What do you become when your pleasure wears the mask of your punishment?
I inched through thick leather flaps into an underworld. The gatekeeper wrapped a numbered strap around my wrist—a marked beast. I staggered toward a caged nook, where I tore away my modesty.
I sashayed into the arena of false gods and beauties. Banal beats failed to gag the grunts of male gratification. Maggots squirmed from my ears and cockroaches crawled across my skin.
I floundered through gooey darkness along a narrow corridor. Faint light slashed chained male flesh that writhed. In a drunken haze, they sprayed the walls with shame.
Bleak barred rooms, where an orgy of male bodies paid to enter and the gaoler released them at dawn. Conspicuous cheats rutted while flies buzzed self-righteous in the endless din.
Sticky, sweaty skin squirmed past soiled meat. The bowel stench of faceless men bled from the bleak walls unable to break free. The sullied spilled seeds squandered in the playground of devils and monsters.
—H, beneath the leather and lies
