SPOTLIGHT: 120 Days of Gomorrah by Yrik-Max Valentonis



About an hour and a quarter drive outside of Gomorrah is a state park. It is surrounded mostly by orchards and pastures. This is the land of hard work, self-reliance, peeling paint, mud, rust, and inconvenience. It is idyllic to those who only visit, inhospitable to those who attempt to move in, and a home worthy of escape to those who grew up there. In other words, it is just like the city, but with different rules. The change in rules is what always causes people issues. Very few people can find acceptance in both places. In any case, it is a forty minute drive to the grocery store and most everyone finds that inconvenient, except for Lucas. He’s an isolationist and doesn’t want to be in this book. We’ll leave him alone for now. Lisa had told Nikki about an artist, Roger. This is where we will meet Roger.

Roger drove his sedan past the pasture. He saw Patches the cow standing in the field.

“Mooooo!” Roger yelled out the car window.

“Your existence is meaningless without self-defined criteria,” Patches replied.

For years they have had this exchange when Roger drives to his uncle’s hunting cabin. Unfortunately, Roger doesn’t understand cow very well, but subconsciously he questions his life goals and desires as he approaches the cabin. He usually thinks that he is reflecting on life because of his memories or the idyllic tranquility of being out of the city and so close to nature.

Roger parked the car on the side of his uncle’s cabin. Actually, it is his cabin and has been for years; his uncle died and left it to him. Those persistent memories, however, are why he always thinks of it as still belonging to his uncle. For some reason he has not been able to create new memories of the cabin since he inherited it. He comes here several times a year: once during fall, and three or four times in the spring and summer; it is usually too cold for him to visit in the winter. He stays during long weekends or will take a week’s vacation. He brings his art supplies with him, so technically these are working vacations, but he also hikes, fishes, and reads.

Roger unpacked the car. He started the generator, put his things away, cleaned up the cabin, and settled in. This is a long weekend trip so he brought more beer than food or clothes. Once everything was set, he opened a beer and began reading the science-fiction novel he brought along for this trip. Six chapters and three beers later, he heard a noise outside. He assumed it was a raccoon or other moderately small local animal, but somehow the noise didn’t quite match that assumption.

A chapter later, he heard another noise outside. This was much closer, almost as if someone or something was outside the window. Roger grabbed his metal flashlight and six foot tall oaken walking stick and went outside. He made sure he locked the door behind him. Roger walked around the cabin, searching for any evidence of what had been making the noises. He inspected the area outside of the window but found no clues. He widened his search, going around his car, down the long driveway, and finally into the woods. He followed the main trail which lead to the lake. The trail needed trimming, something he planned on doing the next day. The grass had grown since he had last visited and several branches needed to be cut back. He walked far enough to no longer see the cabin’s lights and turned back.

Roger didn’t have time to react to the impact. He was tackled and thrown to the ground. He dropped both the flashlight and walking stick. His arms were quickly pinned behind his back. He tried to break free but a cord tied his wrists together. The body on top of him held him down and entangled his legs. A face pressed close to his neck and breathed heavily. He was blindfolded. His neck and ear were licked. He was held tight by his captor. He was pulled to his feet and quickly slung over a shoulder and carried. One arm held his legs together and the other was firmly on his ass, holding him in place.

The hand left his ass and Roger heard the door being opened. He was dumped on the bed, his captor climbed on top of his lap and pushed down on his chest, keeping him immobile. He felt a metallic object rest against his forehead, his initial reaction was to think it was a gun, but then he started to remember. He knew the item was returning his memories. He knew what his safeword was: “chotto matte,” the Japanese phrase for wait a moment, or even just “matte” which is the word used to surrender in jujitsu. He knew her name was Trovv. He remembered she was from another planet. And he knew that he was not in danger.

“You are mine to play with, earthling. I shall have my way with you and you will obey all my perverse desires,” Trovv commanded.

“Yes, my alien overlord,” Roger supplicated.

Trovv pulled off Roger’s shoes and socks. She removed his pants but left his underwear on. She pushed his tee shirt over his head so it was binding his shoulders. She kissed him. He kissed her small mouth. He licked her tiny, firm lips. Her proboscis-like tongue slid into his mouth. He sucked on the shaft, bobbing up and down on her rigid member. He ran his tongue around the tip, then he deep-throated her proboscis. He sucked on her until she slid her tongue out of his mouth.

She  crawled up his body, while rubbing her vagina against him until she was squatting over his face. Her vaginal tentacles touched his face and massaged his cheeks and lips. Roger savored the feeling of the moist tentacles exploring his face. He acquiesced to the intimate yet vulnerable feeling of the tentacle sliding and probing up his nostril. Tentacles parted his lips, reached into his mouth, and wrapped around his tongue. They pulled his tongue forward as she lowered her vagina onto his mouth. The tentacles pulled away and then hugged his face as he licked her vaginal opening. He probed her with his tongue until he found her sensitive spot, whereupon he began licking and tongue fucking her. She rhythmically arched and thrusted her hips, but he had a 4/4 time signature and she followed her native 13/8 the discordant movements occasionally suffocated him and kept her on the brink of orgasm. Her fluids began to flow and Roger sucked down some of her sweet yet tangy juices. Her taste reminded him of a starfruit.

Trovv repositioned herself so that her vagina was held above Roger’s penis. Her tentacles reached out and caressed his penis. Each tentacle wrapped around his hard, pulsating shaft and stroked him. The tentacles guided his penis into her opening. She rode him cowgirl style, bucking like riding a mechanical bull. Her tentacles massaged his testicles. Roger pounded back in response to her rhythm.

Trovv felt her climax approaching. Her egg tube extended and searched for an orifice. Roger was almost ready to cum when he felt the tube poke his ass. Trovv closed her eyes and arched back as her tube slid into Roger’s ass. She let loose her eggs as she orgasmed. Roger felt the tube penetrate his ass and the bizarre experience of gelatinous eggs being pumped into his body. Roger came. His sperm followed the channel along Trovv’s egg tube had he been her species, he would have fertilized the eggs. Instead the two of them were covered in sexual goo.

They both collapsed and cuddled together. After a while, Trovv cleaned up and prepared to leave.

“That was as great as it usually is, but now I have to erase your memory again,” Trovv said.

“Why can’t I keep my memories? I sure won’t tell anyone that I have an alien girlfriend,” Roger said.

“That’s why. I’m not your girlfriend. This is just a mutually agreed upon booty call. I really like you Roger, you are a nice guy and all, but you keep getting too serious on me.” Trovv placed the memory eraser against Roger’s forehead and activated it.


Even nice cities have bad neighborhoods. Not saying that Gomorrah is a nice city, but there are worse cities. And typically the neighborhoods around bus stations are not necessarily the best. You can walk to other neighborhoods, but if it is in walking distance it probably isn’t that much better. The interesting thing is that the artsy neighborhoods are usually formerly bad neighborhoods, if not still bad. Industrial and warehouse districts are also typically close by. This is a simple equation. Bus stations are central hubs for a city and need a lot of land near an interstate or highway. Industrial districts also have these needs for they rely upon truck transportation. And artists need inexpensive housing and studio spaces. A lot of artists can fit into a warehouse. Enough artists together can afford the rent. At which point they start making the neighborhood artsy. This will eventually lead to them and their friends opening up galleries, cafes, bars, bookshops, and restaurants. This will bring other people into the artsy neighborhood and eventually cause gentrification. But not here, not yet.

Mo and Julian walked from the bus station though some less than charming neighborhoods. They were cutting through a community park when the violence broke out. Two groups of people shouted obscenities at each other. The angels had nowhere to go as they were trapped between the angry groups. A shot was fired. Fortunately, the person holding the gun was a bad shot and held the gun in that stupid movie-style sideways grip which guaranteed missing the target. The bullet lodged into a tree.

“What are you assholes doing in our park? Are you stupid cops? This is between us,” the aggressive teenage boy with the gun said.

“Everybody, just calm down,” said Julian.

“Nothing is going to be calm until everyone gets the fuck out of our park,” said the angry young man from the other group.








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