The Devil's Sperm Is Cold by Marco Vassi Read Free Book Online Page A

your delirium.”
    Margaret lit a cigarette, let out a cloud of smoke, and continued, “I know all about the fire inside you, Joan, and I’m not shocked. I’m a woman too, and I have felt the same things. All women do, who are at all honest with themselves. But that’s only one face of the phenomenon. Sex is one part.”
    Half horrified, half captivated by the knowledge that Margaret had seen her in her most exposed moments, she asked, “And what’s the other part?”
    Margaret smiled. “Why, power, of course.”
    Joan shook her head, “You’re just like Lou,” she said.
    “In a sense,” Margaret told her. She ran her free hand over her breasts and down to her crotch. “Except that Lou doesn’t have this lovely body, and he doesn’t have the knowledge of what it is to be a woman, although I must admit he’s made a more thorough study of it than anyone I’ve ever met, even though his perspective is rather limited. No, the one thing we have in common is clarity. We both know exactly what we want.”
    “I knew what I wanted once,” Joan said. “More than anything, I wanted to be an actress.”
    Margaret leaned forward and put her head on Joan’s calf, the pressure of her fingers just enough to capture her attention. “I know,” Margaret said. “And that’s the business I want to talk about. The only trouble with your wanting to be an actress was the scope of the stage and role you allowed yourself. The old form of theater is dead and ridiculous. All life is a drama, all the world is a stage. Trite words, but powerful meaning. Why limit yourself to a few bare boards and a painted set and someone else’s lines, when you can be starring in your own play all the time, twenty-four hours a day?”
    Margaret’s hand had moved, as though of its own volition, up past Joan’s knee to her thigh. Margaret was lying much closer now, her face at a level with Joan’s breasts, her hand gently stroking the cloth which clung to Joan’s full thigh. Its movements were in rhythm with her speech, and as she spelled out her vision and plan, her hand made insistent and persistent forays further up Joan’s leg toward the tempting, taut triangle made by the folds of fabric around her cunt.
    “It’s time to wake up,” she went on. “This moment is the only moment we shall ever have. There is always only now, even though the content of now continually changes. The thing to ask is, ‘Who is in control? Who is writing your script? Who is deciding your role? Who is designing your set?’”
    “I think I understand you,” Joan replied, “but your words have implications I don’t really grasp.”
    “Don’t worry about the implications,” Margaret said, “they will become clear in time. But for now, I want to know whether you are ready.”
    “Ready for what?” Joan asked.
    “Ready to help me take Lou Morris’ publishing empire away from him.”
    The words rang like a gong in Joan’s mind. It was the single most enormous proposition she had ever heard which fell within the realm of her possibility, and yet lay beyond the limits of what she thought she could accomplish.
    “How can…?” she began.
    But Margaret silenced her sentence with her hand, putting her fingers over Joan’s mouth. “No details now,” she said. “You’ve already got more than enough, than you can assimilate. Just let that thought rest inside you, and in a few days, we can talk again.”
    Joan let her head fall back onto the floor. Her mind was spinning around and all she could focus on were the shadows made by the flames in the fireplace as they danced across the ceiling. Although she was making no future motion to speak, Margaret did not remove her fingers, and after a few moments, Joan could feel their heat and texture on her lips. Slowly, her mouth fell slightly open, and Margaret’s fingers slid inwards, first touching her teeth, and then, moving past, rested on her tongue.
    Joan lay passive for a second, and then began to lick