Sex for America: Politically Inspired Erotica Read Online Free PDF

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Tonight, Tamar listens to the news before her prayers to find if her pure heart’s wish has been granted. “New Brothers and new Others allow the old Brothers and the old Other to bring the war to its ‘grande finale,’” the radio says.
Tamar doesn’t know what it means. It’s time for her prayer. The sound of metal rises up from the streets. Brothers and Oth- ers are obeying the new rules. Now she sees. They won’t spend their ammunition, their sparkling guns, their spades and their swords on strangers. They will utilize it best against them- selves.
They sing the national hymns their fathers and mother or mothers and father have taught them. They have always been prepared to sacrifice themselves for the country. Now they don’t need anyone else to make them heroes. They can do it on their own.
Tamar takes the bottle deep and deeper, lusting for a prayer for her brothers or for the others. She doesn’t remember who’s who. Her sighs spread like clouds over the street, the quarter, the city, the borders. Brothers and Others bring their swords in and out to their bodies, deep and deeper.
“Stop the killings!” she prays, the bottle beneath her. Oh, the pleasure of a sword she doesn’t call cock. She trembles. It enters her as she prays. She sighs, she sobs, she shouts.
Brothers and Others raise their heads for a moment, then go back to stabbing, sticking and rubbing, pulling, pushing and shooting. It’s almost as good as sex.
But Tamar is sadder than ever. Brothers and Others are not satisfied. Their number, too, is not that high. The new agreement between the sides is that of body use, at least for awhile. Her radio explains:
“The methods of fighting have changed from decade to decade and now they are in a justified regression. For lack on sources, in- ternational support and true interest, we are back to the personal treatment, the intimate attendance. Armies are tired of planes, tanks, machine guns and swords, although these, too, have their merits. Bombs are out. Sticking it to your enemy is in.”
She finds it hard to believe.
Some Brothers say more: We need to save the Others from extinction. Once the enemy is gone, the war will vanish forever.”
“As if war is pleasure,” she says. She opens a new whisky bottle.
“And you’re drinking too much,” they tell her. “Have you ever seen me drunk?” she demands. “We are here to protect you!”
Back by the window, Tamar prays. She cries. She sighs. She explores the whisky bottle as if she wanted to have whisky kids. Then she cries, “Bring me your new firearms.”
So they come. First brothers. Amnon I and Amnon II and Amnon III and so on. Then Others.
For all her praying, Tamar is a beautiful woman. Her skin is as slick as shells and pebbles on beaches and in rivers, as soft as grass fields, as tasteful as the sweet water in fountains and lakes.
Her legs grow apart like a forking land around ports, her golden pubic curls are like petals on a hill, the opening, a treasure hunt. Her belly rises softly, oh the wavy dunes.
Tamar’s breasts are white like these clouds you see over the sea. They are a promise of fertility, twin orchards after rains, where her throat is the branch of your favorite tree. Come here, come. Her arms will embrace you like your country. And the sun, Tamar’s head, golden, fiery, bursting with red hair and orange flames. Come closer. You’ll lie down with the warmth of the soil underneath and above you.
Tamar is ready to pray.
Amnon I, dark, strong, and naked, holds her from behind, his arms around her, his hands on her breasts, his head raised in thanks. He bends her forward and says, “For your purity we pro- tect, the glory our enemies can’t touch.” He fucks her.
She sighs. She prays. His body stabs hers. She feels him hard and harder. “Now Amnon II,” she says.
Her wish is granted. Amnon II, his tongue as red as his cock, licks her cunt as he sticks his cock into her mouth. She sighs, as he throws fire.
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