True Stories

Random memories mesh together to create a character. This one happens to be real; a 26-year-old Israeli boy studying film in NYC. (As with anything, it's best to start at the beginning. Go to the archives...) Copyright 2006

Sunday, July 16, 2006

A true story of shit, blood and cum

My army buddy Daniel is a tightly wound man with perfect fangs that prick on every grin, short stiff hair that would grow into surprisingly brittle curls once he was let out of the army, and a crudely sharpened sense of humor that got me through that time. Daniel was a chauvinist, a racist, a sadist, a misanthropic bastard with a heart of gold.

We’d met as young and battered soldiers, fresh targets for torture, and we ate shit together. Two months my senior on the base, he never allowed me to forget his supposed superiority. As I slowly gained his confidence those two months were kindly overlooked and I became an ally. He printed out his manifesto for me to read; a hilarious piece of evil titled “Danielism” which had, amongst many rules and laws, a separate and mandatory public education system for women on how to please men sexually and socially (starting at the age of six, I believe, since Daniel felt it was better to get ‘em while they were young), government regulated sex quotas for each man to be filled by the women as a matter of the law, free drugs for all, ghettos for old people, ghettos for fat people and social classes determined by beauty, the criteria for which was to be decided by Daniel himself. He had put some serious effort into compiling his manifesto; other than the long list of rules and regulations there were numerous essays on the nature of the ideology itself and one particularly brilliant step-by-step description of a young man’s typical day living under the peaceful “Danielism” regime.

When our guard duties coincided I would find all four walls of my guard booth scribbled with a mantra pointing me out by name and calling me a “semen guzzler” or a “warm semen suckler”, the product of his four hours of boredom beforehand. It was rainy and gray, I was wet and miserable in my winter uniform and laughing in the cold. I occasionally gave him a ride home, and when my car stood at a stoplight he’d say “You know what my fantasy is? To be riding like this in the passenger seat, like right now, to stop at an intersection and stare at the driver in the car to the right, and when the driver looks at me – ‘cause he’s got to look you know – I blow his brains out with a shotgun. I’m just dying to see the expression on his face when he sees the shotgun.”

Another memorable conversation on the drive home started as always with his carnivorous grin. “For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you?!” He’d been complaining about a girlfriend who wouldn’t swallow. “Are you fucked up or something? You’ve got a job to do!”
“So you dumped her?” I asked.
“Yeah, we split up after like four months.”
“Just ‘cause she wouldn’t let you cum in her mouth.”
“Nah, we split up ‘cause she had a boyfriend.”
“Ah.”

On his last day on the base, two months before my goodbye, I took him out to eat and he said “I can’t do it, I can’t eat. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.” He looked at me with shimmering eyes and said “I’m getting out.” He cast an incredible force of pain and bewilderment into that one short sentence. “Hey, I’m going to miss our friendship, warm semen.” He said, genuinely.

We remained friends after the army, but Daniel had changed. He never talked about killing strangers or cumming on faces again, those vital cruelties wilted into sepia nostalgia, and Daniel laughed whenever I mentioned his manifesto and ended it with an old man’s sigh. He had a job and a car and worked hard and slow at getting a degree from the Israeli Open University over the course of six years.

He wouldn’t humiliate me when I'd awkwardly attempt to recreate our old passion of shared hatred. He’d become too much of a nice guy to do that.

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