of the penis detects the slightest outlaw tumescence and activates a suction machine that draws the semen through a hose and re-directs it back into the ejaculating subject’s asshole. The dream of perfect conservation, self-sufficiency, and ecological recycling: nothing wasted. Man as self-sustain ecopod. On the monitor in front of each man’s transfixed eyes: an autoerotic filmloop of his own fantasy trans-homo self love with a real (nonexistent) man. This self-repeating process occurs obsessively until the subject dies of over-stimulation, exhaustion, ecstasy, frustration, and repletion. The building in which all this occurs is a ghost-hospital that is located wherever a so-called convention hetero-relationship takes place from this moment forward. At the moment of ejaculation, you are always in Ward X. All hetero-relations are hereby declared ultimately sterile, nullified, void. There is no such thing as a heterosexual relationship.
Epilogue: A French-maid sissy Come on girls let's encourage him a little. {rhythmic clapping} Cum Cherie! Cum Cherie! Cum Cherie! Ahhhh yes! Here she cums! On the plate Cherie! On the plate! Look at him, he's trembling all over! God he's nearly doing a full split! Those stretching classes are doing wonders! That's a good girl. That's a good pet. Keep going. Don't stop now. You're doing fine. There, there, he's cumming girls! He's cumming! {cheers and applause} Look! See, I told you. No erection at all! Just a soft little pee-pee. Balls no bigger or harder than overcooked brussell sprouts. And best of all hardly any spunk at all. Just a tiny little spill. Probably less than a thimbleful. No mess. And completely sterile. I've had it tested! Oh its quite wonderful. The next best thing to castration. My impotent little slave maid. He can't penetrate me. He can't even get hard. So how can he object to me divorcing him and moving in with a real man? How can he object doing whatever I tell him if he wants to stay with me? And you do want to stay with me, don't you my pet? {oui!} Louder! {OUI!} {laughter and more applause} Good now lick you plate clean. This is my favorite part! That's it Cherie, lick it all up until you see your pretty pouty-lipped face reflected on the plate. Good girl. Mon Cherie. Like a cat with her little pink tongue. That's one thing I'll keep using. His tongue. He's really become so good with it since he can't use his cock. No James doesn't mind. Not after he saw how useless poor Cherie's cock is. Besides, he has free use of her mouth as well. She's just come to love the taste of cum. Don't you Cherie? Look at her lap it up! Every drop Cherie. I want to see that plate shine! Enjoy it pet, while you can still cum at all! {Hysterical laughter of the women as the scene fades to black}