Senseful ramblings of an incoherent nature from a delusional schizophrenic (or my views on current events)

Sunday, September 02, 2007

My Max My

Max is a young boy, or so he looks and acts. He has short black hair which he spikes up for added effect. The gel glistens in the sun as he walks down the street admiring the different colored chewing gum spots left on the cement. Max often travels this route, not merely for the gum, but mainly for the action. The contact lenses he wears changes his eye color from their customary brown to a light blue, which is far more attractive in his mind - and maybe for those others as well.

Max was left alone as a young child. His parents disappeared one after the other without explanation. He often fantasizes of their violent demise, either by train impact or a warehouse inferno. He grew up on his own, without school or friend to teach him right from wrong, good from bad. The ideals he had as a child stuck with him as he grew older.

Much older.

He did what he could to get by. Nothing really stuck. He often found himself at the receiving end of a powerful, yet confused man who had money to burn, an insatiable appetite for sexual debauchery and an unsuspecting family. Max loved the sex though, it took him away from everything else that was bad - living, eating and sleeping.

As he grew, he realized that his skin remained fair and his looks unblemished. Soon he turned to sex full-time. Max found that the younger he dressed and acted, the more action he could get. Max has never been tall, something he formerly regretted, but now something he cherished. His slight stature attracted the men who wanted to treat him like their own child.

Most of the men max fucks often believe that Max is a teen, although he is nearly twice that age. Although he is finally getting the parenting he so sorely missed. At least that is what he imagines....


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