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After I left the whorehouse tonight I sat at a little table at the end of Vila Mimosa and had a nice bowl of soup and talked to a whorehouse acquaintance- a biker I know from other carnivals in Copacabana- about my trials and tribulations with Narcisa and he seemed to sympathize which surprised me a bit and then I told him I’d written a book about her and the old lady who served me the soup told me she too had written several books, but that the last one had been channeled right through her directly from the spirits… My phone rings and right on time it’s Narcisa. She wants to see me.I pulled on the street by my building and she’s standing there on the corner looking beautiful, transcendent glowing on fire like the wild animal Goddess Whore of Babylon Dakini she is and I roll up and say to her, “Why do you think you gotta lie to me?” She plays dumb so I just give her a hug and say “I know you weren’t at Fernanda’s, you went to turn a trick”.She said she lied cause she didn’t want to hurt my feelings and I said “Baby I know you better than you know yourself so there’s no point in lying to me. I know you and I love you because of the way you are, wild savage immoral beautiful so don’t bother trying to be what you’re not - not for me cause only that would really hurt my feelings.”

She got it and hugged me hard and fast and said “Ok Cigano that’s enough let’s go now go go go!”And we hopped on the bike and she squeezed me harder and we blasted off into the night. We stopped at a little hole in the wall bar near Lapa where she gave me an unaccustomed accounting of her earlier adventures, telling me that even with her lies, it had been, in part, true. I said how’s that? and she said she really had had a run-in with the cops. 

She’d been on her way over to my place when the trick pulled along in a shiny new car and offered her 40 for a quick fuck which is ten more than I give her and she couldn’t resist. She told me it was her intention to get the cash up front and then beat it, one of her oldest tricks, but the trick had driven her to an isolated lover’s lane spot up in the hills and just as they got ready to do the evil deed, the cops showed up, coitus interruptus, and extorted a c-note from the would-be trick. Then she beat it outta there, keeping her 40 without delivering the goods, according to her.I guess Narcisa is just bad luck for all sorts of folks- a general-purpose jinx. True or not… I really don’t know what to believe, ever, but it all made for an entertaining story and even made me a little hornier. I couldn’t wait to get her home and bang the shit out of her. First she wanted to get a soda but I shoulda known she just wanted the can to smoke crack from and sure enough she still had some on her so after a quick but passionate fuck on my sofa, the rest of the night was a total wash as she tweeked and festered and crept like a shellshocked spider around the battlefield of her melting mind, crawling around my little apartment in a bug-eyed paranoid fit…I couldn’t even get her to give up another fuck so I just watched as she crept off into the night. It was 4 am at that point, still an hour or so before my usual dawn bedtime so I took a ride back over to the Vila with the idea of a last fuck nightcap with this one little princess, but by the time I got in there at that late hour she’d already closed the coffin and the place was a piss-stinking nightmare of fat old jelly-assed horror-monkeys and drunken cum guzzling fuck monsters so I beat it home and had a wank thinking of some glorious combination of Narcisa and the earlier angel. Then I rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.The dream was sinister, as usual when it involves Narcisa - I dreamt we were in Isreal or Russia and ran into some cosmic joker acid-eyed freaky friends of hers and she was talking with them in some strange exterrerestrial language I couldn’t fathom and ignoring me as usual as if I wasn’t there, when suddenly this big fucking pit bull comes running out of their weird nomadic Bedoin tent and lunges at my nutsack and just grabs it there like that and won’t let me go. Talk about feeling impotent… and I just look at the dog’s wild-eyed hippy owner and he looks back at me all spacy-eyed and then, as if it was an afterthought, he croaks a one syllable command at the pit in that weird language of theirs and the dog let’s go of my balls.I woke up in a groggy cold sweat. As if on cue from another world, my doorbell rings and it’s Narcisa, of course, who else would it be at 7 in the fucking morning? And once again I’m sleep deprived and pissed off and fearing for my life, my sanity, and she doesn’t care, she needs money and she’s gonna get it one way or the other so I just opt for the easy, nonviolent way and throw her the boner and pay up and she’s gone like it was all another bad dream. Such is my life.

And I don’t even care what she does with the money cause I’m getting all the sex a man could ever dream of wanting and now I can go back to sleep - after all it’s only money, right? That’s what Narcisa always says and maybe she’s right. Sometimes she’s quite wise, even at the height of her darkest, most psychotic mad dementia- and I guess that, along with the great and plentiful sex magick is the great attraction and addiction to her supersonic crack and all the twisted insane rationale that comes with it.So off she went into the blazing sun of her continued mission as I rolled over and went back to sleep again as if, in consantly interrupted little increments, I could somehow accrue something resembling a full night’s sleep. Of course it really doesn’t work out that way.I read in some Brazilian youth culture magazine a piece about the devastating effects of institutionalized sleep deprivation on modern culture, how it said that it didn’t even matter how much sleep you got if you didn’t get at least four hours a day of deep, uninterrupted sleep you will lose all efficiency and ability to function eventually. Great! I remember feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction and comfort just knowing that at least I wasn’t alone in my misery and hey, at least I’m getting laid. It seems like the two biggest factors leading to mass social decadence and dysfunction are sleep deprivation and sex deprivation. At least I’m not suffering from both like most of the pathetic sheeple of the crippled, mind-controlled world. Shit. But it gets grim when you don’t sleep. I know.Sure enough a couple of hours later, she’s back waking me from another couple of hours of deep sleep – it’s always just under the prerequisite 4 hours, coincidentally - and this time I’m really tired and pissed at being woken again but she puts on her saddest puppy dog in the rain face and I let her in and she lays down on the sofa all sad and beat and tells me she wants some love and affection and for me to come and lay with her but I’m just not feeling very loving or affectionate in that sleep-deprived state at ten in the fucking morning but I try and I lie down beside her and it hits me like a garbage can emptied over my head.She smells like an open sewer, like a rotting cadaver and I can’t take it. I tell her she needs to take a shower and she swears up and down it’s not her making the smell it must be a garbage truck outside my window and she goes to point out the window and of course there’s no garbage truck, it is her rotting soul. And she finally goes to the shower grumbling and complaining the whole time until she’s worked herself up into a minor frenzy and I am so fucking tired as she rants on, her words boring into my brain like an electric drill and I can feel myself wanting to kill her and get it over with so I can get some sleep and now she’s got me on the defense cause I really don’t wanna kill her. Too messy. So I just back down and beg her to calm down and forget anything I said and let’s just lay down and sleep but by now she’s getting dressed all sexy and next thing she’s suddenly seduced me expertly.Now I’m working it up into her as she talks on, telling me all sorts of magical things of the world unknown, and I am gone gone gone again, trapped in her crazy spell of gutter sex magick and I don’t care about sleep or sanity or life or death anymore I just want to fuck fuck fuck her and I’m coming and howling in pain ecstasy madness joy and she’s already up on her feet snatching my money off the bedside table chanting “Thank you come again” as she shape-shifts back into her clothes and beats it out the door again.I fall back exhausted on the sofa, still bathing in her presence, her raw animal smell and essence and then I pass out and dream of grinning death-head spirits of addiction and damnation until she comes back an hour later and wakes me again for the next fuck…. Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.NOTIFIÇAO: Os eventos neste site são contos de ficção - registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor, Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são interamente ficticios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa vivo ou morta se trata de pura coincidência.As vários fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.