Chapter 2242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKIiX7DoJsa
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Frankie’s labia majora had been lacerated by a Parisian ‘gentleman’ after he’d tried to introduce her vagina with the business end of a wine bottle. It had broken in the process and caused some deep cuts. Caution now had to be exercised when masturbating, the entire area was pulsating from pain like the shuddering breast of a wounded pigeon. Her carnal desires had to be sated regardless, so she satisfied them with the same sort of quiet determination she imagined Magda Goebells had, administering cyanide to her children during the final days of the Third Reich.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp75bQutgW8
She climaxed, she bled, she cleaned up.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqWWAP1QPoA
To some it may have seemed crass to have attempted such a feat of sexual deviance in a crowded Parisian coffee shop, but Frankie was no stranger to making a mess.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGeYGfBU2Qt
The obnoxiously loud sound of a fire truck drowned out the chatter in the shop. An alcoholic busker floated around the cafe in an almost balletic manner, twisting, turning and contorting in brain damaged periottes, oozing from table to table in the search of any small amount of money that would offer his ethanol soaked soul a moment of essential and earned respite.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBFGB9bX3GL
The conflicting smell of sweat, fresh meat, and perfume filled the air in a confusingly enticing maelstrom of sense assault.
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Frankie’s dealer was 15 minutes late, this was a pedestrian inconvenience in the world of junk. His name was Hubert. A Nigerian who’d been hustling in Paris for as long as she could remember. His prices were fair and he was semi reliable. This time he arrived wearing a disheveled suede suit that looked like it had been lifted from a corpse in a rushed amateur grave robbing attempt. She wouldn’t have been surprised. He had a scar across his left eye and the side of his face seemed to have been dented in, as if it had been caved by a cast iron skillet. His eyes watered and fluttered with drug addled attentiveness as she pulled the cash from her purse. Four syrettes was all she could afford. He handed her the junk, and before she knew it, he had dissolved back into the frenetic manic metropolis of Paris. The smell of his musty negroid corpse suit lingered in the air.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFTlMF7Gf16
Desperate for a shot, she popped the lid off the syrette, and jabbed it into her leg, an instant rush engulfed her entire body, a feeling akin to submerging oneself in a warm bath, pins and needles and satisfying numbness, it was a feeling like no other, and it made everything ok. She lost consciousness for a moment and awoke to an angry mother yelling at her; she had nodded off at a community fountain in a park and fallen into the front of a pram and bumped a sleeping baby. The mother was furious. Frankie picked herself up off the ground, looked the baby in the eye to make sure it was fine and gave it a smile. It smiled back gleefully and Frankie felt a sense of relief. She realised she had drool running all down her chin and neck from being on the nod. Wetter than a spastics chin. The baby laughed. It was drooling too. Maybe they weren’t so different she thought. Her last bastion of refuge from the judging eyes of humanity, a drooling baby.
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As dusk fell, and the junk fugue began to wane, it was time to find herself a bed.
Frankie had found a cheap room at a dilapidated boarding house in Villeneuve-La-Garenn, in the north of Paris. It had previously operated as a bordello, and from her observations of the types of people loitering in the hall, she had suspicion that the old habits of the building’s occupants were still alive and kicking.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNZxOotDUIi
The room smelt like mould, and the walls seemed to swell and creak, probably as a result of water damage. The one light hanging from the centre of the ceiling was flickering every few seconds in a disorientating manner, it made her feel nauseas. Weary from the flight from Florence, Frankie closed her eyes, laying on the soiled mattress, pondering how many people had made love in this exact bed, how many people had cried.. and how many people had died. Aroused by the ghosts of mattress trysts past, she opted to have a rub. Just before climax, she was interrupted by the sounds of yelling in the adjoining room. A woman’s voice could be faintly heard through the weeping wall.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNqqa8WBWlm
‘Pickle my poonani you fucking dog!’ She screamed.. then there was a pause and a a man started screaming indecipherabley. Frankie put her ear to the wall to hear better. ‘I’m gonna pickle your poon you fucking bitch!! Get ready for the poon pickler baby, daddies fuckin’ cumming!’242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqQvGtrJ3Za
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The sordid yelling suddenly reminded her a memory of a man she’d been with almost a year ago, he was an alcoholic who had ‘gorilla fucked’ her and subsequently revealed he had hepatitis and scabies. She had caught the scabies as a result, and remembered the pain of having to be chemically deloused. She discarded the memory just as quickly as it had entered her mind, finally putting her head to rest since the yelling had subsided.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO9PKpRJqwc
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The following morning Frankie awoke to a fracas in the hallway just outside her room.242Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaRIzoClUrg
“God put my daughter in a wheelchair!! God put my fucking daughter in a wheelchair!!!” A man hysterically screamed. Sounds of a scuffle and then a heavy thud were heard, then silence. She remembered the one man from her past that she herself had nearly had a child with.. in deep reflection she found herself at the same emotional crossroads she’d been at many times before, a place where desire and despair intersected. She forced herself to close her eyes, to forget.
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