THE SEX REBEL OF JESUSLAND, chapter 132

132. THE AMULET.

Adam did not know what to do with his pain. He was the one who had made Eve pregnant. He had delivered her into this trial. He had condemned Eve. Ezra had promised that she would walk free, but Ezra had betrayed him, betrayed Eve, she was lost now.

He went to Ezra’s compound to confront Ezra. He thought perhaps he would kill Ezra. That would be his revenge, the revenge he always wanted, the revenge he didn’t get when he humiliated Proctor’s wife. He ended up feeling really badly about Ruth Proctor. No doubt Proctor was going to punish Ruth for the whole thing. Poor female. She had been the wrong place for his revenge. What kind of a Blessed was he to want to do a thing like that? A typical Blessed, actually. So what kind of man was he? Was he a man worthy of Eve’s respect?

Rather kill Ezra and then be killed. Die like Eve, condemned for murder. When he arrived Ezra was not there. He would be returning to the compound later. Adam decided to wait for Ezra. He wondered if he should get a knife or a gun. He was in a despair of rage. This was how the men on those videos must feel, the men of the Muslim Brotherhood, and the men of Gay Rectal Revenge. He wanted to kill or fuck. There was Scarlet to fuck. She hadn’t made him feel better about what he almost did to poor Ruth Proctor, but screwing her at Jeremiah’s rally while the smell of blood permeated their senses was a pretty amazing experience. His initiation into being a sexual outlaw. Ever since, he’d found her behind fascinating: it was one of those pear-shaped oblong ones, yet it ended in a stocky bulb that stuck out towards the back, synthesizing the bottom of an African peasant with the rear of a European aristocrat. A long pear ending in a short apple. She had primitive hair, all bushy, but also Europeanized, dyed very platinum, and free-hanging breasts, that appeared to be natural and primitive, because they hung, and didn’t stick out stiffly. Her feet were very tiny and European: a little unsure of their ability to carry the lush and primitive fleshiness of her body.

He went back to Scarlet. She saw the look on his face when she opened her door and moved up against him. He smelled her smell again, a mixture of oyster and butterscotch, and smashed into her for an hour; she smashed back at him.

But he felt terrible. He could not screw Scarlet without Eve jumping into view, her face at the trial, her face of stone. It fell like a rock of ice into the pool of his pleasure. He heard her voice, “harder,” and tried to screw Eve out of his heart where she sat hurting him. She brought back the chill, the cry of revenge, which he tried to keep at bay by plunging into Scarlet’s heat: melt the ice so it would not freeze him again.

“Take this,” he said, and gave Scarlet the goddess amulet that he had bought for his dead beloved, and then given to his soon-to-be-dead beloved, whose friend had taken it, from whom he had taken it back, and now he gave it to Scarlet, who was like an ancient sex goddess herself, to whom it now belonged.