Uncle Muster’s Experiment – Part 1 of 2

UNCLE MUSTER’S EXPERIMENT

Page 44

I can’t believe she actually tried to kill me with a friggin’ axe! Of course it’s all Uncle Muster’s doing in the end. But if he always liked me better like he says, then I don’t understand…

He calls this Stage One of the “Incarceration Experiment”.

Page 1

A “Social Experiment” he calls it. He locks us both in his ring room and then he tells me to write. ‘Write jes’ like you always wanted to,’ he croons, stroking my hair with his good hand and bending to kiss me on the forehead. He takes a big hefty breath of my hair as he does it too, just like always. Then he steps back and hands me this bag full of lined paper and mechanical pencils and tells me to go sit in the corner of the boxing ring and start. It would be dark in here during the day except a few years back he put in skylights so that no matter where the sun is in the sky it’s always in the right place like there’s a spotlight shining on the ring.

‘And when you’re finished,’ he tells me, ‘show it to Teresa. But take your time Sugar,’ (that’s what he calls me when he’s feeling all steamy under the collar) ‘you’re gonna be here a while.’

Ever since I was seventeen and momma died and Uncle Muster married Teresa she’s hated me. Teresa was my aunt when I was born but when momma met Uncle Muster back when I was ten I called him ‘Uncle’ right away. He and I would come out to the ring room alone and have long talks about how he knew I was special and I was better than the life my momma gave me. That was when I told Uncle Muster I liked to write. Then, close to when momma was going to die, she asked her sister to come and stay with us. Teresa and Uncle Muster started sleeping together the night of the funeral. A week later they were hitched.

Page 2

‘How is it,’ I ask him once I’m settled down in my corner of the mat with my writing tools, ‘that we’re not gunna be missed if we‘re staying here so long?’ He comes and sits cross legged in front of me, adjusting himself as he sits. He knows I know what he wants whenever he does this. Teresa is in the other room and I can smell burning as if the stove that the kettle is on has something spilled on it. She’s clattering around, grumbling to herself with the occasional ‘F**k!’ mixed in.

‘I told ever’one in town that you were going to visit that fancy university,’ he tells
me. ‘And no one’s gonna miss Treese,’ he says rolling his eyes up until his pupils disappear. It’s true ‘cause Uncle Muster proved it. No one really pays any attention to her, except Uncle Muster when they first met. When she got to town she was always dressed smart, as if she worked in a lawyers’ office or something. Then when momma was gone she spent about a month wearing nothing but a robe. When she did try to get dressed again (when Uncle Muster finally let her out of bed) all her clothes were gone and her suitcase too. She had to wear Uncle Muster’s clothes which were WAY too big for her so she could go to the store with the twenty bucks he gave her to buy a whole new wardrobe. She’s been dressed in a twenty dollar wardrobe for three years now.

Page 3

‘Where the f**k are the spoons?’ It’s Teresa yelling at Uncle Muster.

‘They’re where they always are,’ he yells back at her. ‘And stop swearing you stupid f**king c**t!’ Uncle Muster doesn’t like it when we swear. I never do but Teresa never wants to behave the way he wants her to.

Teresa should know where to find the spoons. We’ve been here dozens of times over the years, mostly when Uncle Muster was hiding out from his drug ‘buddies‘. I don’t know why he calls them that.

It was the drugs that did momma in, in the end. Uncle Muster was her dealer, even though he never seemed much of the type. Around me he puts on this fake accent and he’s always dressed like a hillbilly. ‘You’re so purrdy,’ he tells me. When I asked him once, why the accent he said he just wants to be smooth as cream to go with his Sugar. Then my eighteenth birthday rolled around and I found out all about his cream.

It was when he knew one of those drug raids was coming up and he told me he wanted to take me to the ring room alone. We’d always taken momma with us before and it was about the second or third time since she died. The raids happened maybe ten times a year. He said he was going to try an experiment and he called it his “Societal Worth Experiment”. It was just the first of many. In this one he thought it might be fun to see if Teresa was as invisible to people as he thought she was, so he left her at the trailer. When we came back two days later the trailer was trashed just like always but Teresa was fine. Not a scratch on her. As far as I know that was the first time Uncle Muster hit her. When I asked him why he told me that he was mad at her for not being me.

Beauty Chained

So sweet in white you
bent to sniff to smell the
rose so red I sent you
this morning the dew on
your lip lick it
off and smile at me

So sweet in sweat I
see you bent and writhe in
pleasure ah my treasure all
slathered in creamy paint you
drip and slip it
off and smile at me

So sweet in chains you
pull and gnash and grasp the
links you slink I scratch you
seize your ache you
squeeze and slide it
off and smile at me

So sweet in black you
stretch and sigh and drift in
silken cream and paint I
glide and ride you
slip yes take it
off and smile at me

So sweet in sleep you
breathe and moan deep in
velvet bliss you cream me
yield and
blush rush lick it
off and smile at me

chains

More

“i want more.”

“here I am, ” says More

“but i didn’t expect more to be personified.”

he squints at More. if he holds his head just right he can perceive the reflection of a pool, hovering in front of More, as if More is made of the pool. he leans to the left and from that side More looks like the new expensive laptop he has been eyeing for a while. he glances down to see that More is standing in a mist, like a cloud and More is wearing airplanes that are traveling at 30,000 feet to his dream destination. from the back More is a house. yes, the home he grew up in, only new and on the other side of More pokes out the head of a horse.

having completed his lap of More he walks back to face his most dear wish. in the face of More he sees a girl. his soulmate. the girl he hasn’t yet met.

“how can I have all this?”

“first you must make room for me,” says More. “you must give up what you have. a sacrifice must be made. but particularly for your soulmate.”

“but why?”

“ask yourself, how can you have a pool while you live in an apartment? how will you be happy with a new computer before you have backed up the files on your old one to move them over? that takes time. how can you leave it all behind to travel when you have so much to do? how can you live in a new house when you haven’t the money to buy one? or a farm for that matter, with a horse? you must make room in your life for these things and to do so you must sacrifice what you have.

“but most of all, for love you must sacrifice the woman who loves you now.”

“sacrifice her how?” he asks.

“let her go,” More answers.

“but that will kill her, she loves me,” he cries.

More fades away, awaiting Desperation.

The more

Canopies and Scars

It’s sunny outside but in here it’s raining. The thunder crashes against my canopy, reverberating waves of sound and slashes thick with the hate of ages and sage advocacies of children fallen on deaf ears. For I can’t save everyone. And for each there is a scar.

mannequin

Pale

I am a ghost.

Or was I? I believe I am standing in the rain, buckets pouring down on me I am

Slippery in slippers. Why am I wearing

Long loose clothing, layered chiffon blowing in the breeze high upon the roof of

Deep cold metal framework? I feel

Hot ash laying in the sun. My bones ache ooooh how

blistered and blushed up brushes forward

My hair. Black. Over my face. It is so dark so dark so I can’t see why can’t I

am a ghost.

Saw it! I glimpsed the pale horse, steam from his nostrils he lifted me

Up on high mountain

top of the windy cliff. The sea smashes

my ahhh I can fly now!

NO! I stand in my mother’s living room but wait, this is from before

She cries why? I can see her through

shades of gray silk I cross my arms angrily growling I am

a ghost.

But wait! There! Right there a scrap of paper with my name! Surely if

My name remains I must be

Alive. It is there written in stone. In the pale moonlight

in a cemetery.

I walk, the cold sleet slashing my skin and

I don’t breathe

in the air of the night brisk chill diamond cut

I bled

out of the darkness I see light I see light

blind

I am alive. I am a

ghost.

Beauty’s Calling

hair

Prince Blorigan heard of Beauty through one of his own servants. A cousin of a friend who knew a girl who had been to visit Beauty told the tale of a teenaged boy locked in a tower catered to by only women. It was a sin against humanity if ever Blorigan had heard of one. And so, curious, he plotted to see for himself.

Blorigan, with the aid of trusted woman in his household, went about dressing himself up as a young girl to gain entrance to Grim’s castle. Once inside it was simple. Gush over never having seen Beauty up close (as though anyone had seen him from afar) and tell of a cousin who had had the pleasure of Beauty’s company and it was only a matter of moments before Blorigan was in the presence of the beautiful young man.

The Prince had with him a fan which he held up to his face as he tittered with the six other girls who had been invited to sit with Beauty that afternoon. He hadn’t expected to find himself quite so enamoured of the young man. He was, indeed, very beautiful. Blorigan was quite nervous. For it was told that after court with Beauty was held, he would go around the room and kiss each of the girls on the lips, deciding which, if any, would have a place in his chambers to help him dress in the morning and undress at night. None of the girls lasted long, unless they happened to be in Beauty’s employ when one of the older women left, unable to give away a son of Beauty’s father, Grim.

As Beauty moved around the room, bending before each of the girls to give them each a chaste kiss on the lips and then straighten and smile, Blorigan began to tremble. Should he be outed by Beauty (who would surely be surprised to feel the roughness of his closely shaven skin) the consequences of his deception would be dire. He began to wonder what had gotten into him, thinking he could get away with it, let alone being well received by Beauty. So it was with nervous bravery that Blorigan lowered his fan and accepted Beauty’s kiss. Beauty, startled, pulled away just enough to stare at Blorigan’s lips before kissing him again. He didn’t smile. Without glancing away from Blorigan he ordered the rest out of the room.

“But Beauty!” exclaimed the lady who always accompanied the girls. “This is highly unusual.”

“Leave us!” Beauty commanded.

Blorigan heard the shuffling of feet and the soft thunk of the wooden door closing against its frame. Without a word Beauty reached under the Prince’s skirt and felt there a hardness.

“You’re like me,” Beauty whispered.

Prince Blorigan nodded, speechless.

“You must stay, and teach me,” Beauty breathed against the Prince’s lips. “Are you,” Beauty swallowed, “are you the only other one?”

“No, the world is filled with men as well as with women…”

Beauty cut off his words with another deeper kiss.

“Stay with me,” Beauty repeated with a groan.

“I can’t,” Blorigan said. “I have a kingdom to help my father rule. I am a Prince and must marry soon.”

“You will marry a woman?” Beauty asked, unbelieving as he pressed himself against the Prince.

“We will teach each other perhaps, before I go.”

“And you will return?” Beauty demanded, dropping to his knees for a better look.

“As often as I can,” Blorigan sighed, his head tipping back and his eyes closing.

Bracelet Death

There is a sweetness like honey drips
The colour of roses, pink and soft
That make me carnivorous
Through your skin so delicate
Hints the red of black cherries
The tart wisp of citrus sweat
Just below your jawline
Ahhh….slip swiftly

A breath from tongue
And my mouth waters salt scent
Like fire through an hourglass
I inhale your heat
Take me to mars, I whisper too softly
Feel you shiver from head to toe
Feel your body elongate
Mmmm….hell’s handmaid

There’s a taste to your mouth
Of sweet cherry brandy
Of darkness desire so secretly warm
From your current I sense
Electric cold minefield
Hips a magnet for fingertips
And cat scratches kitten bliss
Nnnn….luscious love

In blackness is given in grace everlasting
In hard hallowed heaven
Of satin silk static
Enclosed with your strength
I’m showered with petals of blue honeydew
I breathe in white essence
My candle of starlight
Aamm….bracelet death

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January 31, 2007
11:32 pm

LGH

Beauty’s Education

hair

Life in the castle was an endless cycle of excitement and monotony. For days on end Beauty was locked up in his chambers with his tutor, a nubile young woman of brains who carried her children with her (or lead them around depending on their size) where ever she went. All of the children were daughters – it was well known in the kingdom that Beauty’s father, Grim, would only have members of the gentler sex in his household, with the exception of Beauty himself. Whenever a male child was born it was given away – an agreed-upon expectation of the women who were privileged to be in Grim’s servitude and allowed into his bedchamber.

Beauty was hidden away from the world, an eyesore to his father but the glory of the domestic help who cared for him, for they knew he was destined for greatness. (They would whisper among themselves that perhaps Beauty would be even greater than his father!)

And so the women of the grand estate had a vested interest in Beauty’s education and his upbringing. They urged him to be like his father, though he had not his father’s direct influence. Therefore the consensus was that Beauty should be as they wished his father to be.

While monotony reigned over Beauty’s days, he would take in the vision of his teacher’s breasts as she nursed her daughters, unable to avoid licking his lips at the sight of her wet nipples. By night he would be alone, a slave to his dreams. Even as he grew into the age of double digits the scenery remained unchanged. Excitement had finally come when he gained the age at which he was allowed visitors; girls in training from other castles who would become his father’s servants. Only then was he allowed to touch. Only then did his education begin in earnest.

Beauty’s Beginning

Beauty

Beauty

Beauty was born without a mother. That is to say his mother died in childbirth, leaving him in the peculiar care of his father and his father’s servants. Since Beauty’s father was a soldier, he was often absent from the family estate. Beauty, therefore, spent all of his waking and sleeping moments with the women who cleaned, cooked, and cared for the castle in which he lived.

So uninterested was Beauty’s father in him that he even went as far as to allow the housemaid-turned-nursemaid (she gave birth to a daughter at the same time Beauty was born and was able to nurse him at her breast) to name the poor boy. Having used what she thought was the best name available on her own daughter (some said she was the spawn of the gentleman for whom the woman worked), and she couldn’t very well call the boy Adrianna two (or too, the woman knew not the distinction) she simply called him what he was.

From the time Beauty was a babe he learned the ways of women. They taught him to clean and to cook and to care for them when they were tired at the end of the day. Time and time again his father would return home from battle only to find his son rubbing the feet of a char woman. The more it happened the less his father expected of him.

And so Beauty went without the benefit of a role model. His father was the only man Beauty knew of, for his father surrounded himself only with women unless he was off to war. From his father Beauty learned only that if he was ignored, there would surely be a woman to take care of him.

Beauty my Beauty

Beauty tore down all the sheets that hung around the room. It was Beauty’s darling Step-mother who requested they be hung in the first place. Beauty didn’t think anything of it at the time, the sheets needed to dry. But five years later, when they had begun to fade in the sun, Beauty knew it was time for them to be taken down. Flowery sheets weren’t Beauty’s idea of beauty. He liked plain white ones.

“Oh Beauty!” It was Step-mother calling. She waltzed into his room as though she belonged there.

“Step-mother, I told you before that I don’t like you coming into my room without knocking first,” Beauty whined.

“Oh nonsense!” Step-mother cried. “Now where are the sheets I asked you to hang up?”

“That was so long ago, I took them down,” Beauty confessed.

“Alright then, get on your knees. Where is the whip?”

“Step-mother,” Beauty sighed. “I’m four and twenty years old. Aren’t we a little past this?”

“Well who else am I going to beat now that your father is gone?” Step-mother exclaimed.

“Alright then,” Beauty conceded. “But just this once.”

Beauty took the barbed whip from the wardrobe and handed it to Step-mother. He fell to his knees before her, his long brown hair hiding his face as he removed his shirt. Step-mother hissed when she saw the scars on his back.

“Who did this to you?” Step-mother questioned.

“You did, Step-mother. Last week. And the week before. And every week for the last five years,” Beauty counted.

“Liar!” Step-mother screeched and the whip came down upon Beauty’s back.

Beauty felt the sting of the whip cutting into his flesh, removing the few scabs from the last time. Within three lashes the blood was flowing freely.

“Oh!” Step-mother gasped. She stepped back and Beauty looked up at her, a grin on his face.

“What happened?” Step-mother asked.

“Nothing at all Step-mother,” Beauty chided.

“Then hang up the sheets!” Step-mother demanded, dropping the whip and leaving the room.

“Right away Step-mother,” Beauty submitted.

As soon as the door to Beauty’s bedroom closed he lay upon his white sheets and graced them with roses and adonis.

Beauty