ThE dAWN  ChORUS.

He once had ambition, long ago he was once considered to be someone with a bright future in the art world. He had been considered a charming, attractive, charismatic, even thought of as an incurable romantic, amusing and a kind man. He was told that he was innovative, a creative force to contend with, a bright shining spark in experimental and abstract art. Although, he had never considered that  these attributes applied  to him. Because he created works that he liked, for fun, for his pleasure. He liked to think of it all as a hobby. It was just a bonus if some things were liked and purchased. His creativity was a way for him to release his inner demons.

Yet, how quickly things change and how plaudits are so easily forgotten. It all changed his life, thirteen  years ago, his last major exhibition at the Muddle Gallery in London. It was for want of a better word a ´disaster´. The works were slated by critics and potential buyers. He was an instant ´pariah´. The reviews were scathing and some of the words used still jangle in his memory. ´self-destructive´ - ´intimidating´ - ´ugly´ - ´perverse´ - ´childish´ - ´absent´ - ´insulting´. He actually found some of the descriptions rather apt, he considered that some of the words described his style rather well. But, there were other comments that were a little too spiteful, too damning in their descriptive reviews. ´talentless´ -´ unimaginative´ - ´a creative void´ - ´an absence of talent hinders this lacklustre fool  who uses too much paint and glue.´ - a pointless waste of canvas,´ and so on.

For some unknown reason, he found those comments/ critiques a little upsetting, perhaps because he knew it was the end of a decent income, perhaps he realised that any idea´s he had of expanding into books, prints, merchandise were now dashed. Whatever the reasons, he knew that from that moment on, his art was for him and him alone.

He withdrew into himself and shunned social events, friend´s dinner parties, invitations to other exhibition openings. He did some travelling, he spent a lot of his time alone. Any relationships that formed soon crumbled. Yet, he still painted, wrote stories, kept a diary, took a lot of photographs. But, he never showed his work. In his studio, the art piling up, stacked up neatly all around him was for his eyes only.
AS the years went by, his behaviour was increasingly strange, reclusive. He smoked more ´weed´, he snorted more ´coke´. The few friends that he had left were concerned about him, they found him  ´erratic´, ´impossible´, ´argumentative´,  ´unbearable´, and ´ emotionally vacant´.

He would say up to the early hours painting, writing, listening to music, playing Xbox games and watching DVD´s. He would look into the mirror and see himself, unforgiving in his wretchedness. Incomprehensible darkness in his hollow eyes, a sneer permanently attached to his colourless face.

It was inevitable that his virile imagination that fed him, that exhilarated his senses would worsen, due to his addictions and his overwhelming obsessive compulsive disorders. Every day became a new horror to him, as he would look in the mirror, and what he saw fascinated him and terrified him in equal measure.
His art became even darker,  more disturbing as he was creating his own colour blends from his own blood, urine and excrement. His writings became increasingly vivid, but cryptic, his desires and fantasies sprawled across the pages, written in a madman´s hand. His perspective of life formed and fuelled  by his addictions.

When he finally decided to join the computer age, his obsessions found a new outlet. The internet. It was a new universe, filled with people of all backgrounds with whom he could communicate. He wallowed in the world wide web, embracing all that it had to offer. AS the internet changed, he did his best to change with it. Facebook. Twitter. Pinterest. He devoured them. He used them to vent his frustrations, disappointments, anger and his lonliness. Sometimes he would share his sense of humour and fetishes. He also wrote on blogs, an online diary, created websites and he even started to post images of his works. The internet was a global gallery and he would spend hours searching for others that thought like he did. His search was fruitless.

 It seemed that he was never going to find people that he would fit in with. What had happened to society?
 He felt alone in this real world of stink flesh and dumbed down idiots who watched endless reality TV show´s. The news  media spread propaganda. The journalists wrote about their own vanities and no longer reported seriously on the issues that were destroying this small planet called earth. Everyone, of the so called normal people seemed greedy and sheep like. Selfish, empty headed and stupid, oh so very stupid. Where were the creative people? The thinking people? The people who were like him? Surely he was not alone in his thought processes? Where was lust? Where was love? There must be someone out there on the world wide web that he could relate to? Was there somebody out there who could / would understand him, would they want to? Someone who would be his MiSTRESS  dARK.

The 13 friends he had left seemed to understand him. Especially Mister Zero, Tom Tron, Lord Muddle and Mr FiSChTZ. They always helped to ease his troubled mind. But, he wanted more.
The internet would sometimes unnerve him. So much information, so much ´rubbish´ to wade through. So much choice that actually was limited, search engines filled with corporate listings, advertising and ´celebrity´ nonsense he wished he could rid the planet of people with very low I.Q´s.

Still, he continued using the internet, making the most of what had become a beast of burden. He believed that he would eventually, at some point in time, find the one he was searching for. Someone who would enthral and intrigue him, capture his imagination and stir his hidden lusts and desires. Someone who would become his muse, his ideal, his ´soulmate´, someone who would want to share his darkness, his light, his murky world, his fantasies and his love.

He worried that his online addiction was a part of his other cravings for drugs and vodka, he knew that he needed to get ´cleaner´. Become a little more human, claw back what was left of his hardened soul and return to his creative path and enjoy the outside world again.

It was a slow process, but soon his need for drugs diminished, he spent some time in Europe, visiting cities that had always interested him. He started to socialise more in the face to face sense and to his surprise... he started to exhibit his artworks  again. He even sold some. Which gave him back some of his lost confidence.
But, he was still unable to meet someone that could be his muse. As was usual for him relationships started and failed. They usually liked him in the beginning, but then, they usually wanted him to change in to the person they wanted him to be. Then, when he did, they did not like him and would leave, telling him ´that he was not the person they thought he was´. It was all very Mars, Venus and confusing.

Then once he returned to London, he started to spend a bit more time on the internet. For some reason that he could not explain, he was enjoying using Twitter. It was no longer annoying him the way it used to. And that is when he found her, or she found him. A stranger. He knew nothing about her except from what he learned from her posts and the few photographs she would share.
 He had no true idea of what she looked like, he had no idea of her body shape, but none of that mattered to him. Because her posts intrigued him, her words thrilled him, her thoughts aroused him and that excited him. He had finally, after nearly thirteen years,  discovered someone that could keep his interest. So for twelve weeks he followed her on twitter, watched her every comment, her every share and her every favourite. He wondered if what he was doing could be considered ´stalking´ and if it did, he loved it!

On the thirteenth week he decided that he would contact her. He was strangely nervous about sending her a private message. How would she react? What would she reply? Would she reply? Did his own posts disturb or excite her? Did she like his art? Had she read any of his stories? Was there a twitter etiquette that he did not know about? He felt lost as thought about what to write to her, he wished that he could send her a handwritten letter in the post to her. At least that would have an element of him in it. The internet could be too anonymous. He decides to hand write a draft before typing it. But as he writes he notices that his hand is shaking and that his writing has become an unintelligible sprawl of black lines and incoherent sentences. What has she done to him, this woman he does not know. Just even the thought of her sends icicles of excitement through his mind, body... and... dare he say it ?

  Soul....?

He never really thought that he had one. He needs to calm his nerves, so he makes a fresh coffee in the machine and lights up a Tor Oriental cigarette. AS he smokes, he looks out of the window and stares at the sky, looking some birds flying. He smiles. If my friends could see me now.. he thinks. AS he continues to enjoy the cigarette, his thoughts start to fill of ´HER´.

He wants to know more about her. He wants to know her deepest thoughts, her desires, needs, fantasies, interests. He wants to understand why ´SHE´ out of all the women he has ever known excites and thrills him to his very core. He feels that she is the perfect ´fit´ for him. So, he finally sends her a message and to his surprise she replies and they continue to write to each other. Each day he learns a little bit more about her. She teases him with her messages, hinting at more, but never truly giving anything away. She entangles him with her charms. He becomes a little bit more obsessed with her as the time goes on until...... He can take it no more. He must meet her. See her in the flesh. He must have her!

So, using methods that were indiscreet to say the least, he found out her full name, her address and some other private information that would help him with the idea that started to form in his mind. He travelled to her city. He booked himself into a 5 star Hotel. Unpacked. Showered, shaved and dressed. He caught a taxi to her road. Walked about the area to get acquainted with the place, to make himself feel comfortable, so he would not look like stranger or out of place.. He might even rent an apartment  here. Then he started to watch her. Follow her. For 13 hours a day, he would know where she was, what she was doing and he would keep notes, a diary of her daily routines, the diary of ´HER´.

Soon the time would come when they would meet.

Soon, he would go and visit her, his muse.

 He knew how to enter her apartment, he knew where she slept.
She would finally be his and his alone.

Soon it will be time for the new dawn, for him to wake up at the crack of dawn and help his muse understand that he loved her.

 His beautiful sweet Dawn.

 Soon she would understand.

The End.

(continued in the 2 short stories ´A NEW dAWN´ and ´AdOURNEd´)

ANOThER dAWN

Another dAWN.

She was glad of the silence. It helped to soothe and quiet her troubled mind. It took her away from the glare of the computer screen.
     She felt at peace. Alone. Erotic and wet. Free to do nothing but finger herself, caress her own flesh. Thinking of him.
     Mr Zero. Mr Tron, Mr Fischtz - names, only names. Names that had once meant excitement,  then sadly boredom,  eventually frustration, then caged slavery. Names that had nearly brought her to the edge of insanity.

     But here in her own space. She relished the peace. She was at one with herself, away from THEM. Here, alone in her apartment, her fingers inside her, giving herself pleasure, arousal.

     In her eyes the darkening filter of LUST. Her  nipples erect, hardened by her fingers pulling on them and her other hand rubbing her clitoris and fingering her ever dripping cunt. She looked  at her feet. Tought of him, her desires, his fetish and whimpered, a lonely troubled sound, as her cunt juices flowed through her fingers. Quickly she used her fingers to make herself cum.

Sodden and breathless, her moans, louder and louder still, then finally a screaming and a gushing from her pouting wet hole.
She lay on her bed, panting, her eyes closed, imagining him... Joshua Kane. Wishing he could see her now.
     And then, as she slowly opens her eyes, she sees him, standing at her bed, watching her and smiling at her, a cruel smile.

     'Tick Tock Time, I am sleeping, aren´t I?' Dawn stares at him.
     'did you like watching me?' she asked.
     The man said nothing.

     She wanted to be angry at this intrusion of her privacy,this invasion into her bedroom, but anger somehow seemed pointless. It was as if SHE was his, her body was his, and she had finger fucked herself wishing him here with her.
     She watched him, curiously; hoping for an explanation. He said nothing. Not a word.
Then after thirteen long minutes
     'Did you get wet?' he asked.
     He stood, huddled over her, gazing at her heaving breasts.
     She leaned up, moved towards him  brushing her nipples against him as closer to his groin, but still he did not move. Erratically the flames of his eyes burst into blackness, something sinister in his dark eyes.

   'I have been watching you for a very long time my darling Dawn, a very long .... time´' He stared at her. Then he slowly started to undress.
   The words , spoken by him in a quiet, toneless voice, took her by surprise.
   'why?' she asked.
  But he seemed not to hear. Only the shiver of her skin and her heavy breathing broke the eerie silence.
     She spoke again. 'how long have you been watching me?'
     His eyes followed her as she moved closer towards him.

´ that´s right my sweet Dawn, come closer to me, I have admired you from afar for thirteen months, thirteen days and thirteen hours. Now help me unleash my lust for you´

     She unzipped him, took his cock out from behind the zip and embraced it with her soft hand, she gripped it and started to use her tongue on its circumcised length, it throbbed as she closed her mouth around his cock. She sucked on it greedily. Savouring his sweet taste.

     He watched her, and she thought that he looked vaguely like a dark shadow; lean, a miscreant , with bitterness in his eyes and cruelty in his form. And his voice was languid and haunting, when his mouth and lips formed into a smile. It was of desire, filled with a need to inflict pain. She continued to suck him, her eyes watching him, when he pulled her by her hair, and pushed her away from his erection.

      ´what do you want to do with me ?' she asked.
     He smiled, a pitiless smile, but did not answer.

     As she watched him she had the feeling that he knew her every desire. Sensed that he'd been waiting for her. Expecting her. Not just for a long time but for eternity. He had been looking for his soul mate. She felt arousal and the thought of this, that she alone matched his every need.
     She turned towards him.

     She stared into his face, his eyes and felt her cunt getting wet again. She was alone, completely alone with this delightful, sensual and silent stranger. She knew that she wanted him to fuck her, fuck her hard and hurt her, hurt her with as much pleasure and as much pain as he could give her. He excited her and it showed as her pussy oozed her lustful needs over his fingers which he had suddenly entered easily into her eager and willing hole.

She felt highly excited, dirty and a willing whore to his every whim. She offered herself to his movements inside her. She heard him tell her to talk to him, to release herself to him, to be a filthy talking slut and she obliged. ´yes, stick them into me, finger fuck me hard, make my cunt juices flow you fuck nasty bastard!´

 ´good girl´ he smiled ´now let me taste you bitch! My tongue needs to be inside your hole´
She was highly aroused, her pussy had never been so wet, his tongue was magical, what else was he planning for her willing body?

As his tongue probed her, his dark eyes watched her face lost in pleasure, then he stopped. Stood up and started to take off all his clothes, they looked at each other, her face full of desire and need. He slowly licked his lips and as he stood before her, now completely naked and erect, he started to masturbate.

     She watched. Hypnotised. Unable to take her eyes off him.
     Destiny, her mind told her. This is your destiny, this is what you were created for. No matter where you went you had to return to him. To this man. jOshua Kane.

     Quietly he wanked his cock in the direction of  her angelic face, he moved slowly towards  her. Getting closer to her hot sweaty face, his cock hard, stiff, bulging and throbbing. She licked her lips, hunger in her eyes and then greedily swallowed the length into her mouth. Letting his prick ease down her throat, filling her.

     Gently, very gently, he took a handful of her hair into his hands then tightenedhis grip, and pulled her hair tightly, his grip firm and cruel. His cock throbbed and swelled even more in her hot wet mouth,  she wanted to scream with pure animal lust, but she couldn't.
´that´s it my fuck whore, you cunting bitch, SUCK it, suck it hard´
He forced his erection further down into her throat, pulling at her hair tighter. Her eyes started to water, but still she wanted more.

Then he pushed her away from him, she fell back upon the bad, gasping for air. He roughly rolled her over onto her fours, spread her buttocks apart and started to lick her asshole, his tongue probing her small butthole. Then after some time, he positioned himself behind her, telling her to start begging him to fuck her, to hurt her, to punish her. She willingly started to scream at him to do these things to her. Then he gripped her hair, pulling it tightly, forcing her head back and pushed his hard cock slowly into her asshole. She moaned, begging him to go harder, faster, ram it deep into her tight hole, she begged for more cock. Then he stuffed it all the way into her and leaned his head down into the back of neck, licking her sweat, Then let go of her hair and put his hand around her throat, squeezing, in unison to his pumping of her ass.

´that´s right you dirty fucking bitch, talk dirty to me, be the fuck slut that you are with ME, keep begging me to fuck your slutty, shitty hole!´

She could feel her cunt juices dripping out of her pussy. She did as she was told and screamed and shouted at him the dirtiest, filthiest words she could think of. She loved being his fuck whore, she loved his cock and she wanted even more of it inside her.

Then, he pulled his thick stiff prick out of her ass and turned her over, stuffing it into her open gasping mouth, ´now taste how dirty you are´ She loved her taste, mixed with his, she gobbled greedily, like a good dirty little bitch that she knew he wanted.
Her mind filled with a thousand different thoughts.....

    Did she feel Love? NO! This wasn't love! This was lust. This was madness. Insanity. He was a stranger to her. He'd taken her, a woman of gentleness and twisted her, moulded her into a  macabre fuck doll, and she loved it.

Then he he pulled his member out of her mouth and stared down at her.
´be sure to look into my eyes.´ he whispered.
  His own eyes shone with a maniacal fervour.
  ´now to hurt you my sweet Dawn´ he glared down upon her, his tongue licking his lips, reptilian lust in his shadowed face.
 'This moment YOU are mine, mine alone, you my darling Dawn,
  Perfectly formed, a good and beautiful fuck.
 Then he started to use his sharp finger nails on her damp skin, creating small lines, a dribble of blood peeking out to his longing eyes.
     She wanted to scream. A scream of ecstasy  She tried to scream. But she couldn't. His fingers were about her throat and no sound emerged. She fought for air but she could feel her body falling, falling. Her mind struggled to escape from the darkness but all she could hear was a voice, a distant voice, fading, ecstatic . . . .
 ´ sweet dreams , tomorrow will be a another  new dawn.´

And he slowly strangled her, not to the point of death, but to a powerful ejaculation. Then she fainted. Exhausted, spent and lost in  his murky world. Then he left her alone, sleeping in her bed dreaming of him and of his next visit.

The End.