The full story first appeared in Paraphilia Magazine #3

Menacing Daze
by Michael Roth

Section the First

Public bathrooms are for fucking, shitting and fighting, in that order. David Michael K. knew the score very well, being an experienced cruiser and street fighter. Walking past the Firkin Pub, he could hear the din of voices and Lee Perry music pouring out the front door.
     The fucking Firkin, he thought, running his hand over his cropped scalp. Should be able to pull a bird there. That’s if nothing’s changed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sta-pres and counted the coins with his fingers. Should be enough for a pint or two, he thought. Let’s give this a go.
     He stepped in and headed to the bar. There was a raucous roar from a dark corner. He turned towards the loud shouting and saw a table of skinheads slamming their fists onto the table and laughing. Against the bar, waiting for a pint, he spotted an attractive woman with cropped black hair. She turned and he recognized her from his youth - they used to meet up at punk gigs years ago. While he had never fucked her, he always wished he had. From the look in her eyes, he knew that he had been recognized as well.
     “David?” she said, “That you?”
     “Glory, yeah, been awhile.”
     They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then he excused himself.
     “Going so soon?”
     “Just to the loo. Want to come along?”
     “Of course!”
     The bathroom floor was covered with piss and had that familiar odor of shit and anti-septic cleaner. They headed straight to the single stall, closing and latching the door. She lost no time in taking down his trousers and falling to her knees, swallowing his hardening member with a single gulp. Her technique was expert and she worked him like a vacuum cleaner. He wanted to get at her pussy. He sat onto the cold, stained toilet, lifted her short skirt and pulled off her cottons. She leaned back against the metal door, legs spread. She had a hammer and sickle tattooed across her pubic mound. David Michael nodded silent approval, no wonder she tasted so good.  He hated fucking Nazis and refused to participate in giving them pleasure. Here was a group of people who wanted to control who he could or could not fuck. Besides, most were rampant coprophiliacs, a practice too messy for every day shagging. He dove into her shaved pussy, tongue swiping across her hard clit. She shrieked in pleasure, banging her hands against the metal walls. After a couple minutes of receiving oral, she pushed David back onto the toilet and straddled his hips. She lowered herself onto his throbbing member, sliding in easily from the wetness of her hole. She gyrated vigorously, grunting and growling, pushing his body back into the damp plumbing.
     He felt a twisting in his bowels. He held back the shit poking out of his asshole. The million year old DNA codes were unraveling in his brain and within seconds his genetic wealth was exploding into her cunt while at the same time he released his anus, sending the shit into the toilet with a splash and a loud fart.  She fell forward, muscles tensing then relaxing as waves of multiple orgasms went through her body.
     “That’s what I needed.” She said, standing up and stepping back into her panties. David gestured with his eyebrows, giving a surprised look. “Oh, I love the feel of hot spunk in my underwear.” she said with a wink before leaving the stall. “Stop by our table, my friends will definitely want to meet you.” She called as she left the room.
     K. cleaned up, congratulating himself on the bit of luck and looking forward to some more prolonged shagging later that night. Hopefully, a group session with Glory and her friends. He heard the door open and the click of boots on the tile.
     “Back so soon. Hope you brought a friend.” David Michael K. said stepping out of the stall.
     “What the fuck you looking at?” the large skin said with a sneer. “Fucking pansy.” On his right arm was a tattoo of a deer jumping across a swastika. On his other arm, ‘White Pride’ was tattooed in a gothic style. The skin was looking for a fight.  David Michael had seen yobs like this before. Guys who think they’re tough because of their size without realizing that at least half of fighting is a mental game.  I’ll dispatch with this one quickly, he thought, and then it will be on to a brilliant all-night fuck session.
     Stepping forward, arms raised slightly in a surrender position, David hoped to get in a quick head butt. The skin clenched his fists, ready to strike. So, it was not going to be that easy, he thought. He feinted with his right and shot out a quick left hook. A classic move and if executed properly could bust a jaw or at least stun the opponent so a further beating could be meted out. David Michael loved this move because if he missed with his fist he could follow through with his elbow. But now he would have to rethink this tactic. The skinhead ducked to the left, not taken in by the feint and punished David’s ribs with a couple of hard upper cuts. Quickly followed by a leg sweep. David Michael, already stunned and breathless, hit the floor hard, head bouncing against the wet tile. As an experienced fighter, David knew how to take a fall, but this attack caught him off guard. Instinctively, he threw out his legs for an ankle sweep but there was nothing but air. Arms up David was waiting for the inevitable kick in the ribs as he snaked his way along the floor on his back. Instead came a stomp to the stomach by a size twelve Doc Marten followed by a stomp to his face, which fortunately glanced off his arm. Otherwise, his face would have been driven to the other side of his head.
     The door to the bathroom opened. “What the fuck!” came a man’s voice.
     “I’ll do you next if you don’t fuck off!” the skinhead retorted.
     This distraction was all he needed. He thrust both his legs, heels first, into the skinhead’s groin. The skinhead was pushed two feet into the air, howling, clutching his swelling balls. David Michael got up, one arm holding his ribs, and drove a knee into the opponent’s face. He could feel the nose collapse and twist, splattering blood across his pants. The skinhead, obviously an experienced hooligan and one tough customer to boot, pushed David back against the washroom stall with his shoulder. David knew he had to end this soon before the Nazi’s friends showed up to stomp him into a pulp. He extended his thumb and drove it into the skinhead’s eye. He could feel this digit burrowing into soft flesh and warm liquid. The skinhead collapsed to the piss-covered floor of the washroom stall.
     K. grabbed a wad of paper towels and walked past the stunned observer. Next time none of this fancy stuff, he thought sneaking out the back door, I’ll just ram my fist into his throat. I’ll have to let that shag session go for now. I don’t want to be around when the other skinheads find their friend. Of course, he enjoyed the fight game and rarely turned down the opportunity for some ultra violence. But there were other matters at hand.

      David Michael stepped out into the alley. Thinking of the fight brought back fond memories of his time with the Dumb Fucks, a firm dedicated to street fighting and poststructuralist theory. He formed the Dumb Fucks after reading Anti Oedipus by Deleuze and Guattari. His enthusiasm for the book, and his ultimate disappointment with the follow-up Thousand Plateaus, led him to take the work directly to the people with violence. Punch ups with anyone, academics and soccer fans alike, followed. But those times had passed. He turned the corner out of the alley and walked up the street with confidence.  
     Cracking his knuckles, he felt good after the fight and fuck. He could feel the energy around him, as he was in tune with his surroundings. Things slowed down and he could navigate the chaotic flow of the streets. People were out of touch with their realities. They were alienated by capitalism, not to mention other forms of simian governing structures. And they had lost the desire to transcend these illusionary surroundings and explore deep surrealities.
     K.’s attention was drawn to the Tesco. Overhead, he noticed two pink saucers, just floating in the sky. They shimmered in the sun and had an almost translucent but metallic quality. No one else seemed to be aware of their presence.
     “Fuck me.” He said. “Not again.”