Monsters

 I was somewhat cynical. And rejoiced in the fact that I never went with the flow. No matter what others would say, I would always question them. Sometimes to their discomfort. Until they found a way to neutralize my ways. They began calling me a conspiracy theorist. Title that I enjoyed. Until the day that they began dismissing me based on the title I thought I had proudly earned. 

They were smart. And I underestimated them. I never thought that they would outsmart me and enjoy it They had become me, in a twisted way.

No matter what the current event was our topic of discussion, they would find a way to castigate me. I had fallen down the rabbit hole and I couldn't get out of there, at least not without my integrity damaged and sore.

Even the most trivial talk would end up with me being scarified as the holy lamb. My opinions didn't matter anymore. They would dismiss me almost instantly. And they enjoyed it. I didn't know what to do. What to say or do. It didn't matter. I was their sacrificial lamb, their favorite scapegoat and they had come to like it. 

Until that day. When I had had enough. We were at our local pub. And the news dictated our conversation. A young politician was now being blamed for taking advantage of his young female followers. They saw his profile on Tinder and they were shocked when he asked them for nudes. Then years later, they anonymously called him out on twitter. 

"Spineless scumbag bitches" , I said

"Well, from his position of power, he shouldn't have done that", one murmured.

"Fuck that shit", I said, "and you are supposed to exchange book reviews over that sex app?", I fired.

"He is a powerful dude, he used his position to lure the gals", my friend said, "they froze because he is a politician"

I laughed out loud and said: "You're mature enough to go on such an app and then you make false anonymous accusations on twitter because someone asked you for a tit pic?, that's ridiculous.

My smartass friends were waiting for me to be fired up to shoot me. They had gained some skill. They would bring something juicy up. Then they would let me dissect the issue and then they would try their best to discredit me by calling me a fanatic, a liar and a cheat.

The beer had been abundant and my bladder was more than full.

I had had enough of my friends attacks and attempts to shut me up. So I stood up and without any announcement, i headed to the toilet.

The way to the urinals was darker than normal. But I knew the way.

I had walked the same way for many nights before. I knew the way like the back of my hand. 

I rushed, as the piss wanted out and I wasn't going to give my friends the pleasure of me pissing my pants.

My friends, yeah right, what a bunch of assholes. I loved them.

I pushed the door open and walked into the toilet. The place was empty and you could hear the running water of each other the three urinals on the right. 

Nobody was there. My favorite setting as I had a shy bladder. Ran to the urinal on the far left and unzipped my pants. Took my dick out and began pissing the many beers I had drank earlier. It was orgasmic, and anyone who has ever pissed can tell you how good it feels to piss after a lot of drinks. 

Out of nowhere, this super tall hairy guy appeared next to me and in a condescending way look down on me.

He said: "Your friends are real pricks", and with a diabolical smile released a river of pee. 

"Yes", I replied. 

"Wouldn't you like them to stop bullying you?"

"Well, of course, but that's the way they have grown to be", I said.

"Would you like them to stop right now?", the tall hairy figure asked me.

"Well, yeah" I replied, "what's your name, I like you. You're kinda cool", I said

"I am Mephisto", he replied.

That was the last time I saw my friends.

Hrms Coldwell

12.6.2021

The Sounds Of Pissing III

It had been months since I could have a good night sleep. I used to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the soft goose feathered pillow. But something changed that night. I would stare blank at the white ceilings. With heavy eyes and sore thoughts the nights would roll out.

All I wanted was to fucking fall asleep. I didn't care if I had nightmares or if I just slumber for a while.

I had tried it all. I ran as fast as I could to get my body as tired as possible. I had tried masturbating. I had smoked joints. Nothing seemed to keep me from being awake. I was slowly rotting inside. I could feel death calmly creeping underneath my bed as I laid still.

Was it the secrets? Was it the rain outside? Was it the full on booze nights I spent trying to black out?

I kept drowning in a sea of empty thoughts and eternal seconds. I was so empty.

Time passed and the bodily urge of pissing reminded me that I was awake. 

Like a glitch in my system I hypnic jerked out of bed.

I rushed to the toilet. My dull self crawled in a lackadaisical fashion.

Once in the white room, I lowered my pajamas pants, and took my member out.

I leaned against the wall trying to make the whole situation bearable. Silence was golden. Suddenly I began pissing. And the pleasure reminded me that being awake was a blessing nobody really cherished. At least not me until that very moment. 

I was more conscious than most people I knew. And I was able to enjoy, in the precarious of my situation, a mundane act.

"And I hope I can live another day", I thought.

Hermes Coldwell

11.12.2018  

A Pissing Nightmare

It was December 31st. Everyone was ready to party and ready to leave the year 2017 behind. It had been a year that took so much away from us. Not only had a bunch of people committed suicide, but the year's political and social events had taken a toll on everyone, including me.

I was already sipping on my second vodka with peach juice. There was something about this juice that reminded me of home, my long time forsaken home. The sugar and added chemicals of this particular brand of beverage always reminded me of my years in high school. I guess I was happy to have found this particular drink, to mix with the Russian vodka leftovers from one of the summer parties we had had.

Everyone was grouped already, and several things were being discussed. Politics, music, and generally shit. I was trying to find the right moment for me to laugh, giggle, of sigh. it was like I was looking for a cue of sort of to interact in a natural way, just to make it till midnight, or until everyone was drunk and possibly high to stop pretending to be the way they all wanted or expected me to be.

I remember looking at my phone, just to see the time. To see if my predictions on when would the people around me would become tipsy or even drunk. Just to see how much longer I would have to be there.

My glass was suddenly empty. I moved like a shadow into the kitchen and refilled my tall glass with the potato distillate of the land of the Czars and the saccharine solution we all called juice back home. I didn't even need ice cubes. My drink was perfectly chilled and ready to be gulped down. It didn't really matter. I would pissed it eventually. And I would power walk the carbohydrates left in my system not to gain more weight. Yes, I had began walking a couple of months ago, and I had began seeing the results. At least, I would sleep better, without acid reflux. A good night sleep was what I had secretly longed for already many years.

I went back to my assumed position in the party. My group was still talking about things I didn't understand, or secretly didn't want to.

"So, we heard you didn't have any friends", someone fired away

"Uh, I do have friends", I said

"Good", a girl standing to my right said

"I have friends, they just don't live here" I continued, "they are scattered all over the world, one lives in Germany, another one lives in Rio and there is one in Mexico, so I do have friends, they are my best friends, we just don't see each other as often as we would like"

"Why don't you have friends here?". A guy mumbled across from where I was standing

"It is difficult to connect with people with whom I don't share anything in common with", I said

"That sounds a bit weird, don't you think?", another girl asked me

"It does, I guess, but when you have decided to live things ahead of what you are supposed to, it makes perfect sense. You lose proximity with the rest of the people, but gain a stronger bond with those, who like me, have chosen their own path in life, rather than following what is expected from them, socially".

I was having a conversation with the people in the group of party goers. It wasn't a very productive talk, I gathered. However, I was interacting. But after so many Vodka drinks, my bladder was totally full and I needed to relieve it from such burden.

I sneaked away from the living room and headed towards the toilet.

As I opened the door, I found myself in a huge room, which was barely lit and had lots of gigantic mirrors above the sinks. Around the place where one is supposed to wash after doing their business  —or like me, before actually doing anything, because to be honest, I do not remember all the places where my hands have been— there were the urinals and cabins. 

All the cabins were in a pretty deplorable state. There walls, all sported punch holes, and some of them were falling apart.

I tried to find one with the best cover, as I am a very shy individual and at least when pissing, I like my privacy.

Once I did, I began to unzip my pants. 

But for some reason, lots of guys came into the toilets and began searching for a place where to get rid of all their alcoholic urine. So in question of seconds, before I had even start, a guy was pounding on the door of the cabin I was in, shouting: "hey, come one, I need to piss".

I saw how the other cabins on the right and on the left became occupied and I could see the guys staring at me while they pissed their beer and their liquors. I couldn't even start. I was a shy motherfucker trapped inside a toilet cabin, being watched and being expected to finish pissing real soon.

"What a nightmare", I thought to myself.

Hermes Coldwell

31.12.2017

The Nobodies

I had a friend and he always liked to copy everyone. Big watches and leather. Denim jackets and palladium shoes. Camel smokes and heavy metal. He always liked what he did. 

Sad or happy, he was there. Always copying our modus vivendi. Because he could. Because we let him. Because it was in. Because there was no turning back.

"The toys all smell like children

And scab-knees will obey

I'll have to kneel on broomsticks

Just to make it go away"

Marilyn Manson sang privately in my bedroom parties. Our friend always mimicked us no mattter what he thought of us. No matter what we thought of him.

A guitar solo. A poem. A tear. He always did the same. We were one. We were one big mess. Same colors. Same shadows. My walls were red. But we could spot him in the dark.

"You were my mechanical bride 

You were phenobarbidoll 

A manniqueen of depression 

With the face of a dead star 

And I was a hand grenade 

That never stopped exploding 

You were automatic and as hollow as the "o" in god"

Manson kept singing. Our friend went to the toilet. We waited. He came back. 

"How was it?", I asked

"Relieving", he fired back

"What do you mean?" I continued

"The darkness left my body", he said.

Hrms Coldwell

18.8.2014

Go On & Smile, You Cunt!

Waking up to the forever-painful-reminder-of-having-drunk-way-too-much-wine-and-having-smoked-way-too-many-cigarettes-and-more-than-one-puff-of-white-widow was, strangely enough, becoming a habit.

It was 10:17 am and the birds were singing outside. I could hear their goddamn conversations as if they were sitting next to my left ear. I was always able to hear better with my left ear. It was like when women tell you that one of their tits is bigger than the other, or when serious looking people tell you that they have one arm or leg longer than the other. But for men, it's always the balls. One is always hanging lower than the other 'cuz it's bigger and produces more sperm, so that is why it's bigger and heavier. For me, it was my hearing abilities. I could hear better with my left ear.

I was still drunk, sweaty and I had this strong urge to piss. I could't get up. It hurt to even think. The noise outside felt like atom bombs exploding inside my skull. This had to be what if fells like when you die, or when you are born. Everything was so painful. The light, the sounds, the thoughts. Had I been born again?

I tried to recall the events that took place the night before. I just remembered I had tons of red wine. Fuck, I needed a cigarette. 

I managed to get out from the painful comfort of my own bed. I looked for a cigarette in a futile attempt to numb myself out of this all. I searched everywhere but apparently i had ran out of smokes. Deep inside my shoulder bag there was an almost destroyed joint. Not what I had been longing for but definitely something I could puff on, and maybe something that would help the pain go away.

I took out my zippo lighter and lit the crooked joint. I began smoking mother nature's remedy.

Soon I felt better. As if I had just begun feeling the booze kick in. It was nice. So I made my way into the toilet. I needed to release some pressure from my bladder. I lowered my briefs and took my cock out. I never liked wearing boxers. I had always liked to keep my cock and balls concealed into a nice bulging shape. Hence avoiding the uncomfortable feeling of my nuts jumping all round when I danced.   

I was sweating alcohol. With my left hand I held the joint. With my right one I held my cock. I puffed another white cloud of this miraculous medicine. I looked down and tried to aim my piss at the center of the toilet bowl. I didn't want to miss the spot. 

A nice, almost transparent discharge of piss came out of my cock making me feel  somewhat aroused. 

This was the side effects of drinking too much red wine, I thought.

I could smell the alcohol leaving my body in the form of urine. I exhaled what seemed to be a white wind whirl byproduct of the widow I was smoking.

I continued to piss. And as I did, I could feel my cock getting harder and harder. The feeling that you get when your cock is getting bigger, in your hand, someone else's mouth or in your pants, is something so amazing to try to describe it.

I began shaking my dick, as men always do when they are done pissing. All I could think of was my friend's almost wise words: "A mouth is a mouth. As long as a mouth is wrapped around your cock, you don't really care if it's a dude's or a chick's". All I could think of was that I wanted a mouth to suck on my hard cock. Goddamn red wine, I thought. It always makes me so fucking horny. I began to masturbate.

As I continued stroking I realized that this was not my toilet. And that someone had been standing behind the ajar doors long enough to catch a glimpse of me and my cock. 

A mouth is a mouth, I thought to myself.

Dick Pound

4.22.2014

The Sound Of Pissing II

"The following is an unreleased interview for Empire Magazine"

Prague, Spring of 2013

One of our reporters managed to get a hold of the infamous artist Hrms Etc, as his fans call him. 

We are sitting in the hotel suite of one of Prague's most expensive hotels. Hrms Etc has asked the hotel staff to decorate his room with several screens, blocking the over-decorated walls and making this room darker and colder. Different things are playing on each screen. We recognize 'House of 1000 Corpses', and 'The Exorcist'. Straight porn, gay porn and nudity on other screens. Alejandro Jodorowsky's "El Topo", is what catches out attention. A series of unnatural shots put together in such a appalling way. A master piece of the spaghetti westerns.

Hrms Etc is sipping on red wine. He is staring at the screens showing nudity. 

We clear our throats and proceed with the long awaited interview.

Empire: How's the wine?

Hrms Etc: Quite good. The fact is that I didn't have to pay for it. So it is better and stronger for that reason. I like red wine. I like it when I feel romantic. I like it when I feel like getting wasted. I like red wine.

E: That's good. So, we wanna thank you for this interview.

H: No, thank you for coming all the way down to my hotel in such a terrible weather.

It is pouring cats and dogs outside

E: So tell us, What kind of food could you do without?

H: Hmm, I think I could do without many different kinds of food. For instance, I think I couldn't care less if i stopped eating broccoli.

E:What's your favorite song at the moment?

H: Teenage Nosferatu Pussy. It has a funny dark side to it and I just can't stop listening to this one.

E: What's your favorite vegetable?

H: I don't have any favorite one

E: What's your favorite part of your body?

H: My dick

E: Is there any movie character that resembles your mother or your father?

H: Well, I think "The Shinning", and I would be the little kid repeating RedRum 32 times.

E: What do you think when you are pissing in the men's room?

H: Strangely enough, I like to think that someone is watching me piss. Call it a fantasy. Call it what you want. Sometimes I think that guys in the men's room enjoy the situation and look at other guys' dicks. Women are lesbians by nature. Men like to look at dicks pissing, I think. At least I do. And I know some other men who would agree with me. I do not know whether they just like to stare.Or if they like to compare size and girth. I like counting so sometimes I think I come up with the strangest games. In my head I have to count things. So sometimes when I am in the men's room I like to count how many cocks I get to see. But most of the times I only see mine. That's arousing.

E: What was the last nightmare you had?

H: I was in a mall and everybody was shopping.

E: What do you think of the Boston Bombing?

H: I think Americans are so good at media manipulation so they make this single act of violence into a huge world wide thing that has nothing to do with more important things that are going on right now. But please compare this with the thousands of people American troops have killed in Iraq or Afghanistan. Boston is nothing compared to what they have done in those two countries. But I feel sorry for the guy who lost his legs and his dick.

E: Is there any fantasy that you haven't fulfilled?

H: Yeah, some.

E: Coffee, black or with milk?

H: Milk

E: Favorite celebrity?

H: The Artist

E: Cocaine or E?

H: Neither

E: Thank you very much for your time

H: Thank you for yours

Courtesy of EM

19.4.2013

In The Middle

I sat uncomfortable at our table. There were strangers and our nights had become somewhat inclusive. However, I really miss the way those nights unrolled. There was no work talk. Not that anyone cared about it but I think I kinda did. We would talk about France and wine tasting. Ostrava and its night life. Mexico and the fact that nobody rides donkeys when they commute.

I liked this place. Rodeo Drive had become the place to go after work. The food was totally different from what you could find everywhere else. Beer? I didn't really care as long as it kept on coming. I liked to have Fish & Chips. The real thing? nah, but it did the trick. Tasty and plentiful.

This night offered more than the usual. In addition to the French man, the German and the Czechs. An American newcomer happened to be there. Sitting right next to me. I had seen him before at McDonald's carrying a food tray with more food that I could ever even think of buying. Even for two people. It was too much food. "Maybe he is here with a group of friends from work", I thought to myself while waiting in line and following him with my eyes. "No, he is alone", I sighed.

Most of the conversations would start with my stories. Sometimes the Czechs would share information on new places where we could meet up the following Friday. Sometimes the French one would surprise us with his thick accent and a joke. I really never had a problem with his accent, but he would often ask us if his accent in English was American or truly British. We didn't care. We liked him for who he was and his accent would always put a childish smile on our tired faces.

Sometimes, we would make plans for the weekend. Not that night. That night went towards one of the most bizarre nights I had ever lived through.

"Circumcision", someone said. We all looked at the American. He went on by expressing how sad he was of not having had the choice, when he was born, of saying no to the removal of his foreskin. The German quickly try to change the topic of conversation by talking about french vineyards. Of the beautiful weather of south France in the summer. French cheese, "it is delicious", she emphasized with a mouthwatering sound. Her plan did not work at all. American boy had our attention.

"That's why next Spring, I will have my foreskin reattached", he said. We all were in for a hell of a story. A friend of mine removed her glasses and stared at him. She was intrigued by such statement. Somebody asked foreskin guy, "wouldn't it hurt a lot?, I mean, to..." she paused. I was just sitting there waiting for the right words not to sound like a complete dick. Pun intended.

There we were, at our favorite place discussing foreskins and skin grafting to cover some dick's second head up with skin from some unfortunate organ donor whom American Foreskin dude hoped had the same complexion. "It has to look natural",he added.

"All I want to do after my surgery is to go to some baseball game", he said, "like the Yankees or the Cubs"."Man up", I said to myself. 

"Are you from from New York?", I asked

"No, I am from California", he replied

"And you like the Yankees?", I continued

"No, I just can't help to imagine what it would be like to be there for a game"

"Yeah, lots of people, I don't like places with more people than it is necessary"

"Listen, every time I am pissing", he paused, "I have this urge"

"Urge?"

"Yeah, I have always thought about doing it"

Everyone was there just listening to our little conversation. It was like when you were a child and someone would go and tell you a horror story about some brutal killer on the loose, and the narrator would just continue to elaborate a story that is supposed to be short. The killer kills and that's it. Yet a good narrator always builds up a state or condition of mental uncertainty or excitement, as in awaiting a decision or outcome,usually accompanied by a degree of apprehension or anxiety. He was a good one, even though his story was about his trying to put a hood on his German war helmet.

"You have always thought about doing what?", I inquired

"You know, when I am pissing, especially in a public toilet, I always use the urinal in the middle"

"Go on", said one of my friends

"So, yeah, I wanna go to a Yankees games, and during the 7th inning, head to the men's room. Imagine how packed it would be", His eyes shone in excitement

"I would go straight into the men's room, unzip my pants, take out a gigantic black dildo and slap it against the urinal"

Everyone went mute. 

"Imagine the other guys' reaction", he added.

"It has to be one of those stainless steel urinals", he continued, "Imagine the sound it'd make".

Coldwell

22.1.13

Yucatan Is Not Always In Mexico

Rock music buzzed in my ears. The table I was at, was filthy and full of semi empty shot glasses of various spirits. Ash and empty packs of cigarettes decorated the flat surface of the cheap table of this bar called Yucatan. I had had many beers and shots of tequila, vodka and sometimes my own spit, in a vain attempt to keep my insides in.

Little Sister was on the loud speakers. The beat of the song made me bang my head to its rhythm in a somewhat slow motion kinda way. I needed to piss. I knew the lyrics to Little Sister as I knew what our ritualistic night would be all about, beer, tequila shots, both silver and gold, vodka chasers and beer all over again. Packs of cigarettes would disappear after the first round of cold golden non-filtered ale.

I stood up and bumped away the people sitting next to me. A loud bang followed by broken glass and cold beer splashing the floors and my shoes.This made me rush towards the urinals of this god forsaken pub. I had to piss now.

I stepped in the men's room and with my right hand tried to look for the light switch. Once I'd found it a buzzing sound came up and then a white light showed me the way. I unzipped and took my cock out. I was trying so hard to concentrate. I heard another song being played outside on the jukebox. It was another song by the Queens of the Stone Age. I could tell. I had all the albums on my ipod.

There were three urinals and I chose to piss in the last one as I never liked to use the one in the middle. The idea of having two other dudes pissing next to me was somewhat weird. I was still trying to gather the strength to get rid of the unnecessary urine in my bladder. I was trying so hard it hurt.

Then I saw this number written on the adjacent wall. It was a phone number and under it it read: "call me if you want me to blow you". What the hell, I thought, who would actually call this number. What if I call to see who is on the other side?. Fuck. Why was I even thinking of calling this number?. What if it was only a prank played to some dude and he didn't even know his phone had been advertised with such a service. It had to be a prank, there was no price listed. Who would do that for free?, especially to anyone pissing at this place?

I began to piss. What a relief. It was wonderful to finally be able to get rid of this. This place stank, but my piss was in great amount a mix of tequila, vodka and beer. I need to buy food for tomorrow. It's New Year's Eve and everything will be closed. Fuck, I need more cigarettes and maybe I will drink one more beer.

A slow song began to play. I zipped up and moved to the sink. I washed my hands and dried them on the back of my black sweatshirt. I was back at the table with my friends and the drinks were plenty.

Hrms Etc

31.12.12