Noah Cicero - The Collected Works of Noah Cicero Vol. I

I looked straight ahead and said, “Listen Dustin, why do you play that shit? Do you wanna be famous for something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, I’m not going to participate in your bourgeois dream.”

“What has happened to you?”

Then the zombie left.

It was about time to go hit on that tall blonde.

She’d had enough time to find a seat, have a drink, and get settled in.

I stood up, looked around and thought, What a bunch of assholes.

Walked to the back room where the stage was.

The tall blonde was there.

I walked straight to her.

Kept getting closer and closer and closer and closer and there I was standing right in front of her.

She was sitting down.

I looked at her and said, “Hey!”

She looked up, saw me, and said, “Yeah!”

I told her my name and then asked, “What’s yours?”

“Billy Jean.”

That’s hot, I thought.

I pulled up a seat and sat next to her.

She was smiling, that was good. Smiles are always positive when flirting.

I asked Billy Jean for her number. She gave it to me and I walked off.

I went to the front of the bar.

Sat down and began to stare again.

I wanted to touch Billy Jean, real bad.

And assumed she’d fuck me.

I ordered another beer and went to the back.

She was sitting in a different location, on a small bench where we could sit together, close, touching, getting all horny and sexy like.

I sat next to her and told her about my dead baby, about trips out west, writing prose, and how I’m a bastard.

She sat there and listened and kept putting her bottom lip in her mouth real sexy like.

I made an inference, she was horny and wanted dick.

And then open mic night was over. We went outside to say goodbye.

She took some steps away from me and I yelled, “Hey!”

Billy Jean turned around.

I grabbed her shirt, pulled her to me and kissed her on the lips.

Then I cackled.

Billy Jean blushed, smiled and walked to her car.

That was the beginning of our sexual life together.

It only got weirder.

Billy Jean was a strange creature.

A combination of Trotsky, de Sade, and Simone de Beauvoir.

But she wasn’t any of those three people.

She was Billy Jean.

Fuck yeah!

She was covered in scars from cutting herself with a razor blade when she was going through puberty.

Billy Jean saw the injustice of what America does to females, and how they don’t allot females the freedom to even escape it.

She was apprenticed by two secret Marxists from Kentucky.

Coal miner stock that was paid in script.

Billy Jean was playing chess when she was seven.

Billy Jean read trashy romance novels by the age of ten.

Billy Jean grew up poor eating hot dogs and drinking Kool-Aid made with well water.

Billy Jean’s house growing up had a coal shoot.

Billy Jean was classy, but you could tell she was still white trash.

And that is what I’ve always looked for.

Someone like me, white trash but still reads.

We were both very alone.

First there must be a detailed description of Billy Jean’s body, so you can properly imagine it.

Billy Jean’s Body:

Height: Five feet eleven inches.

Shape: Hourglass.

Arms: Soft twigs.

Hands: Little and cute.

Feet: Also little and cute.

Eyes: Big and green.

Breasts: Perky, almost a C. They cannot hold up a pencil.

Legs: Long and soft.

Skin Tone: A bit darker than white trash blue, even.

Ass: Big, beautiful and round, staring at her ass is the closest I’ve ever come to feeling transcendent.

One deformity: Her pinky toe. The nail is so small it can barely be seen. It is weird-looking.

*

Here are descriptions of the sex we participated in.

The best sex I’ve ever had.

One day we were naked sitting on the floor in her living room.

Billy Jean went in the bedroom and came out with some handcuffs.

I looked at her and smiled, “What do we handcuff you to?”

“I don’t know, something metal would be good.”

We both thought and I said, “How about the leg of the bed?”

“That would be fantastic,” said Billy Jean.

We went into the bedroom and I handcuffed her to the bed.

I inserted my dick into her and started pumping.

Then I pulled out and ate her out for a while.

I licked her asshole.

Getting her asshole touched always drove Billy Jean wild.

She had crazy asshole orgasms.

Billy Jean hooted and hollered, screamed bloody murder and came.

I inserted my dick back in her and pumped some more.

Her face was flushed and she looked like she was going to die.

I pulled out.

Crawled on top of her body and jacked off.

I shot my load all over her face.

It almost completely covered her.

Then I stood up and kicked her in the ribs.

She smiled.

I took the handcuffs off and she rubbed the cum all over her face while giggling and smiling.

I realized I had met a strange creature.

A human who enjoyed sex and no longer had any concern for inhibitions.

Billy Jean came to terms with her freedom.

She didn’t care about traditions or taboos.

And the ones her parents threw at her, she found silly.

Billy Jean was the antithesis to the American Dream.

I found that all very sexy.

We lived in Youngstown, Ohio too.

It was obvious from the government and economic conditions no one cared how we lived or what we did anyway.

So why should we care about our behavior.

*

One day I was lying on the couch.

I was watching television ladies ice-skating.

Billy Jean came into the room from the kitchen.

She was wearing tight blue jeans and a small black shirt.

She got onto the couch and crawled on her tummy over me.

Placed her ass on my lap.

Billy Jean pushed down her pants and said, “Slap it.”

I thought about it a second and decided.

SLAP!

“Again,” she said.

SLAP!

She made small noises every time I slapped her bottom.

SLAP!

Five seconds.

SLAP!

Five seconds.

SLAP!

Five seconds.

SLAP!

I did that a long time.

With each slap she made more and more noise.

I got a hard-on.

SLAP!

“Harder,” said Billy Jean.

SLAP!

“More at once,” said Billy Jean.

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Her ass was red and sore.

“Now I want you to do me doggy style over the arm of the couch while hitting me with a belt,” Billy Jean said.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

She handed me a belt.

It was leather with little holes lined in metal.

Billy Jean took off her clothes and so did I.

She bent over the couch, spread her butt cheeks and I popped my dick in.

I began pumping her.

I held the belt in my hand.

I was not used to engaging in violence.

When my parents hit me it had always been with their fists, never an external object.

So I wasn’t sure how to create the effect Billy Jean wanted.

I folded the belt once, held both ends, and started wailing away on her ass and back.

SLAP on her ass!

SLAP on her back!

Still pumping.

SLAP on her ass.

SLAP on her back.

I brutally beat the fuck out of her ass and back.

It was gruesome.

Billy Jean had an orgasm and screamed.

Billy Jean began to cry.

It was real crying, forced out of pain.

It was loud and scary but she wanted more.

I slapped and slapped and slapped her with the belt.

Then I stopped and pulled out and just stood behind her.

Billy Jean hung over the arm of the couch like beef in a slaughterhouse freezer.