Nothing ever caught my eye in this world of grotesque, trash-laden earth and stained cement. This place that was full of oh so crude, disorderly range of skeptic personalities that is all truly worthy of being psychotic. Faces all blur into fleshy protrusions smothered by thick make-up lines or scratchy, unkempt facial hair. The simpering stench of cigarette smoke and the contrasting delicious sweet aroma of Cuban cigars stroke the city with alluring misty fingers that twirl to accommodate the wisps of wind stealing its scent.

But more than that the dying, drying forestry, except by the barely vacated horticulture center that was almost in shambles, yet still alive with life strikes out in my eyes as like a dying amber struggling for life. The corroding sea that earnestly struck the sides of my beloved island stealing more soil every year to the rolling tides always stole more than fabled glance, but never singled out a person. It was all sickeningly exhilarating… at least to me, Takarashi Sesshoumaru

No- Japan was falling to pieces with beauty and this world was tiring of its charades. It needs no more celebrities, such as singers and actors, all pretending to be perfect when in actuality their flaws are seen clear as day- to me anyways. I seem to be the only one with their eyes really open and their senses awake to the true nature of the ever-blossoming beauty. The art I live for, photography, is filled to the brim and spilling over with 'beautiful' faces and bodies, but all these subjects are either anorexic or blemished. Yes- blemished, scarred, unworthy of my talent, or so-called talent.

Even now, as my girlfriend or soon to be ex-girlfriend, strokes my manhood hoping to gain the reaction she longs for. As always, the traitor twitches is response, flushing with color in the palm of her hand. Even I can't control my physical reactions, but that is all they are. These aren't a clue into my mental situation. Bedding with me will get you know where, which is what she hopes it will. Then to get her long, bony fingers into my fortune and stick under my skin, only to suck me dry.

Now she clambers awkwardly across my slim hips to slide down its length. Her peach, heart-shaped face is twisted in pleasure already. My virtuous size would please anyone, without me even having to participate or move. Her wide mouth stretched no doubt from much experience at going down. She did always try to appease me in that sense, even though I never asked, she just assumed. This portal of destruction opens as a soft, disturbing screech slithers past her lips making my skin crawl. This action she takes as erotic and rakes her long, press-on nails down my muscular shoulders to try to coax me, but it only sends my back completely against the head board. Those 'things,' her nails, practically shine in their fire red color stinging my eyes and I have to look away.

The bothersome bitch once again mistakes my meaning. She grasps my chin and turns my head forcefully, though I offer up no resistance mind you, back towards her.

"No need for shyness love, I know how you are."

Her slightly rasping voice is panting for her effort to please me once again. Yura braces her hands against the head board; her long fingers hold onto it as she lifts up her hips and gyrates against me hard. The black haired woman moans in my ear, telling how I make her feel.
The wench rests her cranium on my shoulder, her sweaty forehead dripping onto my collar bone. Her hips lift and drop furiously, as she shoves my hardness it and out in an ever hastening pace. Another screech, this one had much trouble, struggling to leave her tightening throat. The woman throws her head back in ecstasy, her normally ugly mauve eyes closed shut, her mouth once again parted wide. Her ample chest rising with every gasp for air and her deadly thin body shook with her orgasm as my seed shot weakly through her sheath with tepid warmth. No desire is raging within me, no loss of control.

Throughout the entire escapade that seemed to happen daily, I haven't moved once, but of course she hasn't noticed a bit. Sometimes it seems as if all she cares for is her own completion and perhaps that is what Yura wishes me to think, but I know that what matters is only my opinion. So daily sex, some times twice a day, was only an attempt to hook me into complete and willing participation. I never do.

The lucid gold digger slinks herself from my person only to kneel before me between my legs waiting to activate intercourse once again. Just as she leaned in to kiss me repeatedly my hand lifts to stop her. She is disgusting with her counterfeit passion, or probably real, I wasn't exactly beat with the ugly stick. Quite the opposite really, I am seen as a god to those who pass me on the streets, but no one ever recognizes me as the heir, soon-to-be owner, of Takarashi Technologies. I lean in just a smidge, her perfume taunts my nose with its high alcohol content that can be realized in its sickening scent.


My voice echoes through the silent room overcoming the hyperactive music she always plays during their 'personal' time. The sound was the usual soft timbre, deep, and melodic with the common quality of seriousness and distant tone. My hand slips almost immediately from her skin as if diseased, but also stays long enough to let Yura know she was to stay. Just like a good girl.

I remove myself from the bed, the satin sheets a cheap copy of silk create a swishing noise as my slick skin slides across its loose surface. Yura's possessed movements once again caused them to dislodge from their tucked positions at the far corners of her spacious mattress.

I enter the bathroom and quickly clean myself up, just enough to be able to get back to my apartment without being concerned with the unpleasant stench of her 'love-making.' Slipping on my fading jeans that hang from my hips, yet are cravingly snug and bag nicely at the ends, I exit the chamber. I pull the white wife beater over my head before also placing the white cotton, collared button down shirt over top. I can see Yura lick her lips yearning to lift from the bed to button that shirt before striving to lure me back to the burrow of blankets and sheets for another go. One stern, disapproving look from my tawny eyes that are currently lidded with distaste, and she lowers her head in defeat. Her time is over. No more shit.

I draw my long, waist length hair from underneath the clothes proceeding to then tie it back with a black band. I strut from the room and snag my coat from the simple coat rack near the door. Turning once more hearing her approach, Yura stands there naked, bare as she was born.

"It's over. I have no need for a nagging wife searching for wealth and title."

I always speak bluntly. I see no point in pussy footing around the topic with petty, unnecessary conversation. I am busy after all. I hide a smirk at the anger in her expression, her unnatural violet eyes burning with it. I can almost hear the curse words flying through her somewhat decrepit mind, with only one brave remark spoken passed her thinned mouth.

"Fuck you."

"You did. Do not call."

I toss over my shoulder as I exit the inexpertly decorated room, my long silky strands waving behind my in silent farewell. I surprised myself minutely with the humor projected in the first part of my statement and obviously so did she by the widening of her slightly teary eyes. No doubt there is now a longing expression once again on her face with her eyes following the long, white locks. I never did let her contaminate the soft strands with her vile hands. Good. I would have regretted it and I do not lament.