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From: mithryl@walrus.com (Mithryl)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.prose,rec.arts.prose
Subject: CODY: EPILOGUE
Date: 4 Sep 1996 22:20:31 GMT
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                                     Epilogue

Dear Bill,

	I am Cody, you bastard.  Stop trying to rob me of my identity.

	I don't know what you mean by not being able to teach what I don't
know.  You constantly seem to have this male thing that women, and
especially young women, can't possibly have any experience.  How much
experience did Mother Teresea have when she was my age?  By the time Joan
of Arc was as old as me, she was dead. 

	Also, I never stuck a catheter up Dole's dick.  That was a lover I
had called Ponce.  At least, that's what he called himself.  I never saw
his face.  He always wore a ski mask. 

	Even when we were on a date.  We'd be in Maxim's, and Ponce would
be trying to eat soup through the mask.  Totally gross.  Well, it was
better than Raul.  Who always insisted on wearing a stocking.  Trying to
eat a hamburger through a stocking, no matter how sheer it is, can be
positively revolting. 

	Revolutionaries are so paranoid.  I wonder if Lenin was like that. 
Or Stalin.  I can't picture Stalin with a woman's stocking pulled over his
head.  Maybe Trotsky. 

	I'm trying to make up for lost time.  Reading Trotsky's sonnets. 
Stalin's correspondence with Edna St. Vincent Millet.  Bakkunin's 39
Theses on the Protocols of Public Hygene and How to Blow Them Up. 

	So you can see, I'm no dummy.

	Bakkunin should be around today.  He loved to blow things up.  

	But I'm being facile.  The fact is, I've gone low.  Said
everything I have to say for now.  I can't make things up.  I have to feel
it first.  If it's not real, I can't write.  Right now, there is nothing
incoming. 

	I guess in that sense, I'm not an intellectual.  Something has to
really hit me before it's real.  Like a fist.  Or a story. 

	That's why myths and legends are important.  They lift us up and
carry us like a wave until we finally wash up on the shore or shatter on
jagged rocks.  The Clantons.  Dorothy.  Jaws.  Dole.  All legends in the
American grain.  The Nazis were possessed b y the ancient gods.  To us,
the civil war was our Mahabarata.  All you have to do is lie back on it
and off you go.  To Gran, Fran is a hole in time.  An empty space 700
miles across.  Coming down on her like a buzzsaw.  There's nothing more 
vicious than a submissive who suddenly turns on her dom. 

	Maybe it was divine retribution that my grandmother should die in
a hurricane that had the same name as her sister.  But probably it was
more like a coincidence.  Not even that.  They said the eye of the
hurricane went right through... 

	Facile, again.  Cheap jokes.  Even the fact that Dickie called
Hillary "Twister," isn't worth commenting on.  That was his codename.  For
her.  They all had code names.  Bill was The Monster.  Panetta was Peter. 
Get it?  Peter Pan.  Dickie's was The Stu d.  It drove people crazy trying
to keep them straight.  And they were constantly being changed.  People
could go through three or four code names in one day. 

	Saturday Night Live stuff.  Why am I so empty?

	I feel like I'm whipping a dead horse.

	Kelly was in the bathroom when I got back to the apartment.  She
whirled around, staring. 

	"Hello, Kel."

	"Cody.  I didn't expect you home."

	"Yeah.  Well, I've been thinking."

	"Oh yeah?  What about?"

	"Bout us."

	"Yeah?"

	"Yeah."

	She was getting ready to go out.  She had on a yellow dress.  Her
long red hair was loose.  And she had black heels and stockings.  It
wasn't hard tying her hands behind her back. 

	"Cody," she said, "what are you doing?"

	I made her get on a stool.

	There's a rope hanging from the middle of the ceiling, with a
noose hooked to it.  I put it around her neck.  Fixing her hair, so it
wasn't caught in the rope.  She looked real pretty.  I tied her ankles,
too, and adjusted the rope, so that she could jus t maintain herself on
the balls of her feet. 

	Then I took out the stool.  The rope tightened around her neck and
she started to suffocate.  Then I put the stool back under her.  She got
her breath back and started to babble.  Then I took it away again.  I did
this several times. 

	Kelly was wetting her pants.

	I took the stool out and put my hand in between her legs, so it
was the only thing holding her up.  After a few moments, she started to
ride it.  Like she was making love to my hand.  Because it was the only
thing that was giving her air. 

	I let the rope down so her feet just touched the floor.  She began
to hump herself on my hand as my finger probed up inside her and then
brushed the lips as it slit the knife up inside her.  Ride, pig.  Ride

	It went on for hours.  Kelly transferred all her life into her
cunt.  You would have liked her.  She told me everything. 

	But in the end, I felt nothing.  I couldn't get it through my head
that this was wrong, what I was doing to my Kelly.  My Kelly was so young
and pretty.  I wanted to do anything to please her.  But was this it?  I
felt empty.  Dead.  Kelly was dead.  But so was I.  I felt nothing.

	I saw a program today that said that Lear, when he was out in the
woods, realized he was a man.  Before, he had been a king.  But now he
knew how to feel.  But then he was out in the woods.  What could he do? 
His power was gone.  All that was left was a crazy old man.  The biggest
lie was that Kelly died for my sins.  That's just not true.  Jesus died
for our sins.  At least that was the story.  They had to make something up
fast, so they said that.  And things went on from there.  Snowballed, you
might say.  One big story leading to another.  See how it's done?  It's
all a conspiracy.  It just depends where you are on the rim.  I was
running out of ammunition. 

	Everything is encoded.  Don't try to figure it out.

	Just send.

	There will always be rebels in Guatamala.  That's what Guatamala
is for.  Yes, San Clemente is safe.  No one will find you there. 

	Buckets of slime.  I'm just trying to get my head above the slime. 
Fuck you, Kelly.  I cut her down. 

	"Take your things and get out.  The show's over."  She just looked
at me and left. 

	So maybe this is it.  I thought about writing another chapter to
round out the book.  But nothing comes.  It's over.  Clinton will be
re-elected.  And the Republicans will have won. 

                                        #