It is rare for Bold Monkey to post the original, unpublished work of writers but Terence Rissetto is a new alternate voice worth reading. He is a philosophy and anthropology graduate of the University of Auckland. Rissetto’s work is characterised by its intricate word play, particularly its extensive use of pun, black humour & self parody. His poem 'The Mistress' is clever in its use of dialogue to reveal the unexpected motivations of his characters. Rissetto's short story ‘The Great Bukowski’ pays homage to the master but also attempts to kick him violently in the balls. The poem 'Dutch Courage' which follows, likens the effects of alcohol to 'a young girl’s dressing gown/ Slipping off before her shower'.
Terence Rissetto was deprived of oxygen at birth, and immediately became an oxymoron, a lifelong ambition. His full name means “tender wise counsellor of the wild rose”, often shortened by those who meet him to “that prick”. He currently lives in New Zealand after working at a Victorian psychiatric hospital throughout the 80’s. He has never done a Masters of Creative Writing, preferring the insanity of everyday anti-psychotic life. And he insists that he has spent more time inside bars than behind them.
Terence is the author of his own misfortune. In addition, he has had poems published in Blackmail Press and Penduline Online, and short stories published in Landfall and Pikihuia, where he was a finalist in the 2011 bi-annual short story awards for Maori writers.
How could you forget our anniversary? Look at the meal I made for us!
It’s ruined, just like we are.
- Honey, it’s not like you think, nothing happened.
Oh yeah? How do you explain the hair on your shirt
And the lipstick on your neck?
-Just the waitress fooling around, you know how it is.
Sure, how about the packet of condoms in your pocket
With two missing?
- Oh um, I was looking after them for the boys, they’re not mine.
You know I’ve seen the two of you together, playing happy families? It makes me sick,
You spend more time with her than you do with me.
- But I work with her.
I used to work with you too until you asked me to leave,
Should I go out and get a boyfriend? How would you feel?
- Okay, how can I make it up to you?
Make love to me, now.
- Look honey I’d love to but I’m late for work.
Make love to me or I’m gone when you come back.
This place you keep me in is like a prison anyway.
He started to protest then kissed her
Undressed her and made love to her
With a panache and passion she’d never had before.
Afterward she sat on the edge of the bed crying softly.
- You don’t have to fight me to make up, he said.
I know you’re lying, those positions are new,
- No they’re not, we just haven’t tried them before
So how come you didn’t come?
- Oh, honey you know I had a tough night out with the boys last night.
Henry, just answer me this one question,
Are you fukking your wife again or not?
This story comes with a language and subject matter warning: R rated material.
This story comes with a language and subject matter warning: R rated material.
The Great Bukowski
I couldn’t believe my luck, my drinking hero, the Great Bukowski, GB, was in the same bar as me drinking with a superbly built 6 foot tall dark haired amazon, one drink short of one too many, and a mini of her, probably her daughter, semi-drunk, with breasts as big in front as her ample booty was behind.
Perfect time to show the world who was the better man. Slipping down a quick triple whiskey I lurched over to their table and announced loudly: “I want to fuk your girlfriend.”
The GB looked up disinterestedly and dismissed me without interrupting the launch of a tirade of 1000 Helen of Troy words about sluts and bitches. The amazon smiled at me lopsidedly hiking her already short skirt higher and deliberately uncrossing and crossing her long beautiful legs at the same time as leaning forward and showing a ravine’s worth of cleavage.
I grabbed the GB’s shoulder and announced again loudly: “I want to fuk your girlfriend.”
“Fuk off,” he snarled, shaking his shoulder free of my grasp.
“I said, I want to fuk your girlfriend.”
He looked at me bleakly through meat cleaver eyes.
“Pal, you got balls coming up to me like this when I’m just chilling, chewing the fat with my friends here but I’ll give you a bit of advice. Grow a vagina and go fuk yourself.”
“I want to fuk your girlfriend.”
“So do I but she ain’t here.”
“Alright then I want to fuk your wife.”
“So do I but she’s with my girlfriend.”
“Okay then I want to fuk her,” I pointed at the amazon who smiled back with perfect teeth.
The GB slid back his chair, cursing as he spilt his drink.
“Son, she only does threesomes, can you handle that?”
“Course I can,” I said drawing myself up to full height and sucking in a deep breath as the GB sighed.
“Okay kid. Show us your pecker.”
“My what?” I stammered.
“Your pecker, woody, your love log, stars and stripes, old glory, your cock dumb muthafukka.”
“But we’re in the middle of a bar.”
“Didn’t stop you coming up to me and yelling out you want to fuk my friend here.”
I was too far gone to sober up now and after some fumbling for time I dropped my trousers and flopped flipper’s flapper out.
“Okay,” said the GB, “Stop fukking around. Where’s the rest of it?”
“What do you mean?”
“That all you got? Muthafukka! She’s got a bigger one than that!” he pointed to the mini amazon who smiled sympathetically at me.
“It’s cold in here,” I protested, “besides my cock’s like bog, it expands with moisture to fill any hole it’s put in.”
“I bet,” the GB said sarcastically, “especially arseholes like yourself. You reckon you could fuk these two with a chicken kebab like that? Try one of these instead.”
He flopped out a pecker that looked like a giant three foot long purple salami as ugly and ribbed as his pitted face, and slammed it down on the table.
“Now that’s what you call a pecker. I can slide little Miss Missy up and down between her pussy lips from behind and still have enough nine yards to stuff it into Chartreuse here’s wet pussy while drinking a flagon of port with one hand. They don’t call me the GB for nothing. You still game son? Can you do that with a threesome?”
“A threesome?” There seemed to be a hidden meaning in the way he said the words.
“Yep, I’m the third. The three of us all at once or I can do you alone if you want.”
“I don’t like being fukked in the arse or vice versa,” I was adamant.
“You got it. I don’t like fukken arseholes either and you gotta be one of the biggest I’ve come across, so to speak. Why don’t you crawl back to the shithole where you came from”
The amazon interjected, “Leave him alone Henry. You’re being too hard on him. He’s just a kid and he is kinda cute looking. I’d do him for $100.”
The GB looked at her interestedly.
“Really? Your lucky day arsehole. Tell you what, give me $175 and you can have both of them for half an hour, hope your wallet’s bigger than your pecker. Buy me a whiskey while you’re at it and a pitcher of beer.”
He looked at his watch.
“Be back in an hour or I’ll find you and kill you with your own pecker. Pucker up son you’re going to get your arse screwed off. Be gentle ladies, Daddy loves you!” He blew them both an ironic kiss.
The three of us staggered across the road to a rundown motel with orange candlewick bedspreads and faulty air conditioning. I poured us a round of stiff drinks and the amazon hugged me hard and took off her top, one squeeze confirming that her tits were real. Hell, i lov yah.
The mini bar squeezed my buttocks tightly while burying her face in the front, her efforts doubling the length and breadth of my kebab. The GB, what an arsehole! Considering the size of his pecker the amazon was a surprisingly tight fit. Mini helped guide me in, holding my cock from behind, massaging my balls and rubbing her soft breasts against my back. At some point she put a well lubricated finger in my arse which magically prompted a frenetic heavy metal hard horn unison threesome until bang on the half hour mark we all came together in a great melting pot big enough to take the world and all it’s got. As a bonus, Mini’s ministrations meant I was no longer constipated. I felt good. Going by the shrieks of laughter from the girls as they showered together, I had shown the GB a thing or two.
He was waiting at the same table when we got back, belligerent amongst several empty pitchers of beer and ripped up racing guides.
“How’d you go arsehole?” He greeted me with a knowing leer, holding out his hand for the money.
“Finally lose your cherry?”
“Actually it was incredible if I say so myself especially once I got past the used bits it was come home to papa. Can’t wait to tell everyone I fukked the GB’s girlfriends. What you got to say about that muthafukka?” I slapped him a one armed fist salute.
The GB opened his mouth to speak and the amazon shook her gorgeous head imploringly, leaning over to kiss him on the lips and rub her breasts against him. He pushed her away and put his hand up under Mini’s skirt and a finger in her panties.
“Glad to see you have a sense of humour son. Tell you what, I’m a betting man as you probably know, and I’ll bet you triple to nothing that I can show you something so incredible that you will never forget it. I guarantee what you’ve just been through will pale into insignificance.”
“What do I have to do in return?” I was slightly suspicious but still on a high that would be hard to match, let alone beat.
“Nothing. Sweet FA. Is it a deal?” He tongue kissed Mini and looked back for my response, knowing he had me sucked in.
I looked at amazon. She shook her pretty little head at me vigorously.
With a magician’s flourish the GB lifted up Mini’s skirt and at the same time whipped down her panties revealing a somewhat guilty looking youth sized penis underneath.
“Voila arsehole! Meet your cherry picker plucker!”
I was dumbfounded. I’d assumed Mini’d been using her thumb and shook my head in disbelief. The GB mistook my silence for resistance.
“Not enough? Chartreuse? Your piece de resistance, s’il vousplait!”
Slowly, agonisingly, Chartreuse slid down exquisite panties over equally exquisite olive buttocks and tantalising thighs and bent over so that I caught a quick glimpse of the scrotum tucked discreetly out of sight.
“But, but you came with me,” I stammered as she quietly shamefully pulled herself together again.
The GB howled with laughter at the sight and my plight.
“Ah, the sweet whiff of true love! Meet my Puerto Rican brothers fukhead. I was just telling them I don’t do boys when you interrupted us and insisted on being an arsehole. Takes one to know one muthafukka! Buy the bar some drinks and give the ladies their money.”
Amazon perked up at the words and came over to sit on my knee. Her breasts were truly magnificent. She gave me a spine tingling buttock clenching tongue kiss and whispered in my ear in a husky voice.
“He’s a mean old man, not like you. I’d like to get to know you better lover boy, where you from? You married?”
Before I could answer a soft feminine voice said above the noise.
“What’s going on here?”
I turned around and looked into the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen. They belonged to a 300 lb whore with construction worker arms in her 60’s who had obviously seen better days and fuller quart bottles of whiskey. The GB kissed her warmly and introduced her as his girlfriend , someone not to mess around with.
“This arsehole here says he wants to fuk you honey,” he announced loudly.
When I drink alcohol
It filters gently down through my veins
Like mist over a waterfall
Like a young girl’s dressing gown
Slipping off before her shower
Its warm hands slide down
Until they clasp my balls
And stay there until needed
Filing fingernails, sunbathing
waiting to be summoned
like a eunuch’s harem.
When it’s time they unlimber
And crank up the apparatus
like a Crimean gun carriage
Or a Spanish man ‘o war
Gun powder & shot, a little perfume
ready to be uncoiled & pummeled
in suburbia subversia.
And so here we are
I like the colour of your eyes
And the shape of your breasts
and the way the alcohol
filters down through our veins.
Find more of Rissetto’s work here:
Blackmail Press: http://nzpoetsonline.homestead.com/TR32.html
Penduline Press: http://www.pendulinepress.com/contributors/terence-rissetto/
Huia Books: http://www.huia.co.nz/shop&item_id=2725