,,ggddY""""Ybbgg,, ,agd""' `""bg, T H E N E O - C O M I N T E R N ,gdP" "Ybg, ,dP" ""` ,dP" _,,ddP"""Ybb,,_ .s*""*s .s*"*s. ,8" .+$ '""' `"Yb, .P' $ `.d' `b ,8' .+$$$$ssss+. sssss "'d' .sssP d' `b db. ,8' .+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$+. $$$$$ d' ,P' d' s*s $ d' `b d.+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$`*$$$$+.$$$$$$$$$ $ :$ d'.P .Pd' $ _ 8`*$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ o`*$$$$$$$$ T. `b. :$ TsP .Pd' $ .+P"*+. 8 `*$$$$$$$$$$$ OOb.`*$$$$$ T. `^**sT. .Pd' . $ .+P' :P 8 `*$$$$ YOOOObooi `b. $ T. .P'd' .P $P' .P' 8 `*$ "OQQQO" `TsggsP `TssP' d' .PT. . .P' Y, i. aP ,P d .P :$b+.d' .P' `8, "Ya aP" ,8' d; .P .d' .P' `8, "Yb,_ _,dP" ,8' `*TP .d' .P' `8a `""YbbgggddP""' a8' d; .P' `Yba adP' `*TP' "Yba adY" `"Yba, ,adP"' `"Y8ba, ,ad8P"' E L E C T R O N I C M A G A Z I N E ``""YYbaaadPP""'' .-. t h e l i t e r a r y m o l o t o v c o c k t a i l .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' I N S T A L L M E N T N U M B E R 2 8 8 `-' M A R C H 1 , 2 0 0 4 B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: Ed Casey Interview Pt 1. - BMC A Brown Eye Opener - Ed Casey _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ EDITOR'S KNOWTE WARNING: Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88o88P Y88o88P Y88o88P Y88o88P Y888P Y888P Y888P Y888P d888b d888b d888b d888b d88888b d88888b d88888b d88888b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b d88P Y88b If you are easily offended by tales of anal depravity, do not read this issue. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Ed Casey Interview Pt 1 By BMC _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " BMC: Ed, before asking any specific questions about this week's story, I would like to point out to the readers that "Have a Good Time" is the first part of a trilogy. Please describe to the readers your take on the trilogy as a whole, and what they should expect from this series. Ed: Stories are like farts. You feel one coming down the pipes but it's hard to tell whether it's going to be an undie soiler, silent but deadly, or an ass-ripper that ejects your significant other from the couch. When I sat down to write the first part I had no idea it would turn into a trilogy. However, I did want to forcibly place the reader into the headspace of an English teacher in Korea. B: What did you hope to achieve by forcibly placing readers into this headspace? E: Before Jen and I went to Korea we got fed a load of bullshit about what it's like over there. Everyone in university who's near graduation knows someone teaching in Asia and often their war stories are told through rose-colored glasses after six or eight pints. TV is useless, and there's only so much a guidebook or the Internet can tell. Also, when a person decides to start shopping for a contract, chances are their recruiter will lie like an addict. To a recruiter, a prospective teacher is nothing more than a paycheck. Most will say anything to get paid. It's easy to wuss out and say, "oh- teaching in Korea is wild! You gotta do it!" Going over there is a big commitment and not to be taken lightly. Beware people who talk like it's a dare. Getting off that plane and facing the full weight of consequence is a massive kick in nuts. Loads of people are so overwhelmed they fuck off in less than a week. Truth is messy, just like the first story, and there's no reason to slap a wig on it and call it Laetitia Casta. B: Messy is an understatement in terms of the first story. In fact, I think a lot of readers will be shocked by certain passages within the tale. What is your rationale for the type of bathroom-floor realism that you use in this story? E: Bathroom floor realism! Thanks, that's a good way to describe it. I tend to think of my stories as anti-foof bombs. You know, bombs for the foofy people. B: What are "foofy people?" E: Foofy people are those who think they're cool because they're down with art. But only some art, just the touchy feely shit. B: Then how would you describe fans of your writing? E: Quite friendly, in fact. People who have learned that good writing can smack you across the forehead like a big, fat ripper generally aren't afraid to troll the alleys to find their high. Call them connoisseurs. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ A Brown Eye Opener by Ed Casey _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " Jenny and I had packed up our apartment in Saskatoon, signed the contract and got on the plane. Like that we were in Korea walking home to our new apartment after teaching our first day of class. For months I'd wondered how it would feel. Part of me thought we'd be skipping down the street holding hands under a wide open sky like we'd found our calling in life and could hardly wait to spend the rest teaching English. And another part of me figured we would change our paths and become Buddhists and learn to accept each other and ourselves. For whatever reason, I was thinking positive. Korea. Our recruiter told us there was nothing like the feeling of walking down the street being rich in another country. You had no ties, nothing. Not a care in the world. Things changed when the plane took off in Saskatoon. I was still drunk from the night before and Jenny cried the whole way to Calgary. When we got off at Incheon, we had a lot of worries, but we'd managed to survive and had made it through our first day of teaching. Despite our recruiter, who never showed up at the airport like he'd said. Jenny and I cleared Customs and went outside the terminal for a smoke. It was our first since Vancouver and we were both buzzy and lightheaded from withdrawal. Around us people were doing all the things you normally do at an airport. They pulled suitcases around and smoked and lined up for buses and taxis. What they were doing was familiar, but the people were dressed different and looked different and spoke another language. It was like being underwater. Neither of us said very much until we'd had a few drags. "Smells like Ichiban here," I said. "Yeah." "I'm already fucked up and we just got off the plane." "We're new," said Jenny, slowly putting her hand on my leg. "We're supposed to feel this way." She butted out her smoke on the ground and lit another. "That's gonna make you sick, you know." "Don't tell me what to do. Besides." A big plane thundered over our heads. "Besides what?" "Besides. After this smoke we have to stand up and do the next thing. And I don't want to do that." "Yeah." "The next thing." "I know what you're saying. Here we are and the guy from our school isn't here and there's a place for us to go but we don't know where that is or the first thing about getting there." Jenny held the smoke in front of her and I took it. It was a Player's and Jenny had smoked it fast and put a heater on it and for once I didn't give her shit. I took a drag, then pushed the cherry into the tile between my feet. Now it would smoke better, and that was good because that smoke was important. I handed it back to her and we met eyes. Jenny felt weak, just like me, and the next few hours I'd have to be strong for her. But I'd do it because it was for her, and that way it was easy. It was the only thing that made any sense. We dragged our bags back inside and I called the guy from our school. He sounded annoyed at first, but got friendlier when I told him who we were. "Sorry," he said. "But I cannot come to the airport. Please take the taxi to Samsung Plaza. That's in Bundang-dong, Seognam-si. Okay?" "What ding-dong?" "Bundang-dong, Soengnam-si, okay?" "Sure, whatever." "You will remember?" "Yeah, hang on. Jenny- remember this. Bundang-dong, Seongnam-si. Bundang-dong, Seongnam-si." "What?" "That's where we have to go." "Let me talk to him." I handed the phone to her. She talked to him for a minute and hung up. She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "What?" I asked. "He says you need to get us a taxi and then call him so he can give the driver directions." Jen sat with our luggage while I went and did the next thing. I went up and down a long line of taxis outside the terminal trying to find one who'd take us to the hotel where we were supposed to meet the supervisor of our school. The drivers smoked and leaned on the hoods of their cars and waved me away. We were at a major airport in a developed country surrounded by brushed steel and glass. I was a well-dressed white person and I couldn't get a taxi. I went up and down the line of taxis three times. The last driver had a soft spot. He smiled patiently while I used sign language to get him to follow me inside the terminal. He waited while I called the guy from our school. I handed the phone to the driver. He and our supervisor talked for a while, then the taxi driver hung up and helped us load our luggage into his car. The inside of his car smelled like garlic and the ride took almost two hours. I sat in the front and Jenny was in the back with all our bags that didn't fit in the trunk. It had been a long flight from Vancouver. I turned around and looked at her. There were bags under her eyes and she looked scared. The new scenery went by outside the car. The sky was gray and the earth looked red. And the light was different. Everything looked dark and flat, like you were watching a British TV show. We went past a power station and tidal flats and over a giant, modern suspension bridge. Soon there were the apartment buildings. I saw them grouped like beige and grey concrete fingers pushing into the smog between dull, blunt green mountains. I understood how so many people could live in such a small country. Soon we were in the city. It seemed to go on forever and hadn't ended when the cab driver finally dropped us off. The guy from our school, our supervisor, was waiting for us at the hotel. He paid the taxi driver and checked us in. He took us to a store and helped us buy a long-distance phone card, and then told us he'd be back in a couple of days. It took an hour, but we worked up the courage to go downstairs and find a pay phone so we could call our families and let them know we'd made it okay. We went down the elevator and left the hotel and walked down this plaza lined with bright neon lights flashing gibberish five stories high, seas of bobbing black heads, strong, gut-twisting smells, buzzing delivery scooters and terrible dance music blaring from everywhere. If I'd been on mushrooms the scene would have cracked me in two. Then we saw a big, familiar, golden M and it was like the gates of heaven had opened and I rethought every bad thing I'd ever said about TNCs. We forgot about the phone card and went inside. I pointed up to a picture of a Big Mac. The girl behind the counter didn't speak English and giggled behind her hand when I gave her a 1,000 Won bill. She gave me a coke and motioned me to get out of the way. I pointed again to the God-sent picture of the Big Mac above her head. She laughed again behind her hand and said a bunch of stuff that washed over me like nitrous. Sounds echoed in my head and tried to escape out my ears and made my eyeballs shake so I couldn't see or think anymore. I was crushed by the totality of my ignorance. At that point I blanked and the next thing I remember was sitting in front of my food. Thought I was going to pass out face down in my burger. I told Jenny so and we sat there for a while and worked at it hard so I wouldn't lose the plot. I just stared at my fries and took breath after deep breath. I don't remember much about the rest of that night. The next day we walked down that same five-story neon trip and things went a little better. We went back to that same McDonald's and I learned how I'd fucked up. A coke cost 1,000 Won. A Big Mac set cost 4,800. I didn't hand the girl the right bill. After supper, Jen and I sat on the edge of a granite planter in the middle of the plaza and shared one of our last Canadian smokes. We had made it through all of that and now we were following a hand-drawn map back to our new apartment in the dark and holding hands and neither of us said a thing. We'd gotten our asses handed to us by the kids, but at least our stomachs were full of the food the Director had bought for all the teachers in honor of our arrival. It was called duk po ki, thick rice noodles in a spicy red pepper sauce. At the top of the hill, we saw a corner store and stopped in. The woman who ran the place had big, poofy hair and giant, black Chanel glasses. She used a calculator to show us how much our shit was. Jenny and I bought eight big bottles of Cass Fresh, some orange juice, and for fun, a couple of bottles of soju. The woman watched from behind her goggles and smiled as we brought it all to her counter, and clapped her hands with glee when we gave a little bow on the way out. We had to carry our booze home in thin, black plastic bags. The bottles clanked dangerously and I had an idea. "Wait while I crack one open." I said to Jenny. A person can legally drink on the street in Korea, and I wanted to try it out. "What the fuck," she answered. "Can't you wait the fifteen seconds until we get to the apartment?" "Look at the bags, sunshine. They're turning white from strain. If I don't take some weight out one might break and we'd lose half our beer." "Oh look, we're at the door. And the bags made it here just fine." "Devil woman!" "Ed, fuck off. You do it to yourself." The apartment buildings on our street looked the same- short and squat and grey. They were much less impressive than what you usually saw. Most of the other buildings were forty stories tall. We got to our door and she used the funny round key with all the little dimples in it to unlock it. She nearly tripped on her way in to turn on the lights. Jenny cursed when they came on. "Shit," she said. "It still looks the same." Our new apartment was still the size of a small bachelor suite, and the walls and ceiling were still covered in piss-yellow wallpaper straight out of Charlotte Perkins Gilman. There was no carpet. The flooring was fake plastic hardwood. And it seemed hotter in there than on the street. I had a hard time imagining how Jenny and I would survive living in a place that small for twelve months. At least all the stuff we asked for in our contracts was there. We had a bed with sheets, an armoire for our clothes, a kitchen table, two chairs, a TV stand with TV, and a small CD player. There were a few dishes and some silverware Other than a fridge, the gas range and a few cupboards above the sink, that was it. Our recruiter had told us it was a two-bedroom, and that he had seen it himself. He'd lied to us, and it sucked. I stocked the fridge with our booze while Jenny changed her clothes and got into bed. I popped a beer, and asked Jenny if she wanted one. "Yeah," she said. "Ed? What the fuck did we get ourselves into? I mean, what the fuck are we going to do?" I got her one and carried it over to her. "What can we do?" "We should go to the airport and call out parents and get them to buy us tickets back to Canada." "It's tempting, but then what are we supposed to do when get home? We'll have the smell of failure all over us. And no jobs, no money, no apartment. Nothing. How are we supposed to face our friends?" "I know. But it's better I say it than keep it bottled in." "Yeah, sorry. Hey- you want to hear something weird?" "What?" "I can't recall even one kid's face from today." "Me neither." "I should be able to remember at least one, but I can't." "Don't worry about it." "It's hard. You know what's even more weird?" "What?" "I can't even remember what the hell I did in there today. Not one single thing." "Me too!" Jenny got quiet and started to pick at the label on her bottle of beer. "You know what I was really thinking?" "Huh." "That we're not going to make it. I'm scared that we're going to get fired and we won't understand why and we won't have any friends or money to get back to Canada. We'll be screwed." "Who knows?" "But you know what else I thought?" she said. "What? "That things may suck right now, but they'll get better. All we have to do is stay strong for a while. And we can do it. Because we have each other, right?" "Yeah." "We made it though the first three days. All we have to do is give it time. We'll look back on this and thank ourselves for sticking it out." "Yeah." It could be that I was making a bigger deal out of it than it really was. We were told that the kids weren't expected to learn anything. All we were was good PR for the school. As long as we kept the kids happy we were fine. "Fuck it. Look- I can't think about this any more." She set her beer on the floor beside the bed and stood up. "Think about something else to talk about. I've gotta go change my tampon." While she was in the bathroom I leafed through a magazine. It didn't keep my attention. I drank my beer and tried to create a little bubble of peace. All I got was a slideshow of pictures in my head. It was hard to think of anything else to talk about when all I could see were the bright lights flashing gibberish five stories high, seas of bobbing black heads and the strong smells from the street cart vendors. The tall, sky-choking buildings and rivers of cars, the buzzing delivery scooters that almost knock you off the sidewalk, cheesy dance music blaring from everywhere and feeling invisible and naked at the same time. The first night after McDonald's we sat on the edge of a granite planter and shared a smoke. "Jeez," I said. "There sure are a lot of Asians here." Funny how far a person can come in less than a week. Shit, never mind a week- our flight was only 12 hours long. The bitch of it was, once I got used to it I didn't feel any different in Korea than I did at home. If anything, I felt more centered and calm there than back home. In Korea, there were less distractions. Not like in a sensory deprivation tank, it was more like a sensory overload tank, except you just learned to tune it out. They say that when you first get over here the first couple of weeks feel like a vacation, even while you're working. I didn't get that. After our first day of teaching eight-forty minute classes of brats in a row, I was exhausted. Jenny too. I guess we missed out on the vacation part. All I knew is that we'd flown halfway around the world for a job. Jenny came out of the bathroom after changing her plug, sat on the edge of the bed and took a long pull from her beer. She set the bottle in her lap. I let the magazine fall out of my hands onto the floor. Her shoulders slumped. She sighed. "Whoa," she said. "What?" I asked. "I don't know, my stomach just gave a twitch like something's not sitting right." "What," I say. "The duk po ki?" "No, it was good," she said, and then turned on her best whiny voice. "But teaching sucks." After an hour or so we're drunk. The Korean beer gave a lighter drunk, less debilitating, like your head was clear but you still can't walk right. It was odd, like something was missing, and I felt ripped off with no joint to smoke. So I broke out the soju, an alcohol made of rice we'd heard so much about. It tasted like bad vodka mixed with white wine. In another fifteen minutes or so, we were feeling no pain. We talked about what the hell we were thinking to come over here, what we'd be doing if we were still back in Saskatoon, and we decide that if anything good is to happen while we're living on China's vestigial tail, we'll have to wait for it. A year over there seemed like an impossibly long time, much longer than it seemed when we were in Canada trying to justify our decision. The clock above our table ticked away. With little to do in our apartment the minutes dragged and gave plenty of chances for the chapped-dick comfort of negativity to veil my thoughts and give me a sure perspective from which to look down on things. I knew it was a trick and a cop-out, a quick way to something familiar when I'm into something new and I'm feeling inadequate and weak and not in control. Tonight the only thing I'm sure of is that I need to calm down and sip my beers and be patient. But patience is like anything else; when you're full of something, it's the last thing you need. We talked about the people at our school and how they seemed friendly and wanted us to like Korea and be comfortable working at the school, and we talked about how it was nice that the school had bought us supper. The duk po ki was fairly decent. And then we noticed the first bottle of soju is empty. I opened another and mixed it in our cups with a little orange juice. I grabbed myself another beer, and the rest of the Pringles left to us by the teachers who lived here before. Over our fresh drinks and potato chips Jenny and I talked about how crazy it was that people moved overseas to teach on their own, and how that even with the both of us, this shit wasn't easy. I looked into her big green eyes and she looked into me like we were two people clinging to the same piece of wood in the middle of the ocean, and we had what she calls a special moment. Then I got up to piss and when I got back Jenny was in the bed underneath the blanket. "Hey," she said. "What?" "I was just thinking how weird it is that so many people have probably fucked in this bed," she said, her blonde hair fanning across the pillow. "Yeah," I said. "I guess." Guess I kind of got over that whole shared-beds thing when I lived on-campus. "Just think of them all in this bed clinging to each other for dear life, moaning and panting and sweating away." "Sure," I said, then I noticed the look in her eye. "C'mere," she said. I could see the pink in her cheeks. "Oh, really," I said. "Yeah," she said, wiggling her curves all sexy under the covers with her eyes shut tight and her brown eyebrows scrunched down the way they do when she means it. And like that, all that bullshit that happened that that day went right out the window. I got wood. "Oh yeah?" I said, sliding on top of her and rubbing it over the mound of her snatch. "Yeah," she said. Jenny tilted her chin and gave a little grunt. "Okay," I said. "But what about your period?" She'd gotten it somewhere over the Pacific on the on the plane from Vancouver. "I know, she said, opening her eyes. "It's pretty heavy." "So what do you want to do?" "I don't know," she said, blinking. I loved her eyes; they were so big and green and wrinkled at the corners when she smiled. "We could do it here, but I don't want to get blood all over the sheets." "Yeah," I said. "Probably not." I waited there on top of her, still grinding myself against her pussy mound. "I don't know, she said. "We could go into the bathroom." "Okay," I said. Even if did get a bit messy. We took off our clothes and went into the bathroom, which was actually something of a misnomer since there wasn't anywhere to take a bath. There was no shower stall either, just a hand-nozzle in a bracket between the toilet and sink. Before we came to Korea I knew we'd have to be flexible in our thinking if we were to survive, and that was one instance where it was definitely needed. You see, the bathroom was the shower stall. The nozzle was fed from a hose that connected to a fitting underneath the sink faucet and to turn on the shower you had to twist a knob on top of the faucet. To take a shower you had to aim the nozzle into the corner away from the towels and your fresh pair of gitch hanging on the towel rack and try not to get any soap on your toothbrush in the cup underneath the showerhead. Everything drained down the canted tile floor to a grate. Before you showered, you had to heat the water by pressing the third of five little gray buttons on the right side of the thermostat for the floor. Also, you had to be sure to test the water temperature in the sink before turning on the shower because it got scalding hot. And don't put on your socks until after you've brushed your teeth- the floor will be wet for a while. I turned to Jenny. "So how do you want to do this?" I asked. "I don't know," she sad. "Maybe I could turn around and hold on to the lid of the toilet." "Alright," I said. I really liked doing it from behind. Really liked it. And what was cool was that I was the first guy to ever do it to Jenny from behind. She was one of those classy looking blondes that could afford to be picky when it comes to guys, which doesn't really explain what she was doing with me. All I can say is I got skills. "We can do it, but first I gotta take out my tampon. Don't look, okay?" "Okay." I figured we were well past the point of modesty, but to keep from ruining her mood I turned around. I heard her sit on the toilet and exhale. The she fiddled around a bit and something plopped into the toilet. I waited and stared at the tile. The tile was pink and pale and mottled like a fat person's flushed face and I wondered how I would be able to face a year of taking shits in front of it. Then Jenny said, "Oh, fuck!" "What?" I asked. "I don't know about this," she said. "It's pretty heavy." "Aunt Flo?" I asked, turning around. "Yeah," she said, "and there's all kinds of clumps too." "Oh," I said, somewhat deflated. "So what do you want to do?" "I don't know. I kind of really wanted to do it," she said, running her hands up and down pink thighs making her perky little ski-jump boobs jiggle. She was pushing them together with her upper arms and my dick heaved upward along with them. "Well, we can still do it," I said. "How?" She looked up at me from the toilet with squared shoulders and pleading eyes, her back curving up like a cobra. Jenny always had perfect posture. Me, I slouch like a motherfucker. "Well," I said. All the rules of decency were swimming in the bowl with her plug and all of its' clumpy brown friends. We were beyond the point of no return, past the exchange date at the bottom of the receipt. I needed to drain my balls and didn't care how as long as I wasn't doing it myself. "Well," I said. "There's always bum sex." I waited. "Hey?" I asked encouragingly. "I don't know," she said. "I'm still not sure if I really like it that way 'cause it kind of hurts. Only when I'm really drunk." "Well," I said. "Let me get you another soju." "No," she said. "I guess I'm drunk enough. We can do it that way." "Sweet," I said. Jenny turned around and flushed the toilet, stood up and closed the lid. She tried to do it so I couldn't see what was going down but I caught a glimpse of it all swirling around in there in a big soupy mess but it wasn't enough to make me lose my wood. Come hell or red water. She stood up with her back to me and I moved in close to her, smelled her hair, the light perfume of her shampoo, and reached under her arms to cup her breasts. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Yeah, I'm sure," she said. "Just use a lot of lotion, okay?" "Okay," I said, and took my hands off of her breasts and opened the medicine cabinet above the toilet. I took out her bottle of lotion and with my free hand, rubbed her shoulder. "Okay," I said. Jenny grabbed the edges of the toilet seat. She was kind of short but her legs were long and when she bent over it was all laid out right there like it was on a platter. I stepped back and had a look. Her hips turned into a slim waist that fanned into a delicate, creamy back but no bones or ribs poked through her skin. Those curves, back down to her cheeks that can take the best Casey pounding, I got a look at that white tail hanging from between the shaved lips of her puss like a mouse swallowed by a football. Then up just a little to her bum hole, slightly shiny with gravy. It was good. I rubbed one of her cheeks, then snapped open the cap on the bottle of lotion. A good-sized blob squirted out into the palm of my hand. Maybe it was a bit too much, but then again I wanted to make this as friction-free as possible so the extra slippy probably wouldn't hurt. I rubbed a bunch onto my dick, and the rest I smeared on her. "Okay," I said. "You remember how we do this?" "Yeah. You put it against me and then I relax and push myself onto you." "That's right, I said, feeling around for the divot. "Okay," I told her. "It's there. Do you feel it?" "Yeah," she said. "Okay." She took a deep breath, exhaled and began to push. It would require some pressure. Jenny eased off, had another breath, exhaled again and pushed harder. I started to ease in. She was tight back there. It felt sweet and I wanted to cram myself all the way in but I held off. She waited a minute like that with only an inch in until everybody get used to each other, then she pushed again, the lotion snapping and crackling like Rice Krispies as it spread around. I was halfway in. Her poop chute wrapped around me like a penis constrictor. It felt good, all hot and greasy. I really wanted to push all the way in but it seemed I have patience in spades. Jenny moaned a little. "You okay?" I asked. "Yeah." "Okay," I say. She pushed a bit more until I was about three quarters of the way in then she pulled me out. I got a whiff. Lotion mixed with intestinal flotsam. It was bad, but like when the red mouse chased its tail around the bowl, I didn't lose my wood, because I've said it before: when the brown eye winks, the whole place stinks. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Does it hurt?" "No," she said, breathing a bit heavy. "No, I just want to wait a minute. My stomach feels a bit funny." "Okay," I said, but it didn't take her a minute. She reached behind and guided me in again. Jenny pushed hard and caught me off guard. I was almost all the way in. She was really horny. "Do it," she said, so I did. I grabbed her hips firmly and left no trace of doubt. I was balls-deep. And it was good. The medicine cabinet was wobbling before my eyes and I looked up and to my right and the shower nozzle is wobbling too, the edge of the mirror, where the wall meets the ceiling, everything was almost spinning. My legs were shaking. I was lost. Then she begged: "do it," so I started stroking. Slow for the first couple, then faster. I don't know how long I was back there. A minute, maybe two. Maybe four. I was pounding away and making sure to aim real straight so I didn't tear anything inside of her, the lotion's really snapping, and I looked down and she's only got one hand on the toilet; the other is crammed between her legs and working furiously to get herself off. She started to moan. "Yeah," I said. "Do it, fuckin' rub that shit." The moans started to get louder. And louder. Then the pitch changed, rises a bit higher and falls even further. Then they got longer to match my strokes. Then the elbow connected to the hand between her legs wasn't pumping anymore. I started to pay attention to her moans. "Owww," she was saying. I stopped, but didn't pull out. "Something wrong?" I asked. "My stomach," she moaned. "God, I don't know, it's something." She took the hand out from between her legs and rested it back on the lid of the toilet. It pushed my dick further up her rectum. "Aaah," she cried. "What?" I was getting a bit concerned. "Did I hurt you?" "I don't know," she said. "Maybe you knocked something loose." Her head was on the lid of the toilet. She was panting. It was hot as hell, that proud confidant woman with a dick in her ass and her head on the lid of a toilet. "Jeez, I didn't hurt you, did I?" I tried to aim straight. "My stomach doesn't feel so good. Just give me a minute, okay?" "Okay," I said. I was panting a bit, too. I felt my ball sack de-contract and knew that after the rest Id last a few minutes longer. "Ugggh," said Jenny. "My stomach. I don't know. Something feels funny." "Does it feel like you have to shit?" I asked her. "Because if it feels like you have to shit that's just normal. You remember how it was the first couple of times we tried the bum lovin'?" "Yeah, I know," she said. "But it's not that. Just give me a minute, okay?" "Okay," I said. "No problem." I was trying to be as understanding as thirty-six hours worth of sperm trapped in my balls would allow. We waited there in the bathroom for a minute until I thought the moment had passed. This made me go a bit soft. "Maybe it was supper," she said. "The duk po whatever was good but I think I ate more than I should have." "What do you mean?" "Well, it was free, and we have no food here, and I was doing so good with the chopsticks I figured I'd try and get full." "I feel okay," I told her. "Maybe it wasn't the food. I don't know," she said. "But it's something." Then Jenny took a deep breath and I saw her shoulder blades under the smooth skin of her back and she said, "okay." "Okay what?" "Okay," she said. "You can keep going." So I did. I gave her a couple with the pork plunger and I got hard again and my thoughts turned to tickling the back of her neck with a jet of chunky spooge when I felt something change back there and she said, "oh fuck, God, pull out, pull out, PULL OUT!" I was still stroking the last time she yelled it. She jerked herself forward and I looked down and saw her knees buckle as the last inch of my pecker slide out of her ass and what followed was only about a hair behind the tip of my dick, this stream of liquid fire that exploded out of her ass all over my cock and balls and hips and belly and my thighs. It was red like the pepper sauce except this time it burned way worse than it did going in and the rest of it splattered down through my legs and petered out to a drizzle that pooled between my feet and filled my arches and spread across the tile floor. I looked at the slick of runny poo that wasn't mine between my feet and I could see chewed bits of the white rice noodles still with the teeth marks and more of the red sauce now sporting a brownish tinge. The stench hit me and although I was somewhat inured to it from the bum lovin' it was nowhere close to being enough preparation. The smell washed over me in one wave, then another and another. I staggered back against the wall of our little Korean bathroom behind me and almost slipped on the poo coating the soles of my feet. Jenny's inner thighs were coated with her mess and I could see red splashes across both her cheeks and inner thighs. She sank to her knees, right in the middle of her puddle. One of her knees slid out and she caught herself on the lid of the toilet. "Aaaah," she screamed and the sound filled the bathroom like the smell. It bounced off the walls and stuck to everything. "Aaaah-ah-ah-ah," she cried, shaking from the exertion. I realized that she'd been screaming that all along. "Holy shit," is all I said. "Owwwww," she said. "Oh God, oh God, oh, oh, oh," she began to sob. She was turned away from me slumped on the floor and clinging to the toilet like it was the same piece of wood in the of the ocean we were clinging to before. "Nnnnn," she moaned, her shoulders shaking. I looked at her, then the giant puddle of runny shit between us. I looked down at myself covered in the same and we sat like that for a bit. I saw it even sprayed on the wall. Neither of us wanted to take the next step, to acknowledge the reality of what had just happened by doing something, anything, so we just waited. Jenny's eyes were rimmed in red. I could see the pores in her cheek as she laid there with it smashed against the lid of the toilet. I could feel a bit trickle down my left calf. Then the whole mess started to dry and got really itchy. "That fucking food," she said. "Oh God it's that shit she fed us for supper." My heart breaks. I'm covered in her shit, choking on the smell of it, and my heart breaks. "Yeah," I say, not needing any more forensic evidence than what is quickly cementing to my pubes. "Yeah it was." There was no point now in delaying the clean up. I sacrificed a towel and tried to wipe off my feet as best I could, then I stepped around Jenny out of the bathroom to the panel beside the fridge and turned on the hot water. The pump hummed to life and I heard the whoosh of the heater firing up. Inside the bathroom there was no time to wait for the water to heat up; I didn't want that shit to dry on anything, especially me. I opened the window and the tap and turned the knob to get the shower going. The water shot over my leg, cold like ice but it took away some of the red-brown shit nonetheless. The cold didn't matter; now it was really starting to itch. Lifting the shower nozzle from the bracket on the wall, I asked Jenny if she was alright. "I don't know," she said. She might have been crying. "Don't move," I said. "Just wait and I'll get you clean." I hosed down the floor, and when the water warmed a bit I hosed down Jenny's ass. She took my bar of soap from its case on top of the toilet tank and lathered up, and then I did the same. I got most of her diarrhea floating towards the drain, but as the chunks accumulated, they began to clog the grate. I pushed them off the grate using my big toe. "Okay," I said. "Did you get all of it off?" She nodded. All I saw was the back of her head. "Okay, then," I said. "You want to go lie down?" She nodded again. "Hold on." I helped her to stand and got her a clean towel. She didn't say a word as I toweled her dry, and for a second her bald beaver made me think I was toweling a ten year old. It was only a bit creepy. I got Jenny dried off. "Do you feel like you're gonna shit again?" I asked her. She looked down and shook her head. "Alright, you want to go to bed? Do you think you could sleep?" She nodded and sniffed. I lifted her into my arms and carried her across the floor. She felt so light. There was still a little shit on her knees. My feet sounded like Band-aids being peeled as we walked across the floor. I got her into bed and under the covers. "Are you okay?" I asked. She didn't answer. I sat with her until her breathing got deep and regular. Then I went into the bathroom and tried to finish the job. I got a brush and the cleaner and scrubbed everything the best I could, picked most of the bits of noodle from the drain, hosed down the bathroom, washed myself again, then got another squirt of Jenny's lotion and began to spank it over the same toilet bowl she was leaning on before. I spanked it inhaling nose-fulls of the aroma of her shit mixed with cleaner and tried to conjure the feeling of before all the unpleasantness, before she shot her guts all over me like a dirty shotgun, back to when I was deep-dicking her and things were good. But it was no use. All I could think is that once you get past the sights, life in Korea is no different than in Canada, full of manual work, drudgery and tedium and in the end, shit may look a little different over here, but it stinks just the same. There is no magic place on this earth that will solve all your problems. The only place it can ever happen is inside your own head. There was no pleasure in my orgasm. I watched my load clump on top of the water then sink down to the bottom in gooey white strings. It sank to the bottom to the same place where the red mouse chased its tail and innumerable red mice have been fooled before. It sank to the bottom where other teachers have spent hours ejecting diarrhea while staring across at ugly pink tile cursing their decisions to leave the cocoon of home and where the same teachers have unloaded massive beershits that hurt their heads the morning after tying one on. The same toilet they kneeled in front of when it was their turn to be full of bad food, puking until they dry-heaved so hard they thought they'd have to fish their eyeballs out of the bowl. Work, shit, puke, and blood. After flushing the toilet, I turned off the bathroom light and crawled into bed beside Jenny, who by then was snoring softly. I pulled the covers tight across my neck and stared wide-eyed at the yellow ceiling. The clock ticked. Like it or not, I was home. .-. .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' `-' The Neo-Comintern Magazine / Online Magazine is seeking submissions. Unpublished stories and articles of an unusual, experimental, or anti-capitalist nature are wanted. Contributors are encouraged to submit works incorporating any or all of the following: Musings, Delvings into Philosophy, Flights of Fancy, Freefall Selections, and Tales of General Mirth. The more creative and astray from the norm, the better. For examples of typical Neo-Comintern writing, see our website at . Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is approximately 200-1000 words. Send submissions via email attachment to , or through ICQ to #29981964. 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