“The eminent Czech avant-garde artist, Jind ich Šty ský (1899–1942), who was closely allied with the Parisian Surrealists, masterfully investigated the themes of eroticism and dreams in a series of publications between 1930 and 1933. Šty ský believe… — “The eminent Czech avant-garde artist, Jind ich Šty ský (1899–1942), who was closely allied with the Parisian Surrealists, masterfully investigated the themes of eroticism and dreams in a series of publications between 1930 and 1933. Šty ský believed that in pornography he had found a destabilizing medium that could be used to subvert established social and artistic norms. The culmination of Šty ský’s involvement with pornography was the release of his erotic masterpiece, Emilie Comes to Me in a Dream, in Prague in May 1933.”

“It feels better than deepthroat.” - Grey Fox

“You have come at last.”
He stands before me; his skin-tight metal suit accentuating the curves of his body, and the orange light on his head, telling me he was more than ready.
“Only a fool trusts his life in his weapon.” I holster my gun. “Real men do it bareback. Now make me feel alive again Snake.”
I charge forward, my gun resting tightly against my inner thigh. My fists connect with his body, as his cold hard foot meets my face.
“The clashing of bone and sinew,” he cries.
“Enough!” he pants as I catch my breath. “Come and get me.” He disappears.
But, I can still hear him breathe: fast heavy breaths that I want to taste. I feel his touch behind me again.
“How I long for the sound of the battlefield.” He cries.
“You like it do you?” I laugh. “You like the battle to be hard.” I find his cold hard body again. “You want it to be fast.”
“I want to feel snake, I want to feel!”
My codec buzzes in my ear and I press select.
“Mei Ling?”
“Snake.”
“Snake, I remember that punch!” he says as my fist meets his breastplate.
“Snake, is there someone there with you?”
“No, Mei Ling! It’s Emmerich, there’s just some interference on the codec.”
“Oh, well remember Snake, Confucius Say—“
“—look I’m a little busy.” I hang up.
Just as our bodies are together, in a poetic embrace—soldier to soldier—comrade to comrade—he disappears again.
“One last time, Snake.” His body sparkles with emotion, and the electricity of arousal. “One last time Snake. I have waited so long for this. I have waited so long for your touch.”
“Revenge?” I laugh.
“No!” he cries. “Nothing as trivial as revenge. This is lust, the most primal emotion. I lust for the battlefield, I lust for the cries, I lust for the groans.”
“Then let us make our own music. You’ll be the symphony, and I shall conduct!”
“No!” He disappears again. “Let me show you my pain—let me conduct.”
I feel him behind me, I spin around, as I feel his breath on my bare neck—but he donkey punches me.
“Yes!” he groans as I scramble to my feet. “Now make me feel pain, Snake!”
He reappears again, knowing that pain awaits, but unable to resist the intoxicating pleasure of touch. Our bodies meet again and again, but finally he screams with pleasure—with pain! His body glows blue as it surges through his body and I am thrown backwards. I scramble to my feet, and unzip my pants. I pull out my SOCOM and point it at him. His body is out of control, and there is one way to stop him. I pull the trigger and the bullets ejaculate forth from my gun, they spray across his cheek, and into his mouth, and he smiles.
“Thank you.” He falls to his knees in front of me. “Thank you.”

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