"Dolores and Serena Take A Trip To Maine"
NOVEL EXCERPT: Pages 39 - 51
>< >< ><
To play it safe, I called out mad early on a Thursday morning, and that same day we hit I-95 on the road for New England. Destination: the state of Maine. Way north. Baby at the wheel of the old-fart Chevy Caravan, The Siren’s tour van. Serena, lead singer, dead asleep in the back, her hair strewn across a pillow. Me, riding shotgun, dozing off. A greasy road map on my knees.
I’d been to Maine before. With Raymond. But I tried not to think of those times, except for once when we were supposed to go camping in Acadia National Park but got caught in the pouring rain.
We ended up in a hotel near Bar Harbor, in some room that had some fishy smell or maybe it was mildew, but I soon took care of that by producing a granny smith apple.
“What the hell is that?” asked Raymond.
“Our antidote to misery!”
I took out a BiC pen from my purse, then punched a hole halfway through the stem and another through the middle, clear through. “See?”
Then I packed the hole from the top with dro. “Tah-dah!” I said, “We’ll smoke out the stink!”
Despite his arty leanings, Raymond could sometimes be uptight and on occasion frowned at my little weed habit, but this time I convinced him it was earned; hell, we were on vacation, right? Didn’t we just drive a thousand freakin’ miles? Plus, he admitted, using a fresh apple was cute. Of course, I knew he would think that. And that was only phase one of my plan.
“We’ll smoke it, eat the apple, then go get some fresh lobsters in Bar Harbor,” I proposed.
Naturally, I made sure he got good and high.
And, instead of lobsters, we ended up staying in.
Having what I’d call a real vacation.
Sometimes the right combination of green and alcohol really loosened up his inhibitions and Catholic guilt, and he was able to cut loose on me, block out his “sweet” nature, get in touch with his inner predator, you might say.
I kept blowing apple-scented smoke into his mouth as we kissed, begging for a good roll.
And that night he was able to take charge of me, tune into my fantasy of being ravaged, and really unleash. All I remember was porn dimly blinking on the TV monitor and that hazy feeling of being oh so helpless, “forced” into this position and that, his cock working, feeling harder and thicker than it felt in ages.
Raymond turned into a caveman as he finally took me good, yanking on my hair and growling, “Take it! Take it all!”
Nice.
It was a raw, unselfconscious avalanche of passion. And I loved it.
His domination and power were so total it made me scream!
Just as entertaining for our neighbors, I’m sure, was this running dialogue as he plowed me:
Him: So—so you’re my dirty girl?
Me: (gasping) Your sweet, dirty, nasty girl!—that’s what I am!
Him: (grunting) And you like this, huh?—like it when I take charge, uh?
Me: Yeah, I do!—Take charge with your BIG fuckin’ cock!
Him: (panting) ’Cause you need it, right?
Me: Sure do, killa’! Need it!
Him: Need a good, hot FUCK!
Me: Need it! Want it! (pushing hard against him) Gotta get me some! FUCK ME, ughhh!…
Things got so freaky and wild that we probably had the whole hotel listening—so nasty hot that I imagined the pay-per-view porno actors through the TV screen breaking off just to watch us—Raymond and me: two fiends—busting it XXX—reinventing the dirty act.
Ah, the healing power of sex.
>< >< ><
Reaching Maine took about forever, driving at legal speed.
Once there, it took about another million years to reach up north, where we wanted to go. Beyond that was Nova Scotia and Canada—if we wanted to escape Jesus country, once and for all.
Along the way, I touched my stomach, wondering what was going on in there, imagining a tadpole with Raymond’s face.
It made me melancholy.
Raymond. What a prick.
Raymond. What a dickhead.
Raymond. What a sop.
Raymond. What a shit.
Raymond. The sweetest man I’d ever known.
Raymond. Who believed in my art and did everything in his power to encourage me.
I almost cried, thinking about him.
Asshole.
Then I thought of that Paris Hilton clone.
I still couldn’t believe it.
It was so disappointing to discover, in the end, that your man was not one in a million, but just like any bonehead, young or old. Take your pick.
I turned away from the passing scenery to gaze at Serena, who was still asleep in the back.
Baby, her sub, was still at the wheel and would be the entire way.
Baby.
Baby Love, as Serena sometimes referred to him.
That little weirdo. Serena’s boy.
Or bitch.
Okay, I liked him.
He was even kinda cute in more ways than one, if you want to know the truth.
Sweet faced and innocent. Easy-going and steady. Selfless and kind.
Not that he was my type really.
Baby had been driving us the whole way in focused silence, now and then glancing back at Serena, her royal highness, who was dozing under a comforter.
Now and then, Baby even smiled at me.
Baby had large eyes, that was one thing.
Large, calm, deep eyes.
At one point we stopped at a gas station, and I fell asleep. When I woke up we were back on the road, and I realized that Baby had bought me breakfast, completely unasked for.
Of course, he’d meant to provide for Serena, sleeping beauty, first and foremost.
But still it was thoughtful of him. And generous.
“Aren’t you the gentleman?” I remarked.
“No big deal.” He shrugged, looking back at the road.
Serena stirred at that point, probably smelling her food, which consisted of an omelet on a toasted roll, juice and coffee. “Are you hitting on my Baby?” she asked, stretching and yawning.
“Fuckin’ right I am,” I told her. “You better watch out!”
“Communal property,” she announced. “Help yourself.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me,” said Serena. “Share and share alike. Make him do anything you want.”
WTF? I thought. “That’s a bit much, Serena,” I said, feeling embarrassed now.
But Baby seemed totally at ease with this, even chipper as he passed her back her food, keeping an eye on the open road.
“Did you eat anything?” she asked him.
He smiled. “You first.”
“Right,” she acknowledged. “Of course.”
All this made me feel awkward, I’ll admit. Too many head-games to wrap my mind around this early in the morning.
“How much longer?” I asked Baby, meaning our estimated time of arrival in butt-fucking Egypt.
“Two and a half, maybe three more hours?” he said, turning to me.
After that he fell silent, concentrating on the task at hand, which was driving—getting us all there, safely.
In fact, there wasn’t another sound in the Caravan as I recall, until Serena, at the end of her meal, let loose with a monster belch, like the slob that she was, saying, “Oh yeah. That hit the spot. Now this bitch’s going back to sleep!” then mashed her face back in her foam pillow and almost immediately began snoring.
>< >< ><
The first thing we did, once in Bar Harbor, was to confirm the hotel room, which Baby had hooked up for us.
Then we parked on a side street, and casually rolled out from there.
It was a cute tourist trap basically, though not worse than San Francisco, which was about fifty times larger.
We strutted about, the three of us, checking out the so-called authentic folk art in various boutiques and souvenir shops.
Baby bought us all pumpkin flavored ice-cream, and then we headed toward the main park, which was sort of like the town square, where there was currently something referred to as “an art fair.”
No matter where you went in the U.S., the art at these things was always the same. In a word: “nice.” In a word: “pleasant.” It was the kind of art that didn’t rock the boat; the kind of art that said nothing, challenged nothing, showed no darkness or grit, but just lay there like a hollow fuck-me decoration.
Overall, it made my stomach turn.
Art, my ass.
Serena noted my sour expression and suggested, “Why don’t we get the hell out of this outdoor mall and take a boat trip?”
“Good idea,” I replied.
The three of us took a little nature tour around the many tiny islands comprising this part of Maine.
“Oh look, there’s an eagle!” our tour guide cried at one point. We could barely hear him over the put-put noise of the boat engine.
We looked in the direction he pointed, strained our eyes.
“Do you see anything?” asked Serena.
I couldn’t see dip.
Baby pointed to a tiny clump of shit stuck up in a tree. “That’s a nest,” he said.
I squinted and could barely make out what looked like a stuffed animal propped in a tree.
Nature. You gotta love it.
At least there were no people around, except for half-wits like us, trying to scope out invisible animals and pretend like we were getting in touch with the natural world.
I kept coughing because of the diesel fumes of the engine.
“And look!” said the tour guide excitedly. “Over there! Seals!”
I strained to make them out, but it just looked like a bunch of rocks.
>< >< ><
After docking, we had pizza, then did more exploring, this time for a non-franchise neighborhood bar.
Along the way, I asked Serena about her encounter with the LA publisher and the future of her fetish model career.
She confessed, “I’m not sure we’re on the same page. That’s what I told him.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“He gave me a sample DVD to watch. I didn’t like it.”
“Why not?
“It went from verbal abuse to face-slapping to punching to trampling; finally to dick-sucking and straight rutting.”
“No-fuckin’-way.”
“Exactly! And that’s what I told him, Mr. LA! Is this your idea of a fetish video? I made it clear! NO straight porn, NO penetration, I said. And if you want me to show my behind? Put up some of this—” Serena rubbed her thumb and index finger together. “’Cause that other shit—That’s not what I’m doing, at all.”
“And what did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything but looked disappointed.”
“They’re all about exploiting ‘’da bitches.’”
“Tell me about it. And they all want the same thing,” said Serena. “The same thing. I told the fucker: ‘Let me have creative control.’ He says, ‘You wanna direct?—After only one fetish video of your own?’ I said, ‘Why not?’ As if I couldn’t handle a little production of my own. As if I couldn’t provide something of better quality. Or like I couldn’t enter the head of a real domina and relate to a real sub!” She snorted.
“Yeah, what a stretch!” I had to laugh.
“Fuck, Dolores,” she said. “We should just do it ourselves.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“You know about photography,” she reminded me.
“Yeah, still photography. Not moving image.”
“But you know how to frame a shot, at least. You know about lighting. So what’s the big deal?” she said. “We could rent a high-end video camera for a day. I know someone who could edit it later.”
I was doubtful. “I don’t know, Serena. It sounds like a lot to do. I might fuck it up.”
“So what?” she said. “It’s only video. It’s cheap. We can re-shoot.”
“Where would we even film it?” I said. “I live in a closet. Your place is a squat, practically.”
Baby interjected, “You can shoot it at my place, in Williams-burg.” He’d been so quiet the whole time, it startled me to hear his voice.
“That’s right!” said Serena, brightening up. “Williamsburg!”
“I’d have to think about it,” I said, not really liking the idea. “What about a script?”
Serena laughed. “A script?”
“We’ll need one, believe it or not. Or we may end up running out of ideas. Inspiration is never there when you need it.”
“Inspiration?” Serena said, making a face.
In the next moment she turned to Baby. Playfully tripping up her unsuspecting victim.
He hit the open pavement hard—dropping backwards. And, as soon as he was down, she mounted his chest, way high. “How about this?” she offered.
“Hey,” he protested, finding her ass practically on his face.
“Right.” Serena laughed, leaning forward and tugging his hair. “Like you don’t love it!”
>< >< ><
Skipping the bar, we went straight to our hotel room.
Actually Serena and Baby went up first. I followed later, after stopping by a liquor store just up the block.
As it turned out, the room was a honeymoon suite, spacious and pleasant, with a huge TV and an inviting king-size bed.
Just as I entered, I saw that Serena was having her toes done. Painted a coppery brown.
Baby had paused to open the door for me, then with a focused look on his face, went right back to his task, on his knees.
Serena, watching some forensic show, was reclined in an overstuffed chair, feet up, playing the bitch goddess.
I almost felt like I was intruding on a weird private moment and even lurched, but Serena assured me with a wave and a wink that everything was hip, smooth—just lovely. Evidently this was part of some common head-game between them.
“You gotta let people be who they wanna be,” Raymond once told me, and more and more I understood that to be true.
So Serena and Baby had a Venus in Furs thing going. This was how they played together and relaxed.
Who was I to judge?
Going one step further, Serena tried to suck me into their little vortex.
“Need your toe-nails painted?” she asked me, slyly.
“Not right now.”
“’Cause Baby wouldn’t mind,” she insisted.
Baby seemed to be fighting back a smile. Actually he looked happy.
“Isn’t that right, Baby?” she asked him, teasingly.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he said, rolling with it. “Not at all.”
“See? Baby likes to put his talent to good use. Don’t you, Baby?”
“Uh-huh,” he replied serenely, delicately applying the brush. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Then he bent over and planted a kiss on the top of her naked foot.
Serena seemed to get off on it too.
Whatever rocked their boat.
I stood there like an idiot before saying, “Look what I got!” Raising a liter bottle of Citrus Stoli from a brown paper bag. “This should last us, dontcha’ think?”
Serena smiled. “Now ya’ talkin’, babe!”
“Should we put it on ice?” I suggested, trying to get into the swing of things.
“Baby?” she directed.
Right away grabbing the nearby empty ice bucket, he sprang for the door. As soon as the hotel door closed, I mentioned, “Look at what else.” Pulling out two separate baggies from my jacket: one with a quarter of weed, the other a double of shrooms.
“Oh yeah?” said Serena. “How about this?” And she produced an eye-popping amount of coke, all snowy and white—close to a half a baggie. The bitch.
“Damn, yo! You plan on skiing or something?”
She laughed. “That’s the idea!”
>< >< ><
The night was a sludgy blur, that’s all I can say.
The shrooms put me in a mellow-sexy mood, where all I felt like doing was kissing and melting into someone.
I offered shrooms to Serena, but she passed in favor of the booze and yeyo.
“Oh Serena,” I sighed, laying back on the bed.
“What, honey?”
“I wish Raymond were here,” I said, frowning.
“Forget about him for tonight,” she told me.
“It’s just that I feel like…”
“I know what you feel like,” she said, then threw a glance at Baby across the room, winking him over.
Focused on her, he climbed the bed. Baby was high too, I could see. His eyes were shiny and soft.
She told him: “I want you to play with Dolores.”
“Huh?” I said.
“Just play,” she said, smiling.
“What are you talkin’ about?” I argued, feeling funny.
“Shut-up,” she told me.
Baby looked willing, as I sat there tense and blushing.
“Go on,” Serena demanded. “Just kiss her.”
That was the last thing I remember before I felt him near me, the moment suddenly feeling gushy and surreal.
And I just let myself go with it.
We touched lips for a while, Baby and I, then Serena directed him to take off his top.
He did so, dutifully, revealing his tight chest and what looked like a gymnast’s body.
Hello.
My face felt hot.
He smiled innocently as he held my gaze.
Did I mention how large his eyes were?
I could melt into those eyes.
Oh yeah.
Melt.
We kissed, soft and slow, slow and soft, like little kids, molding to each other’s lips.
On shrooms, kissing seemed like an organic activity, no other way to describe it.
Occasionally, I’d blink and see a mild hallucination, usually a flashing image dyed in primary colors or metallic glitter—maybe some reference to artwork or a childhood vision. But mostly I felt a deep empathy, a fluidness and warmth that made kissing intensely pleasurable. Like two pairs of lips that almost became one: infinitely sensitive with anticipating each other’s movements.
On it went, our kissing, like one sweet breath, passed back and forth. For hours.
So luscious. So nice.
>< >< ><
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 | ||||
| PERMANENT OBSCURITY: Or a Cautionary Tale of Two Girls and Their Misadventures with Drugs, Pornography and Death by Dolores Santana (as told to Richard Perez) Richard Perez's PERMANENT OBSCURITY on Amazon |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IS THIS EXPLOITATION NOVEL RIGHT FOR YOU?
"Notebook" for the novel --> http://permanentobscurity.com/
I need to emphasize that PERMANENT OBSCURITY is not "erotica," although it has BDSM overtones (leaning toward so-called "femdom"). It's really a dark comedy about bohemia and the difficulty of relationships (female/male and female/female) and finally the big question for anyone in the arts (or in the tabloid media): sudden fame vs. permanent anonymity. The style of the novel is inspired by '60s over-the-top sexploition films like those of Russ Meyer (FASTER PUSSYCAT KILL KILL, BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS) and those Something Weird Videos, like A SWEET SICKNESS and BAD GIRLS GO TO HELL [so-called “cautionary tales”]) -- updated to the Bush era (circa 2006).
PERMANENT OBSCURITY: Or a Cautionary Tale of Two Girls and Their Misadventures with Drugs, Pornography and Death by Dolores Santana (as told to Richard Perez)
Written in the 3 parts:
PERMANENT OBSCURITY: PART 1 - THE KINKY HOOK
Whereupon we are introduced to Dolores and Serena and their kinky shenanigans.
PERMANENT OBSCURITY: PART 2 - STRANGE HUNGERS
Whereupon Dolores and Serena grapple with relationship/sexuality issues, life-threatening drug dealers, irreversible money woes. Culminating in a desperate attempt at making a so-called "femdom" film.
PERMANENT OBSCURITY: PART 3 - NO MAN'S LAND
Whereupon Dolores and Serena find themselves in a place not expected. Namely, hell.
PERMANENT OBSCURITY: Or a Cautionary Tale of Two Girls and Their Misadventures with Drugs, Pornography and Death by Dolores Santana (as told to Richard Perez)
¤*.¸¸.·´¨`°*» PERMANENT OBSCURITY: the title and where it came from --> http://permanentobscurity.com/perm-obsc-origins-title.htm
¤*.¸¸.·´¨`°*» The subversive power of sexploitation:
pre-porn era sexploitation and its influence --
http://permanentobscurity.com/perm-obsc-sexploitation-1.htm
¤*.¸¸.·´¨`°*» BAD GIRL CINEMA (and its influence on the novel):
http://permanentobscurity.com/perm-obsc-origins-badgirls.htm
Buy now from AMAZON (U.S.) >> http://www.amazon.com/Permanent-Obscurity-Cautionary-Misadventures-Pornography/dp/0971341540
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~: About the Author:
Initially published small literary magazines, Richard Perez has also written for The New York Times (a newspaper he doesn't read.) His first novel, The Losers' Club (aka: The Losers' Club: Complete Restored Edition) has three foreign translations to date: Korean, Turkish, Italian. PERMANENT OBSCURITY: or a Cautionary Tale of Two Girls and Their Misadventures with Drugs, Pornography, and Death — his second novel — also reflects his infatuation with bohemia and willful nonconformists.
:~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:
