sex – Page 3 – Cajun Mutt Press

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 03/03/23

March 3, 2023 James D. Casey IV

Housekeeping

the sun fights a turf war on my eyelids
and I wake, head quaking, to the big
knockover. “Housekeeping. Do you

want your room serviced? Sir, hello
housekeeping.” The room is dank and
asphyxiated. It takes a good five minutes

while I rearrange the mental furniture
before I see the dead hooker lying next
to me, face gouged in pillows, black hair

on a bed of roses and an anchor tattoo on the
back of her thigh. Bruises climb her skin and
there’s bottles of booze and a “silver member”

card on the nightstand nipple-zipped with
Florida snow. In a seasick wave the room
tilts &

I lunge towards the bathroom to throw up.
“Hello? Housekeeping.” I wipe my mouth.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, just a minute.” And that’s

when the dead hooker rises from the dead.
I’m already at the door, cock half-hanging
out of the hotel robe, telling the Slavic girl

that I forgot to hang the Do Not Disturb
sign and that my wife and I overslept —it’s
our anniversary. But by then she’s behind

me, her face studded with makeup, her
back-alley babydoll lingerie trafficking
a tart coital come on. She flashes an ankle

bracelet and asks housekeeping if she’d
like to join us for a little role playing.
We’d be happy to pay for her services.

Damon Hubbs is interested in pulpy paperbacks and films with over-saturated colors. Recent poems have been featured in The Beatnik Cowboy, Scud, Datura, The Chamber Magazine, and Horror Sleaze Trash. Links to his published work can be found at dmhubbs.blogspot.com. Damon lives in New England.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 08/15/22

August 15, 2022 James D. Casey IV

When She Stripped

I was surprised
there were no piercings 
or tattoos, needle marks,
or tiny razor blade cuts.
Not even stitches or
old wounds from
a surgeon or deranged lover.

She looked surprisingly normal.
Her poems and letters
had been exquisite diaries
of deviance with sex a device
to buy crystal meth.

A home broken by two
absentee drunks for parents
and a brother who’d touched
her over her pajamas
when he thought she was asleep.

Her letters and a phone call
had told me all this…
I expected a cross between
Courtney Love and
the Marquis De Sade.

But it was all imagination,
she’d tell me later.
She thought as a writer
I’d appreciate that. I have to say
it was a bit of a letdown.

So was the sex. 
We had both drunk too much.
I had problems with the condoms.
Fuck it she said. We lay there
and smoked, conjuring large,
while clouds that were perfect.
At least something was.

Rp Verlaine lives and writes in New York City. He has an MFA in creative writing from City College and taught English in New York public schools until he retired. He has several collections of poetry including Damaged by Dames & Drinking (2017), Femme Fatales Movie Starlets & Rockers (2018), and Lies From The Autobiography 1-3 (2018-2020).

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/22/22

July 22, 2022July 22, 2022 James D. Casey IV

treated like a whore

i often embrace
the pain like a
lover

but sometimes
that lover wants
to be treated like
a whore

every school boy
fantasy comes
rushing back

and she’s gagging
on my dick as i’m
chewing on her
panties

turn into the pain
and let the pressure
build

they call it the
money shot
for a reason

more tragedy than your god knows how to handle

two lost souls

broken
by society

life

more tragedy
than your god
knows how
to handle

hand in hand

fuck the world
and everything
against us

i can’t promise
forever

just tonight

this moment

tears and all

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, Black Coffee Review and The Black Shamrock. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 11/26/21

November 26, 2021 James D. Casey IV

morning in new york

on white sheets
turning yellow,

you smoke
a cigarette after
we make love,
& turn away.

the scar on your

rib cage sticks
out, & i stare at
that little cut

on your ceiling
patched up
in band stickers
& scratches,

at your lopsided book
shelf, with dusted
cassette tapes
i gave you
on your birthday.

& the cold cup
of coffee on the
nightstand.

Emma Geller is a poet, singer, and actress from Boston, MA. Her passions include cinema, listening to Elliot Smith, and drinking too much coffee. You can find out more about Emma on Instagram at em_me_line.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 11/08/21

November 8, 2021 James D. Casey IV

Frailty’s Baggage~ Dreaming of Jim Morrison

There is no grief in language
when you’re stricken, cast down,
changes silhouette past silence
pausing sullenly through the
echoing corridors of my mind.
Torn posters without poetry,
without song, without love,
face hopes and fears in the mirrors
of pain; and his sex hangs unhidden,
and his metal heart sweeps through
abandoned philosophy as the curtain
closes on the sensual train.

I want repetition of song, recollection
in truth; to create from the oblique,
denying the erotic, an obeisance to
the power it steals from those of us
who can’t find anything to live for,
but everything to die for. Cast not your
demons of treachery, tears, anger, and
betrayal on me; the elevator is rising.
There’s fumbled endorphins offered
up as a cocktail with some really good
whiskey and meth cocaine. Smell the
lily and the rose,

let the bricks soften to deep greens,
let God speak austere though vacant
fields while you grow stillborn
through drugs so sweet. Let the
suicide take on its own craft and magic,
as daylight comes and a stranger’s face
brings forgiveness; blooming, blooming,
in the scent of your sweet blood. Your rib
is gone, son of Adam and He shall
have her heart; lowered lids expand as
they rise in total annihilation. Tick tock.
White roses growing in the corner,

lilies dead on the sidewalk.

Theresa likes to write about matters of self-inflection and personal experiences. She likes to write about matters of an out-of-body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects of idyllic, pagan nature and the occult. Theresa writes horror, as well as concrete gritty and realistic dramas. Theresa is said to be a witch and a poet, (within the horror writing community) and she has been published in a number of magazines, ezines, anthologies, and books throughout the years. She is a former elementary school, a psychic medium/reader, and advisor.