The C**t Chronicles: A Tale Of Triumph And Tragedy

The C**t Chronicles: A Tale Of Triumph And Tragedy

A Story by Yuazii

I’m gonna start working on my novel soon. It is called The


C**t Chronicles: A Tale of Triumph and Tragedy. It’s


basically written. I have it all figured out in my head, I just


gotta write it down,” Chris says in his usual casual  manner.


We are sitting in Bryant Park not doing anything, really.


Chris is giving his expert insights on every female being that


happens to stumble into his field of vision, while I zone in


and out of his rumblings. “Look at those three! Not bad, not


bad. I would f**k the old one up the a*s while I chew on the


younger one’s p***y. And her, I would just finger to keep


her warm till I finish with the older chick and then give her


a good romping, too.” A pretty, middle-aged mum with her


two teenage daughters pass us by.



I’m growing very weary of Chris’s social commentary, and


I’m seriously wondering why I’m hanging out with him in the


first place. We had a few interesting conversations about


art and the world while he was staying at the hostel, but


our discussions have steadily deteriorated since then. And


now that he has found an apartment of his own in Queens,


he is more desperate for company than ever. Calling me up


at all hours of the day,which is facilitated by the fact that


he doesn’t have a job. He says he is an artist but doesn’t


know in which specific direction yet. Rich parents!



Ooh, ooh, look at that one. A feisty little thing. Oh, man,


what I would do to her.” I see a woman, probably in her


mid-twenties, wearing a long, black flowing dress that


covers her body from neck to toe, a white headscarf


that apparently shields her hair from ever horny eyes, and


round, nerdy eyeglasses. There is literally not much to see.


I glance up at Chris to find out if we are looking at the same


person. Sure enough, he is staring right at her, fishing for


eye contact. The girl self-consciously looks up, and Chris


displays a genuine-looking sweet smile. “Good afternoon,


pretty lady.” The girl is shocked, and in her confusion


mumbles out a flattered “good afternoon” before hurrying


off. Chris gives me a knowing look. I chuckle to let him


know I’m in on the joke. He doesn’t laugh back. He is

focused and absolutely serious. “That is good stuff!” he


says, smacking his lips. “Have you ever had one of those?” I


shake my head very slowly. “You are missing out, man; they


are the world’s best-kept secret. Seriously, dude, those


chicks are nasty.” I do not respond to this, allowing the


words to hang out there for a while untouched.



“It’s real simple; b*****s are gonna be b*****s, man, no


matter what rags you throw on them. Deep down, they are


still gonna crave a thick, juicy c**k in between their legs,


man; nothing’s gonna stop that.” He leans in closer to me


and lowers his voice. “I’m an a*s man, bro, you know that!


Which is a perfect situation for these s***s because they are


not allowed to have sex. Seriously, dude, one of them told


me that her parents frequently check if she is still a virgin.


Can you imagine that? Your dad sticking his old, crusty


fingers into your vagina every Sunday to see if you’ve been


a good girl?” I shake my head. “That’s insane, bro, that’s


insane. They say they do it because of Allah and so on, but I


don’t get that, man. I don’t get that. But, hey, to each his


own, I say. So"my point was that this girl I picked up told me


that we couldn’t have normal sex cause that right was


reserved for her future husband. But...” he raises his index


finger, “we could have anal if I wanted to. Ching-ching!


Can you believe that s**t? That’s amazing, right? And


believe me, those girls are wild; they let you do anything


because they feel bad for not allowing you to have proper


sex with them. They give the meanest  blowjobs ever, and


their a******s are super tight. And, yes, you might


occasionally hit on a couple of nuggets  while you’re


ploughing around up there, but hey, that’s just how the


game goes, man. S**t happens!” He laughs proudly at his


own wit. “It’s not a big deal.”



Somehow through this monologue, I’ve found a new form of


respect for Chris. He doesn’t bother himself with creating


and following any conceivable morals, and he takes a


healthy amount of pride in that fact. There is something


admirable about someone being this comfortable with


his fucked-up self and the broken world around him. “The


only thing you gotta watch out for is that you don’t get


caught by their family members.



Those fuckers are crazy, and once they get all psyched up


with their Koran and what not, there’s no stopping them;


trust me that never ends well. Especially for her, but also


for you.” I’ve almost no doubt in my mind that what he is


saying stems from personal experience. He doesn’t have


the mental capacity to come up with such a thing, and he


is, objectively speaking, good looking. I’ve seen how girls


respond to his tired lines.



There is definitely something to what he says. Those


covered-up girls do leave more to the imagination, I


suppose. And imagination is an indefeasible force. It colors


and molds everything to perfection, making it hard for


reality to compete with. Hmm, Chris might be an artist,


after all...



The End



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Added on March 28, 2013
Last Updated on April 2, 2013
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