My Heart Goes Out To You

I’m telling you all beforehand there won’t be another chapter for at least a month. A few people have asked why I take so long to write; well, I’ve had blackouts. You rephrase it anyway you want to; I’ll leave your imaginations to run wild. Anyway, enjoy, rebuke, whatever…


Chapter X: Where do I begin?
Perpetual was that of the aberrations to man as they were to the demons of defilement, the pleasures of the flesh. Harbored in these deviations laid the sins of cruel resentment and yearning; we call them lusts, do we not?
Lust is a derivative of carnal passion.
Insanity is the object that allows lust to conquer reality.
Just what then, would one envisage in the portrait of overpowering insane lust? Triumphant desire in crazed fervor justified in lustiness? An artist could not capture this painting, for it is too brusque to be divine; too haunting to be intriguing. Even by the quills of the gods it was foreign, even to the days of Sodom.
The acrylics of paint, the skies of blue, the raptures of love; neither could portray nor fathom such lust and insanity combined. Boredom beckoned the gods for thrill amongst their discovery of hatred… in contrast humans began to feel the incredible demons of lust and wanted a plausible way to manipulate one another for their desires. Thus came the creation of words. But insanity…?
The inception of words had triggered the creation of voluptuous sin, a sin too errant to be altered by the heavenly degrees, even the gods had succumbed to hypocrisy in appearing moral. Priests, holy fathers, oracles—whoever else in damnation decided to draw limits and exceptions to the pleasures of the flesh.
The acts of sodomy were all too welcomed to the devil’s den and sadism was out of the question. Of course, the veto to such things was depicted as an honorable thing. But honor fluctuates that of intrigue [fascination].
Murders, killings, and whatever unspeakable acts opposing the holy bible were sentenced to that of insanity. Insanity was more courteous than crime, and often those possessed by it were cured by a bribe or a whip. Unfortunately, the insane proved to be determined—that explains why we have Sigmund Fraud, Marquis de Sade, Leopold von-Sacher Masoch, and so on and so on.
Either way, the question of insanity and lust in mutuality is still unanswered… or is it, Maxwell?


Tory lived in Spadina, the city of his birth, and possessed amongst his many other talents the ability to draw, an angelic aura, and the eyes of an animal. He slipped away into the realms of perfect artistries and became one with the grotesque depth in which he explored… He was an artist to the most unspeakable monstrosities.
Tory was not a bad person nor did he hate people. He was too much of an optimist in any sense as pitiful as his relationship with Maxwell unfolds. However, whatever he lacked in pessimism, he made up for in intellect. Try as he might to block out every bad side to a good thing, he managed to properly evaluate himself.
Modesty isn’t exactly the thing for the petit codling, moreover to pathetic dismay and honorable virtues. Loving isn’t something we must do, it is something we play in farce for whatever it gratifies. Reputation, wealth, sex—whenever one desires these things by manipulation we refer to it as ‘love’. Thankfully, Tory realized this concept before his sense of optimistic reality could get anymore fucked up.
Maxwell Elise, the affluent businessman of fire and loving embraces. The Adonis with the eyes of Siberia shrouded in egotism and carnal thoughts—thus lays our dear Maxwell. Determination sat as yet another aspect of his profile. Careless and yet so enthusiastic about sex…
Tory would give his body to him at the drop of a hat, even if it condemned him for the sacrifice of his virginity; even if it meant he really was gay. Mr. Elise’s demeanor and insensitivity were truly more luxurious than the sights of the world’s greatest paradise.
Debauchery that is ‘tis! Such a vile creature yet by the hands of fate possessing the looks of divinity, to what purpose does justice serve to this end? ‘Tis the Marquis de Sade awoken to re-embodiment in the flesh of Maxwell’s sin!
Lest Tory forget, figure—god, even fornicate! He will always be inclined to the devil’s touch, as he resides in the mercy of Sodom and shall stay there for the rest of his days if this lecher remains him to such temptations. In order to find any liberty in the line of sweet virtue, thus must find enlightenment to the path opposite sins…
Tory Mathers having a great heart and noble drive to moral retribution could never ever bear the thought of breaking up with his beloved Maxwell. Instead he prefers to denounce himself to the confinement of tortuous lust and enigma…
Logic could be so cruel even in the most deceptive realities and Tory would acknowledge with a façade of glee. In this fucked up reality in which morale reviles Tory to be so agonizingly angelic, he wishes to incline Maxwell to his missionary purpose… which was to fuck the boy’s brains out and not to love him or promise anything else. One can obviously piece this together easily, if things here are not as evident as the specifics, than the person in question who is oblivious is stupider than Tory.
In the eyes of an immoral stranger this boy manages to find peace, does he not? He cannot blind himself to what is not unseen, he cannot deny what he has already accepted—and so the days contract closer and closer to when Maxwell will finally leave him for whatever eye candy appears and the pain and heartbreak will go on.
And with Maxwell, shall it ever end?


Amidst our cruel criticism of Tory’s pathetical recollection, he finds himself sitting across from the demon of defilement himself…
The sways of the ocean waters could not deter Maxwell’s vulgarity as he carelessly applied some eye shadow; sapphire to evoke his ruby eyes. Tory, delicately sipping his ice water began to feel its chill and still the ice was not as frigid as Maxwell’s intentions. Perhaps Tory’s jaded affection kept him to his fiery touch as it transpired in flame.
Off in the background a song spun itself out onto the musical staff, Tory listening intently to the lyrics, he was oblivious to Maxwell’s leave… and return. With him he brought the beat as well as kiss to his lips; Tory was mesmerized.

Where do I begin?
To tell the story of how great a love can be
The sweet love story that is older than to see
The simple truth about the love he brings to me…
Where do I start…?
Ignorance, was it?
Seduction.
Lies.
Men.
Everything was synonymous in the midst of Maxwell’s demeanor, none to be questioned but to be indifferent. Love could be that of a lie, a seduction, ignorance, a man—everything still tallied to such description in any case of an affair with Maxwell Elise.
Tory Mathers still held himself as oblivious to the horrid reputation of his lover, and all the more if he had known he would have ignored it completely as Maxwell nothing less of perfect if not subtle. The ideals of a young boy already set to such low standards in the form of a boyfriend, even as a first; sad, pitiful and pathetic. But Tory did not favor such thoughts as he would question his love’s real motives for being with him, and would find himself at some twisted sense of relief when it was over and done with. A boy of virgin seventeen had too much to deal with than to endure the wits and light of having a boyfriend.
He was no fool. Anyone could plainly see behind the façade of farce Maxwell wore in their every confrontation as he could the moment they met. And so he would frequently assure himself of such shambles on Maxwell’s motives, smiles, anything and this would lead him into a sadness he could feel hence it was slipping beyond the confinements of his warm smiles; he would make it end as he would ruin it purposely or easily as he managed to do everything else.
In spite of these horrible miseries, Tory would found himself enjoying the content gestures of his lover, and would to some extent encourage the duration of which Maxwell could stand, loving his lover for anything; excusing the harsh disregard for everything but his sex… and for his love would result in pain, self-inflicted pain. Soothing as it was, would be the assurance of Maxwell undoubtedly finding another lover possibly his age, and taking what he wanted in pleasure… for that was what he should have; pleasure.
For the patience, let alone endurance to let a boy like Tory in his arms, to stay with him for so long if not a mere moment—he deserved anything. This loving sadness was that of Tory’s distaste which was why he anticipated Maxwell’s announcement of their breakup so he could forever hate himself with no compassion, and be done with the likes of dear Maxwell as his life proved to dominate dark than light.
Crossing the lines of punctuality and biblical morale was of a tenth he would give for Maxwell, but apparently his body could not handle such sacrifice therefore his chastity would prove the price. Drearily brown and plain as the creamy cocoa in his mug was that of his pathetic life lived to an extent in which he was sentenced to his private destitution—but Maxwell…
Inhaling a deep breath of unshed tears, Tory gulped another mouthful of the warm drink and turned to see Maxwell’s uncaring advance. He would not kiss him as his tongue felt salty and cold, and would not show signs of depression for Maxwell. And so, he fell in tune with his cheery smile as Maxwell sat down.
“Here,” he said coolly. He had set a small box of ice cream on the table; chocolate?
“What’s this for?” Tory raised.
Adjusting his blue eye shadow in the reflection of his compact, he threw a casual explanation over his shoulder. What mirth Tory would receive if he knew of his unconscious hope of his reaction… “You’re sad.”
“What?”
Maxwell repeated, “You’re sad.”
“What makes you think I’m sad?” Tory denied sipping on his cocoa.
“Your expression; I can see it in your eyes—does sex with me really have you down in general this much?”
“Not you,” Tory defended coolly. “Never you… I’m just feeling a little tired.”
“Of course you are,” Maxwell replied never taking his eyes of his mirror. “You can sleep all you want later on at my place; I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, darling.”
“W…What; W-Why would s-something happen t-to me?” came Tory’s nervous reply.
Maxwell raised his eyebrow slightly confused; teenagers were not supposed to make such seriousness of ill humor or anything. Tory was different… “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that every man wants you here, I’ll fend off the savages.”
“…Oh, that’s what you meant,” Tory said calmly sipping more of his drink. “Well, I have been doing most of that on your part, Maxwell.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Maxwell ordered lightly, “I still know something’s bothering you… you’re never sad.”
“I’m not sad, Maxwell; just tired.”
“You rephrase it anyway you want, Tory,” he mocked. “Why are you so tired today?”
“My arm hurts,” he said after a long while. “But, it doesn’t matter, we can still… you know.”
Maxwell’s eyes darted over to him, and made contact as he withdrew his arm from the table. Just what the hell were they doing in gym class these days to his lover? “I didn’t ask if you felt pain, Tory, I asked why you were unhappy.”
A long silence ensued between the two, with inner conflict and wise understanding even if Tory’s eyes were averted from his.
“I just… am,” came his explanation. His tone made it obvious he would deny the truth even if Maxwell persisted. Though it surprised him wonders when in his face was that of a chocolaty spoon.
“W-What’s this?”
“It’s your relief—chocolate ice cream remember? You told me.” His hand began to advance the spoon urging Tory’s mouth to open, and as it did the young boy was hit with a blow to his heartstrings.
Someone could be a good listener, and someone could be heartless in any way possible for sex… And Maxwell listened to what he had to say even though it was rarely much anymore. How could he be so considerate and so careless at the same time? It was sex; it was always sex… which they would be having a lot of the afternoon.
The only thing in which Maxwell stuck around so much for, and now it would be finished with the obvious truth of their end. Tory began to feel incredibly sad despite the support of the ice cream, but he would not reveal such feelings to Maxwell.
“You’ve got a drop there,” Maxwell motioned, and then swiftly kissed the side of his lips. “I wonder what it would be like if you had one here… or here… or here.”
Enigma ever so much clouded his heart as Maxwell continued to shower kisses on him. How could something be so painful and so painless at the same time? He may as well throw himself on the sheets of seductive sin for the unspeakable, ungodly days between them were numbered… And Tory found himself intone with the alluring stance his lover was all too known for.
“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Maxwell asked casually running his fingers through Tory’s hair.
“I’m always enjoying myself with you,” Tory replied… seductively? “You’ll be having more fun tonight, won’t you?” he smirked. “I guarantee you will.
Leaning to entwine their tongues and coming short, he continued, “I guarantee you will in my bed… in the shower… on my kitchen table… wherever else you can think of, Tory.”
“I’ll leave you to think of it…”


End Chapter

That song was by Shirley Bassey, Where do I begin? It’s pretty good so you can download it without a doubt. I really indulged the cruel hypocrisy of Marquis de Sade today right? There won’t really be another chapter for a while, not as long as before but still a while… Not that I have to explain myself. I just am because, I adore my readers and reviewers. Sadism, huh?