In the company of honesty, a fellow I've tried my best to keep close throughout this tale, I cannot remember how this story began. I know exactly how it ended, exactly where it gained its tittle, and the experiential DNA in which its loose and confused morale has been drawn.

 

So for lack of a tittle sequence, I'll start where my booze soaked memory saw fit to begin recording:

 

Monk, Deathy, and myself were sitting on the edge of my bed. It wasn't just a floor mattress, it was a box-spring and mattress on the floor. The only difference between what I had and a floor mattress is the ability to sit on a defined edge with knees at a more or less right angle.

 

While it may seem an insignificant physical delineation, the social context was vastly altered by this stacking. Inviting a female guest onto your floor mattress immediately suggests the inviting party intends to recline, and thusly tongue her throat, finger, grope, or fuck.

 

The addition of the box spring offers the possibility of civil, polite conversation. The ability to sit comfortably upright dispels the nearly obligatory physical inclination to recline, thusly removing the horizontal impetus, or suggestion, of drunken sexual mingling.

 

So there we sat, with six knees bent at 90 degrees. We had been drinking wine for hours, up on the hill. Monk and myself had intended to loose our mind that night regardless, but Deathy had become a recent fascination of ours so we invited her and the three of us headed to the hill above Cuba St. to get things started.

 

Deathy and I had crouched together on the thin strip of asphalt what we named "The Hill Spot" once before. Killed two or three bottles of wine and ran our mouths about what at the time we were sure was true. We argued and agreed, fought and made up. Questioned and confided. She was mad in the same way I was, then. We were losing our minds at the same time and it felt good. But she was sliding down that hill faster than I was. She wasn't trying to stop. I wasn't trying to stop either but I had half a mind to plant my heels and slow down so I could enjoy the ride. It wasn't my wisdom that slowed me down. Maybe it was my capacity to enjoy. If so- This Deathy Cunt knew she was ready for a ride, and for what I could tell, could take it.

 

After we killed the hill booze we tossed the bottles onto the road bellow and hopped in Monk's Red Jeep to head down the hill to my moms place. The slope of the hill was fairly gradual and though we thought our pitching arms were true, only one bottle broke on the road bellow. Deathy's.

 

The ride down was a mess. Monk knew the best routes and could handle a wheel better than any of us, but as it turned out- we were fuuuuucked up.

 

We managed to make it down to the Flatlands in one piece. Monk slammed his wagon up against the curb in the way only an experienced and brave drunk could- Both wheels flush up against the curb, slightly damaged but still intact. The pressure between the cement and his tires was so great the Jeep never settled back once it stopped.

 

After a careful turning of knobs and twisting of locks we were in. My room.

 

The carpet was trashed as ever. A mix of wine stains, cigarette burns, and those hard patches of who the fuck knows what. I never knew where they came from. Sometimes i wondered if they had started as some airborne microbe looking for a home. Plants weren't this bug's dig. None of that wooden termite shit. The bed was too smooth to ruin. This corrosive masterpiece lived for the carpet it knew would never be cleaned. It would grow and spread as some callous, comfortable in the knowledge it was safe and hardly noticed amongst the filthy tapestry re-woven by neglect. That or I lit a candle on the floor and knocked out one night.

 

We all landed on the bed.

 

 

Monk- he was too drunk to have a hard dick but his mind's cock was solid and ready to make mistakes.

 

Myself- the whole thing was so clearly a calculated stumble that would lead to sex, I found myself more turned on by the mechanics than the potential outcome.

 

Deathy- who the fuck knew what was going on inside that spherical bone shaped shell you'd call a skull if it was holding a brain, (and not to say the girl was dumb, she was brilliant) but everyone knew what was between that girl's ears. It was a congealed mass of wet and wadded up pills,bristling with syringes and alien shrapnel. The thing buzzed with forward motion. If you saw it you'd vomit and if you touched it you'd be ground to bits and absorbed. Needless to say she took off all her clothes.

 

Monk and Myself may or may not have exchanged glances as we started in. It was a clumsy tangle of arms, wrists, palms, and fingers, all groping directionless. Going through the motions but not really giving a fuck.

 

I would slide a finger inside the Death Queen as Monk grabbed a tit and jammed his black wine tongue down her throat. Then we would trade. I'd be mouth to mouth with the demon, having blood drawn from my lip by her fang as I tugged on a nipple born for sex, it would never function as someones god intended it to. Then back again, but in some sort of compromise. My hand half up the Queens twat while Monk tested how many fingers he could fit up her ass. Both of our mouths on something.

 

She reached back and forth tugging a cock here and there but the three of us knew it wasn't really about that. She wanted to share, we wanted to help.

 

At some point it all slowed down. Again, I'm not sure why. My best guess is we were winded on account of the booze.

 

We spoke a bit of nonsense and laughed our asses off for a while, then Deathy got quiet. She still had a dumb soft grin but had gone silent.

 

"Are you as fucked up as I am?" I'd ask Monk.

 

"Dude so gone." He'd reply.

 

We rolled back and forth for a moment until one of us, again- not sure who, realized the girl had pissed herself. As she was completely naked, this pissing was unrestricted and the blanket the three of us were wrapped in had become soaked in piss.

 

"Ohhhhh are you fucking kidding me." I said looking directly at Monk who was realizing all this at the same moment.

 

"Are you fucking serious." He said rolling back and onto his side.

 

The Queen just laid there. Suddenly she was more or less unconscious.

 

Convenient.

 

"Alright man we gotta do something she is SUPER fucked up." I said rising to an elbow.

 

We both agreed to hoist her out of the bed and bring her to the bathroom. It was the bathroom I used because it was the only one not connected to my grandmother's bedroom which was only 12 or so feet away.

 

With an arm over each one of our shoulders, we dragged the girl across my parents house to the bathroom. This took what seemed like an eternity on account of the fact that she was now fully dead weight and we were still wasted.

 

once we got her to the bathroom, the piss soaked bed sheet she was wrapped in had fallen off. We spun her wet naked body around and sat her on the can.

 

"Christ, if I didn't hate this so much I'd love it." We both thought.

 

The two of us backed up into the kitchen and watched as the Queen swayed side to side, back and forth. Her pitch black rat's nest hair held its shape while her tits shook around, trying to find equilibrium. They were small but bounced around as if filled with watered down hand lotion.

 

"Man I'm fucked up but nowhere near that fucked up." Monk said taking a drink from the massive bottle of Jim Beam he managed to bring with him without me noticing. I snatched it.

 

"I don't even think I can get that wasted. I shut down befo-" I started in. 

 

Before I could finish my thought, the Queen straightened her legs and shot up, piss still dripping from between her legs.

 

"Shit" Monk said.

 

As soon as her knees locked, the weight of her body decided forward instead of back, and she started down. Just like any fast paced traumatic situation, the universe slowed around us in order to better display the helpless peril we found ourselves in. We watched as Burbank royalty fell from her special blend of filthy grace.

 

Her back bent. Her head took the lead. Knotted hair stood still, un-affected by the breeze of a falling, half conscious skull.

 

It all happened so fast, and so slowly, I could almost see the skin on her forehead depress and pinch against the muscle and bone beneath. The thud shook adobe tile and she was out.

 

Great. Now I have to explain to Grandma why a naked, piss soaked Death Queen earned her tittle on our tile.

 

She lived.

 

She might still be alive.

 

She might live forever.