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ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

My Dad told me not to worry about it. He told me it’s the world’s oldest profession. He was right. Ever since Adam ate that apple we’ve been chasing her. Every man pays for it in some way. It could be buying dinners or rings. For some men it just comes down to cash. I never had to pay for it before the accident. It was the opposite. Women chased me. From the age of sixteen I’ve always had a woman after me and have never asked a woman out in my life. I had three different women ask me to move in with them. I did. I was a non-professional gigolo. Now I sit in my wheelchair wondering what women are thinking when they stare. They stare at me but I no longer know why. I wink and flirt but none of them want me… the good ones that is. The bad ones want me. There’s been a succession of the bad ones. By the bad ones I mean the broken ones. But you’re sitting brain damaged half-deaf in a wheelchair, I hear you say. Well by broken I mean emotionally broken. But aren’t you emotionally broken yourself, I hear you ask? Well ok, I mean a succession of wrong women. I have a silver bearded and bilingual neighbour who told me I was crazy for turning any woman down in my position (no legs, no memory, no job, no money, no hope). He was right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I can tell by looking a woman in the eye if it’s going to work. I can tell by looking at a woman’s body if it’s going to be worth the effort. The feminists and angry women are shouting SEXIST PIG!!!! I can hear them. Angry women and feminists don’t live in the real world. They say it’s a man’s world but it’s the woman who chooses. Most women haven’t figured that out. The feminists haven’t figured that out.

I keep meeting women who want to be my friend. They keep giving me their phone numbers. I want to fuck all of them, even the ugly ones. Everybody wants a friend but me. I’m not a misanthrope but I don’t need people the way they do. I’d be happy with one person if they were the right person. I have a phone and wallet full of people’s names and phone numbers I’ve forgotten. When I say people I mean women I’ve forgotten. I should be more careful. My Mother tells me off. She tells me that I’m too picky and also tells me that by going for looks alone I am missing out on some really special women. She is right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I keep meeting nutters. I keep meeting the strangest women. They’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s the wheelchair or maybe they can just smell my pain. There was a beautiful woman just the other week. She stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way. I smiled at her and she burst into tears. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t say why she was crying. She just stood crying while I sat wondering. I sat wondering if she was crying with me, for me or over me? Again, I know I shouldn’t be so picky. Maybe if I got to know her and cuddled her she’d stop crying but I didn’t want to find out. I’ve cried enough of my own tears.

Women. I thought I knew them before the accident that almost killed me. I did know them as I was then. I don’t know women as I am now. A Female Friend told me off a while ago. She is a mother of two and took the tone of a mother of two as she told me. She told me off as I told her of the women who’ve turned me down since being in a wheelchair. I said that heaps of women had flirted with me so I’d asked them out but none wanted to get to know me. I’m always asking women out after they’ve flirted with me to be told they’ve got a husband or boyfriend at home. I asked Female Friend if they were flirting with me at all or was I misreading signals? I told her I thought that they were. Female Friend took that mother tone as she almost screamed, they’re not flirting with you; they’re probably just impressed and want to get to know you. Impressed with and want to get to know what, I asked, the wheelchair, the hearing aids or the buggered brain? Andy, she said again like a mother, they’d be impressed because you’re pushing yourself up hills and not giving up. I told her I’d rather they were unimpressed and still wanted to fuck me. She said, well they’re not are they? She is wiser than me. My Mum always says, don’t you know Mothers know everything? Female Friend knew it. Mothers do know everything.

I still need sex as much as I always have. Not being able to get it has turned me into a wanker. I wank like a horny boy. I wank four or five times a week. My spinal injury has affected my legs bum dick and mind. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp from thinking too much. The animal in me pauses as it peers out of the woods. I start to question why I’m doing it? I wonder why I’m laying on a bed with a box of Kleenex waiting to come on to sheets of 2-ply. It’s really my mind that goes limp. Just last week my mind took over as my Macintosh was connected to *******. The first image made me swell. I fell in love with the woman on my screen. Somehow my love of the woman on the screen was killed. I lay watching busty sex videos while my erection faded. At first I didn’t know why my erection was shrinking. The images turned me on. It was only after the pitch of my lust was quietened that I could hear what my mind was saying. My mind was reminding me of the excitement of a woman’s breath on the side of my neck. My mind was reminding me of cuddling a woman until she falls asleep snoring. My mind was reminding me of waking up and still being in love. My mind is at war with my heart and my soul. My mind is at war with love. I miss love. I still need love as much as I always have. My body needs love as much as my mind.

They’ve agreed to pay for two visits to a sex worker specialising in spinal injuries. I looked at her website. The photo on her page made her look like she works in a fish and chip shop. She looked old weathered but happy. I rang my case manager and told them I would rather have my penis lowered into a deep-fat fryer than put it in that dirty old thing. It took a lot of ringing around before they found me a younger version. She’s a hot Asian. The photo on her site makes her look like an engineering student. I rang her on a Wednesday afternoon. She picked up so I introduced myself and told her the name of my insurance company. She told me she’d heard of me and the complications related to my injury. A friend had given me a list of things to ask her. I launched into them. I asked her if I could expect penetration out of an encounter? I told her I’ve only managed a three quarter hard since the accident. I told her that might be because I haven’t been turned on properly or that it could be because of damage to the spinal cord. I asked if I would be allowed to penetrate her or not? She paused a second before she answered. She said timidly that she couldn’t really talk as she was actually on the bus. I laughed and asked her again, come on tell me what can I expect and am I allowed to fuck you? She laughed and I laughed again. It made me happy to think I could still relate to the opposite sex but sad to think that I now had to pay for it.

I still can’t decide wether I should go through with it. It feels dirty having to pay for sex. It also feels dirty laying on my bed with a hand on it with 2-ply at the ready. They say money can’t buy love. Money can’t buy love but money can make it feel like it.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

NO EMPATHY FROM THE DEVIL

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SOMEBODY REMINDED ME2
no empathy from the devil

I just wanted to get to the gym but all these people kept stopping me wanting to talk. They make my brain tired. I’d been stopped and had to talk to a fat woman in a purple mu-mu. It was the size of a two-man tent. She’d walked up to me wearing a bicycle helmet. Thick mascara dripped down her cheeks like the marks of a clown. I asked her why she was wearing a bicycle helmet when she wasn’t on a bike? She asked me why I was in a wheelchair? I said, all right fair enough. Her face opened and I heard her tell me stories about her life. She just needed someone to hear her. I wondered if she knew that I didn’t care until I saw her madness

A randy old lady I always see walked up behind me. Her bony hand was ice-cold as it touched my shoulder and started rubbing me. She said, see I’ve been following you. I sighed. I was turning around to say hello when she said, gee you’re always talking to women. She smiled and said, I’ve never seen you talking to a man. I nodded and smiled. Gee, she said, the ladies love you don’t they? She started talking about what a handsome man she thought I was and I switched off. I told her I had to go. I turned and pushed my chair away from her. I would rather be ugly and have the woman that I love

I always feel rude when I tell them I have to get going. As I leave I wonder why I hadn’t said it earlier? There is something kind inside of me. Maybe I should start pushing my wheelchair down the road instead of the footpath. I turned around to ask mu-mu if I could borrow her bicycle helmet. I turned around and she was gone. There was not another human in sight. Did I imagine her? I am surrounded by madness. I am surrounded when nobody else seems to be. I let go of the wheels on my chair and kept on down the hill. I’m still waiting for new gloves. Friction has burned a hole on the thumb of my right glove. The heat of descent on my thumb told me that everything happening to me was real

I saw the face of None and it cooled me. He’s a drifter who’d come back to Bondi for the summer. He reminded me of what it is to be human. I looked at the sincerity on his face and it made me hate him. It made me feel like vomiting. His face shone like a candle. Open all hours. He asked me how my art was going? I told him nobody liked it. He looked me in the eye and told me he’d give me an example. He told me that he used to be a landscape gardener. I rolled my eyes. I thought, what man hasn’t been a landscape gardener? I looked at his face and watched him tell me a story I was clearly not interested in. He spoke to me like he was explaining something to a child. They told me in a calm way that they had to keep the garden the way the owners wanted it, not the way that he would have kept it. He said that he knew horticulture and there were better ways to keep a garden

What an example. Comparing ownership to apples. I serve no master. I can do anything I want. I still do it even when I don’t have it. I don’t care. I write with my mind in mind. I know why. It’s because I can release the grubby little pervert who sits between my two souls. I told him that it wasn’t for him. I told him that I write to keep myself happy. He said, yeah but if you wrote what they wanted you could have an audience. I looked at the sincerity in his face. It made him look stupid. I grimaced shrugged my shoulders and said, what? They said, well I’ll give you an example. I rolled my eyes at his stale opinion. I used to be a landsca…

People recognise pain. People like to watch pain. They say if you’re being robbed or raped the best thing to do is scream FIRE!!!!!!!! People will come running then. Most people will cross the street to avoid helping someone in need. If you scream, fire, someone will come running to watch you burn. They will only want to watch someone else’s pain. They will stand and watch while thinking, thank fuck it’s not me burning. People like to watch others suffer. If you yell out for help they would turn their back

A strange woman walked up to me and told me I should come along to her church. She said that her congregation had made a man in a wheelchair walk. I looked at the sincerity on her face and it made me hate her. If people could be cured in church there would be no hospitals. Wouldn’t that be great? Just say ten Hail Mary’s. You’ll be able to give yourself a sponge bath in no time. Religion is a good thing for some. Show me your tits and open your legs. That’s my religion

The Church Built of Science is always trying. I’ve seen her three times at the gym. Sorry, she’s seen me three times. She pushes the line too hard. It’s the third time she’s come up and told me I should be a guinea pig for an experiment in Science. I am trapped between The Walls of Polite. Her eyes are too close together and her breath smells like rotten pumpkin. I told my Ninety Year-Old friend who said that I should report her. I told my friend that I’m not a snitch. Yeah but, she said, they might be pushing the same on to other clients at the gym. I’ll tell ANDRE the GIANT tomorrow

I was halfway down the street when I saw her. She’d zeroed in. She couldn’t take her eyes off me. I said under my breath please, just let me get out of here. I looked down. The curb cut was too high. I couldn’t cross in my wheelchair. She started running towards me. She looked like an ironing board. Once she had caught her breath she asked me if I went to church? I recognised the first part of the pitch so I turned my wheelchair on her and started pushing back the way I came. I felt rude but I’m sick of meeting women wanting to heal me. I know that I’m disabled but I want (will, please?) to meet a woman who wants me for the man I am. I’m sick ** **

A wonderfully stacked woman was walking towards me wearing a black bikini and high heels. We were five blocks back from the beach. Her chest jiggled as she walked. Every single man stared at her. She knew it and it was making her smile. She smiled directly at me as she was about to walk by. I leaned across and said, you are more than your breasts. She stopped and spat, what? I was halfway through saying it again as she reached down and grabbed the back of my hair. Her long red fake fingernails gouged my scalp as she took a fistful. She took my head and buried it into her pussy. What, she screamed, what did you say? I couldn’t find the words again. All I could do was smile as she released me. Her fists were clenched. My phone rang so I said, excuse me, to her and answered it. I put the phone up to my ear and my face back in her pussy. Her hand went to the back of my head again but lightly. Her phone rang so she answered it. She spoke to someone while fluffing the back of my hair. I hung up the phone and moaned into her muff. I sat smelling her wondering what she would smell when she had hung up

I was still only halfway home. I allow room in my life for magic but I’m a realist. I saw a thirty-something peroxide blonde walking towards me wearing a tight school uniform. She smiled at me so I smiled back. She lifted the hem of her kilt until it was under her chin. She wasn’t wearing any knickers and was bald down there. There was a thin trail of brownish blood running down her left leg. I told her that I once ate out a woman who had her period. Neither of us realised until I came up for air. I realise it, she said. Yes, I said, I suppose you do

I kept pushing the wheelchair towards my dwelling. I saw a bloke I know on the way so asked him where I could buy some mace? He asked what I meant? I said, you know mace, to spray at people to keep them away. He asked why? I said because today I’ve been chatted-up by a lonely old lady, I’ve had my head rammed in a woman’s crotch, a zealot tried to prime me up and a woman flashed her bloody pussy at me. I feel like I’ve been raped. Religious, at least you know she’s not a slut, he replied. Maybe I want a slut, I said. Do you know, he said, that some rapists still try to rape even after chemical castration. They still want what they can’t have. There was a moment’s silence as we both thought about what he’d said. Thanks, I said, after talking to you today hasn’t been a total waste. Saying it out loud has helped me realise something. She really is more than her breasts, I would rather have a slut than the woman that I love and a man is still a man even after you’ve taken his balls

watching me burn

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xxx

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

I DOUBLE IN SIZE

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I DOUBLE IN SIZE

 

 

I piss in my pants and shiver. I look in the mirror and don’t know who I see. The dry-cleaning bag is off my shirt and it’s okay. I don’t care. I can’t anymore. I can’t when I has become me. The button is undone. I have fallen down. Nothing matters. Nothing at all matters. I am not as beautiful as he says. I am ugly and I don’t mind at all. There’s just something about drinking. Sorry, scratch that. *****’* **** ********* ***** ********. There’s just something about being drunk. I am ten foot tall and invisible. I am no longer sitting down. I am running past the dawn. I could do anything. I am a giant in the land of the small. I don’t care. I don’t care and nothing matters. I want to tear through walls with my hands. When I drink I want to lay her down. When I drink I look at her and I see her and see everything I should be. Drinking helps me forget the probable and remember the infinite. With every raise to my mouth I forget who I am and remember who I could be. I love drinking. The best of times swallows the worst of times. With every drop I double in size. With every drop she looks better and I look the best. With every drop I forget who I am and could be. When I drink infinite becomes finite and I become me. I love beer. I love beer more than I love myself…-

 

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

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ADAM ATE THAT APPLE

My dad told me not to worry about it. He told me it’s the world’s oldest profession. He was right. Ever since Adam ate that apple we’ve been chasing her. Every man pays for it in some way. It could be buying dinners or rings. For some men it just comes down to cash. I never had to pay for it before the accident. It was the opposite. Women chased me. From the age of sixteen I’ve always had a woman after me. I had three different women ask me to move in with them. I did. I was a non-professional gigolo. Now I sit in my wheelchair wondering what women are thinking when they stare. They stare at me but I no longer know why. I wink and flirt but none of them want me… the good ones that is. The bad ones want me. There’s been a succession of the bad ones. By the bad ones I mean the broken ones. But you’re sitting half-deaf in a wheelchair, I hear you say. Well by broken I mean emotionally broken. But aren’t you emotionally broken yourself, I hear you ask? Well ok, I mean a succession of wrong women. I have a silver bearded and bilingual neighbour who told me I was crazy for turning any woman down in my position (no legs, no memory, no job, no money, no hope). He was right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I can tell by looking a woman in the eye if it’s going to work. I can tell by looking at a woman’s body if it’s going to be worth the effort. The feminists and angry women are shouting SEXIST PIG!!!! I can hear them. Angry women and feminists don’t live in the real world. They say it’s a man’s world but it’s the woman who chooses. Most women haven’t figured that out. The feminists haven’t figured that out.

I keep meeting women who want to be my friend. They keep giving me their phone numbers. I want to fuck all of them, even the ugly ones. Everybody wants a friend but me. I’m not a misanthrope but I don’t need people the way they do. I’d be happy with one person if they were the right person. I have a phone and wallet full of people’s names and phone numbers I’ve forgotten. When I say people I mean women I’ve forgotten. I should be more careful. My mother tells me off. She tells me that I’m too picky and also tells me that by going for looks alone I am missing out on some really special women. She is right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I keep meeting nutters. I keep meeting the strangest women. They’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s the wheelchair or maybe they can just smell my pain. There was a beautiful woman just the other week. She stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way. I smiled at her and she burst into tears. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t say why she was crying. She just stood crying while I sat wondering. I sat wondering if she was crying with me, for me or over me? Again I know I shouldn’t be so picky. Maybe if I got to know her and cuddled her she’d stop crying but I didn’t want to find out. I’ve cried enough of my own tears.

Women. I thought I knew them before the accident that almost killed me. I did know them as I was then. I don’t know women as I am now. A Female Friend told me off a while ago. She is a mother of two and took the tone of a mother of two as she told me. She told me off as I told her of the women who’ve turned me down since being in a wheelchair. I said that heaps of women had flirted with me so I’d asked them out but none wanted to get to know me. I’m always asking women out after they’ve flirted with me to be told they’ve got a husband or boyfriend at home. I asked Female Friend if they were flirting with me at all or was I misreading signals? I told her I thought that they were. Female Friend took that mother tone as she almost screamed, they’re not flirting with you; they’re probably just impressed and want to get to know you. Impressed with and want to get to know what, I asked, the wheelchair, the hearing aids or the buggered brain? Andy, she said again like a mother, they’d be impressed because you’re pushing yourself up hills and not giving up. I told her I’d rather they were unimpressed and still wanted to fuck me. She said, well they’re not are they? She is wiser than me. My mum always says, don’t you know mothers know everything? Female Friend knew it. Mothers do know everything.

I still need sex as much as I always have. Not being able to get it has turned me into a wanker. I wank like a horny boy. I wank four or five times a week. My spinal injury has affected my legs bum dick and mind. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp from thinking too much. The animal in me pauses as it peers out of the woods. I start to question why I’m doing it? I wonder why I’m laying on a bed with a box of Kleenex waiting to come on to sheets of 2-ply. It’s really my mind that goes limp. Just last week my mind took over as my Macintosh was connected to Melons Tube. The first image made me swell. I fell in love with the girl on my screen. Somehow my love of the girl on the screen was killed. I lay watching busty teen sex videos while my erection faded. At first I didn’t know why my erection was shrinking. The images turned me on. It was only after the pitch of my lust was quietened that I could hear what my mind was saying. My mind was reminding me of the excitement of a woman’s breath on the side of my neck. My mind was reminding me of cuddling a woman until she falls asleep snoring. My mind was reminding me of waking up and still being in love. My mind is at war with my heart and my soul. My mind is at war with love. I miss love. I still need love as much as I always have. My body needs love as much as my mind.

They’ve agreed to pay for two visits to a sex worker specialising in spinal injuries. I looked at her website. The photo on her page made her look like she works in a fish and chip shop. She looked old weathered but happy. I rang my case manager and told them I would rather have my penis lowered into a deep-fat fryer than put it in that dirty old thing. It took a lot of ringing around before they found me a younger version. She’s a hot Asian. The photo on her site makes her look like an engineering student. I rang her on a Wednesday afternoon. She picked up so I introduced myself and told her the name of my insurance company. She told me she’d heard of me and the complications related to my injury. A friend had given me a list of things to ask her. I launched into them. I asked her if I could expect penetration out of an encounter? I told her I’ve only managed a three quarter hard since the accident. I told her that might be because I haven’t been turned on properly or that it could be because of damage to the spinal cord. I asked if I would be allowed to penetrate her or not? She paused a second before she answered. She said timidly that she couldn’t really talk as she was actually on the bus. I laughed and asked her again, come on tell me what can I expect and am I allowed to fuck you? She laughed and I laughed again. It made me happy to think I could still relate to the opposite sex but sad to think that I now had to pay for it.

I still can’t decide wether I should go through with it. It feels dirty having to pay for sex. It also feels dirty laying on my bed with a hand on it with 2-ply at the ready. They say money can’t buy love. Money can’t buy love but money can make it feel like it.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

STOPPED

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STOPPED

A carer drove me to the shops yesterday. She drove me to Chinatown so I could buy all my fruit and vegetables. There were no mud crabs. After driving into the city we went to Westfield to buy all the dry goods I needed. I shop at Coles but I don’t know why. We had to drive three levels down before we could find a wheelchair spot. We waited for a lift. We always wait for a lift. Nobody likes to walk these days. The lift finally brought us to level one (or is it level two?) and the celebration of light. I pushed my wheelchair into the star spangled lane. I had to get some booze first so I looked around trying to remember where the liquor store was. I found it, turned around and started pushing towards it. As my eyes narrowed I saw a man in his eighties sitting hunched in a wheelchair outside the pet-shop. He was sitting by himself. His head hung down on his chest. His hands sat folded upon his lap. People were walking past him like he didn’t exist. I wheeled up to where he sat and asked how he was? He looked up to face me and said, nmw nmw nmw nmw. I asked him what he had just said? He said, nmw nmw nmw nmw… Nmw. Yeah, I said. He said, nmw nmw nmw nmw nmwa. Yeah, I said, it gets like that doesn’t it? He said, nmw nmw nmw nmw. I said, you should roll it into little balls and try and push them back in. His face darkened. I told him I would turn my wheelchair around so I would be listening from my good ear. When I could hear him properly all I could make out was more of the same. I told him I was deaf in one ear and pointed to the hearing aide in my good ear. I leaned my body towards him. He spoke into my good ear. I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. I told him, no it’s the medicine that will do that to you. I looked back up at him. His face darkened. I said, either that or wring it out on a Tuesday night. He smiled at me. He fingers went to his pursed lips. I said, no you’re not allowed to in the supermarket. I told him, they have security. He smiled. I told him I had tobacco at home but had overcome the urge to carry it with me. He shook his head and leaned in towards me. He smiled and I thought I heard him inhale. I told him no, no, not me. I smiled and told him that I didn’t carry a crack-pipe. He smiled and said, nmw nmw nmw nmw nw.

You wouldn’t believe me but I was felt-up by a lady senior citizen today. It’s not that I minded so much but I would’ve preferred to have been felt-up by someone born closer to the same decade. She stopped me on Bondi rd. She told me I was a credit to myself as I pushed up the hill. She’d asked so I told her how I wound up being in a wheelchair. I smiled as I talked to her. She liked that. Little white pieces of dried saliva collected at the corners of her mouth as she licked her lips. She couldn’t stop licking her lips. She kept saying, ooh you’re so handsome. I said, no I’m not. She talked about my arms and shoulders and reached out and felt them. She licked her lips again as she told me how developed they were. I told her I had no choice. She licked her lips. I could see a fire in her eyes as she asked me where I lived. I am a dumb man so I told her. Ooh, I live close to you, she said. My face dropped as I realised what I’d done. She asked, so what happened to your legs? I told her about the fall. I told her I was incomplete. I told her my legs were weak. My legs are not as weak as she thought. She bent down and ran her hand, firmly, over my left knee. She started rubbing the inside of my knee and then started travelling up the inside of my leg until she was half a centimetre away from Mr Jolly. I looked up to see her staring at my crotch and licking her lips. It’s a good thing she stopped short of him. If she hadn’t you would have probably have seen me on Sixty Minutes revealing this tale. You would have seen me crying. I am actually ugly.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan