New Emerging Writers Literary Agency

Chapter 11

Introduction & Interview With Dion
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
And So ... Back To The Future!
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
How Are We Doing?
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Interview With Dion
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14

Open Book, Spinning

The Erotic Adventures Of A Young Girl



Now all you fucking clones are going to think what I’m going to say next is a bit fucking churlish, to put it politely, and that’s because most of you know nothing about literature, except when you read what the literary pimps, so called literary critics and reviewers, write, and let’s not forget that what these shit licking drones say isn’t fucking objective either, when their living, and reputations, depends on getting a paragraph or two in a Sunday supplement, or whatever.

          I totally abhor Michel Houellebecq, birth name Thomas, the fucking antithesis of everything authentic, and the biggest fucking literary fraud in the last twenty years, who won the French Prix Novembre by default because French literature had long ago dried up and died on the vine, as the best of them, Nathalie Sarraute, Margueite Duras, Alain Robbe-Grillet, and others, had either stopped writing, or were dead.

          All the rest, still writing, were turning out bland, characterless, plot less, tedious, pointless exercises in abstraction, real snooze stuff, and nothing at all to do with what was happening in the real world, then along comes this part time alcoholic, ex mental patient, self absorbed, sex obsessed nihilist, and racist, a literary whore, who makes lewd remarks, and sexual passes, at almost every female interviewer, and this monosyllabic shit, who can’t even put together a decent fucking sentence, and has a penchant for killing off his female characters, as Will Self said, is nothing more than ‘just a little guy who can’t get enough sex’


She was on top, my cock deep inside her, my legs hooked around her beautiful ass, and my fingers entangled in her long black hair, as she fucked me, making sure my throbbing hard cock went all the way up her small tight pussy as she thrust her sexy little ass down on me, and biting my shoulder, and moaning.

         ‘Nice …’ she breathed in my ear ‘Fuck me you sexy bastard … come on fuck me’ 

         I opened my legs wide, put my hands on her little tight ass and pulled her deeper,

         She suddenly tightened up, almost stopped breathing, and I knew she was about to have an orgasm, but she slowed, breathed deeply for a few breaths, relaxed, barely moving, eyes closed, a slight smile, as if she was being carried along on an ocean wave, then started all over again.

         I fucked her, legs wide open, both hands on her tight little ass, pulling her in.

         ‘I want to fuck everybody  …’ she breathed ‘Lots of men … for money … or just pure lust … I want to be used … raped … gang-banged … ‘

         ‘Okay …’ I said.

         Her eyes were half closed, her finger nails digging into my chest.

        ‘I want to get out of this head …’ she said ‘I want to be fucked out of my mind …’ she gasped ‘I’m going to do it too …’

        ‘Okay …” I said.

        ‘And I want you to watch me getting fucked …’ she said.

          I nodded.

        ‘Okay …’ I said.

        ‘Two … or three … at the same time …’ she exploded, sighing, then slowed, breathing deeply, and smiled ‘That’s what I’m going to do …’ she said ‘Okay?’

         ‘Okay …’ I kissed her ‘If that’s what you want …’

        ‘And I want you to fuck other girls …’ she said ‘I’ll probably be spending nights away, so you’ll want to … right?’

          I nodded.

         ‘Yeah …’ I said.

          She went down on me, kissing it, and then wrapped her wet little mouth around it.

          She took it full throat, until I exploded, holding her head so she couldn’t move away, making sure she got it all, swallowing it in gulps, then squeezing out every last drop.

         ‘They’re going to love you …’ I said.


Dion wore an even shorter, and thinner, skirt, and a top you could almost see through, but not quite, that drew all eyes. The Casino was crowded, and we sat at a full table, welcomed, again, by the Manager.

            It was noisy, and the dealer fast but very good humored, glancing at Dion’s low-cut almost see-through top.

           ‘I think he likes you’ I told her.

            She laughed.

           ‘I’m sure he does’ she said ‘I know what he’d like …’

            We lost the first three hands, and Dion wasn’t happy I didn’t let her double a soft 3 against the dealer’s 4.

           ‘There are practical, and mathematical, reasons for the way you play every hand, even though sometimes it seems like you're going against your better judgment” I said “For example, if you're holding an Ace and a 7, you have a soft 18. That won't beat a dealer's 19 or higher, but as long as you can't bust by taking a card, you may as well do it and try to improve your hand.

           “Always hit a 2 card total of 11 or less. Always stand on a 2 card total of 17 or more. Stand on 13 to 16 if the dealer's up-card is 2 to 6, but hit it if the card is 7 or higher. Hit a 2 card total of 12 if the dealer's up-card is 2 or 3, or 7 or higher. Stand on a dealer's 4, 5, or 6.

           “Always split aces and eights, but never split fives and tens. Split twos, threes, and sevens against a dealer's 2 to 7. Split fours only against a dealer's 5 and 6. Split sixes against 2 to 6. Split nines against 2 to 6, and 8 and 9.

           “Never double down on a 2 card total of 8. Double down on a 9 against the dealer's up-card of 3 to 6. Double down on a 10 against the dealer's 2 to 9, but not against a dealer’s 10. Double down on a 11 against the dealer's 2 to 10, but not against a dealer’s ace.

           “Always stand on a Ace and 8, an Ace and 9.  If you have an Ace and a 2, or Ace and a 3, double down when the dealer's up-card is 5 or 6, hit it against anything else, with an Ace and 4, or Ace and 5, double down against the dealer's 4, 5, or 6, and hit it against anything else. With an Ace and 6, double down against a 3 to 6, hit against anything else. With an Ace and 7, stand against the dealer's 2, 7, and 8. Double down against 3 to 6. Hit it against a 9, 10, or Ace’

           ‘But what about luck?’ she asked.

           “Increasing your bet on a hunch might work occasionally, but you’ll lose overall’ I said ‘But don’t think that keeping track of the cards is a guarantee you'll win, either. If the shoe is rich in, say, 10’s and aces and there's a full table of players, it’s just unrealistic to believe that everybody at the table is going to get 20 or 21, right? The dealer is just as likely to get a winning hand, and the only difference is the dealer must play his or hand according to set rules, but the player is free to act in whatever way he, or she, wants.

           “In the long term, increasing bets based on an educated guess does pay off. Keeping track of the cards does take a lot of discipline and concentration, and a lot of practice before you can hope to make money with it, and all of that effort might only pay off once in a while.

          “You can still have days, weeks, even months, losing, no matter how such of an expert card counter you happen to be. The situation may be so that you can push a bigger bet out there and you'll still wind up losing. But over the long haul, generally, you'll have a decided advantage that very few players have either the knowledge, or the skill, to capitalize on.

          ‘Luck is an attitude, not something arbitrary, somewhere out there, and what people usually think of as luck, is, in fact, little more than mathematics, standard deviation, in the same way, when a coin is tossed one hundred times, it doesn’t come down, either heads, or tails, equally, but somewhere between forty five times, heads, or tails, and fifty five times, heads or tails, and is only good, or bad, if you happen to be betting on the result.

           ‘It’s all in the math, and, eventually, given enough tosses, over the long term, the coin will come down, almost exactly fifty times, each, either heads, or tails, but, until then, you have to play the odds, and, unless you can get an edge, you’re likely to go broke, or die, before that happened, and, because life didn’t always have an equal number of red and blue marbles, it might never happen.              

          ‘Attitude matters, not so much just positive thinking, but more a positive way of life. That’s your edge, but, the problem is, most people are so identified with a life story of worry, fear, and anxiety, it’s become who they are, what they think, feel, and talk, about, and, no matter how well they do, eventually, it will grind them down. Unless you’re lucky, willing to risk it all, or know something others don’t, how to play the game, can take good and bad, gain and loss, comfort and discomfort, joy and sorrow, even life and death, with equal ease, which means not clinging, being aware that everything is impermanent, and fleeting, not grasping, knowing that everything is illusionary, a passing show, not wanting, being aware you already have everything, you are already doomed’


She locked the door.

         ‘Rape me …’ she said.

          I grabbed her hair, and slapped her face hard, then again, harder, and pulled her legs wide open, holding her down, my cock hard, trying to get it in with one hand, while she struggled, trying to close her legs.

          ‘No … get off me …’ she protested ‘Get off me …’

          I hit her again, hooking one leg with my arm, then the other.

         ‘Bitch ...’ I breathed ‘Get your fucking legs open …’

           I rammed it all the way up.

         ‘Whore ...’ I told her ‘Take it …’ I slapped her again ‘How do you like that ...’ I was holding her hands above her head, her face turned to one side.

         ‘Kiss me bitch …’ I said.

          She shook her head.

          I let one hand go, brought mine well back, and hit her across the face as hard as I could.

         ‘Kiss me …you fucking whore … kiss me’ I said.

          She was crying.

         ‘Go on … cry as much as you like ...’ I told her ‘You’re my little whore now … you’re going to start earning some money … ok?’

          She said nothing.

          I slapped her again.

        ‘You answer me when I ask a fucking question …’

        ‘Yes …’ she nodded.

          I turned her over, and banged her ass, ramming it up, making it hurt, burying her face in the pillow.

           ‘Like it?’ I asked her ‘You’re going to get plenty of this …’


Religion is the epitome of human stupidity.

           It is spirituality that has died, or, rather, a spiritual teacher has died, probably hundreds, or even thousands, of years ago,  I mean fucking dead, and now you are talking to an even deader image, made of wood, or stone, or, these days, maybe stainless fucking steel.

           That’s stupid. It’s not much different from Spiritualists who go to a sťance, or a Spiritualist Church, hear their dead grandmother tell them not to forget to feed the cat, and take it as some fucking divine oracle, when they didn’t even like the fucking grandmother when she was alive, let alone listen to the old bat.

           Worse, it’s been the cause of more wars, repression, terrorism, torture, guilt and human misery, than any other single factor on the planet, and in the entire history of the human race. It makes hundreds of millions of dollars for its priests, ministers, pundits, etc, and leaves hundreds of millions of people in poverty, starvation, or dead.    

          That’s not just stupid, it’s fucking wicked, evil, insane, and those responsible ought to be put against a shit house wall and fucking shot, or worse.

          Now, don’t misunderstand me. Unlike that fucking shit ass Michel Houellebecq, I’m not against any particular religion. I just don’t care enough for that. What I really can’t fucking stand is fooling vulnerable, or stupid, people, into believing there is some fucking super being who takes care of them, and has made mankind the pinnacle, and crown, of creation.

            Horse poop, cow manure, pig shit, and stick it up your fucking arse. Humans are not even fucking animals. We are a fucking virus, infecting and destroying the whole fucking planet, and, no doubt, other fucking planets, when we finally get there. At least animals have the fucking common sense, or instinct, to graze a particular area, then move on to another area, until next season, when they can come back and graze the same area again.

           Humans move to an area, consume everything, destroy what it can’t use, then moves on and does the same thing elsewhere, leaving behind nothing but total fucking devastation, and nothing to regenerate. We leave deserts behind us, or hundreds, and thousands, of square miles of reinforced concrete and metal, cities, highways, where there were once plains, forests, rivers, herds of animals, and a natural ecological balance.

           Now we have fucking global warming, ice caps melting, ocean levels rising and threatening to drown our prized fucking cities and half of mankind, storms, earthquakes and heat waves, we never had before our so called industrial age.

           Only a virus causes so much fucking devastation. We are a disease, a cancer, so don’t give me any more of this pinnacle or crown of creation shit, and it’s not that I don’t like people, or religion, I just can’t stand stupidity.     


Dion nudged me and nodded at the other Blackjack table.

           The Casino was less crowded now, and we had three free seats at our table.

          ‘That American girl is there …’she said ‘With a different man. Shall I go over, and invite her to play with us?’

          ‘No …’ I said ‘Let’s not disrupt the flow …’

           She laughed.

          ‘She might be lucky for you’

           I gave her a quick, fatherly, peck on the cheek.

          ‘You’re lucky for me’ I said.


Let’s be fucking honest about the USA. It isn’t so much one, or even many, specific things that makes America probably the most disliked nation, and the most disliked individuals, in the entire fucking world.

           Sure, even in the richest nation on the planet, there’s as much squalor and filth, poverty and human misery, in places, as there is in many other countries, and, even when the same squalor and filth, poverty and human misery, is hidden behind the fake smiles and phoney comforting assurances of, say, the giant pharmaceutical and cosmetic industries, it remains, just the same fucking squalor and filth, poverty and misery.

           The multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical industry won’t make suitable AIDS doses for children dying of the illness, as adult doses are too strong and produce undesirable side effects, because there’s no fucking profit in it for them.

           The cosmetic industry still inflicts untold suffering, though, these days, less blatantly than before, to create its multi-billion dollar profits.

          You can point out an endless number of such things, but none of them, either individually or collectively can provide a definitive, or indefensible, reason why America is the way it is.

          It is the simple fact that the country is too young a kid to carry such a big stick, and too quick to use it, when the other kid has a much smaller stick, and not at all if the other kid has a similar, or even bigger, stick.

         This big, spoilt brat, will happily stand on its high moral ground of democracy and freedom for all, and righteous indignation of repression, and abuse of human rights, when it’s, say, North Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, or even Iran, and do nothing if it happens to be China invading Tibet, or Russia bombing Georgia, because both China and Russia have similar, or even bigger, sticks.

         Who asked America to be the policeman of the fucking world anyway? Why does it constantly meddle in the affairs of other sovereign states, spending literally trillions of dollars to destroy, and repair, smaller countries, unable to defend themselves against its military might, if, that is, it achieves its objective, which is usually about retaining power, or oil, when the money would be far better spent at home?

            So far as military, and political, power goes, America is the new kid on the block, and, although this new kid won’t let you play in its own backyard, it will happily come over and shit in yours.

            And, of course, it affects, and infects, the individual.

           Americans are paranoid, aggressive, constantly feeling under threat, nervous and defensive, and have no fucking idea why, and generally obnoxious, and disliked wherever they go.

           The result, or maybe the reason, is Americans are the world’s biggest users of anti-depressants. Six million people, mainly women between the age of twenty to fifty, use Prozac on a daily basis, including schoolchildren and college students, and, out of any six people sitting at a table, four of them are either using it, have used it, or are thinking about using it.

           This fucking expensive little green and beige miracle pill, and, let’s not forget, it is making multi-millions of dollars in profits for the pharmaceutical companies, has developed its own cult following, replacing Vallium, and is often espoused as the best thing since sliced bread, and as many American are overweight, or obese, including their kids, its also a great slimming aid, not to mention ruining their sex life, creating paranoia, acute sensitivity, and a collective defensive attitude that unnerves foreigners, and is typically American.   


She held her legs high, and wide..

         ‘Fuck it …’ she said ‘Pinch my nipples hard … really hard … hurt me’

          I fucked her hard, kissing her, pinching her nipples, hurting her.

         ‘You like pain?’ I asked.

          She nodded.

         ‘I want to try everything …’ she said.


America is undergoing its biggest financial crises, since the Great Depression, though nobody has the balls to call it a depression, just a recession, we are being told, and it is still busy encircling Russia with what it chooses to call a Nuclear Shield, and Russia, understandably is pissed off about it.

             Zimbabwe is languishing in a two million per cent rate of inflation; we are polluting the planet, sowing bitter seeds for our children to inherit, for profit today, and, in Asia three children are born every second, and two of them will grow up without an education.

             Britain is the ‘puupy-dog’ of the USA, has no identity of its own, and the most common surnames there, are Singh and Patel; the old gods are dead, and there seems to be no divine intervention.

            We are alone, almost bereft of hope, but, still, millions look upward, to a long vacant sky, praying to the void, and waiting, perhaps hopelessly, for a saviour.      

           Mankind is morally, and spiritually, bankrupt, and devoid of creative ideas.


We’d been playing for two hours.

           The American girl wasn’t there.

          ‘Too bad …’ Dion laughed ‘I wouldn’t mind fucking her myself …’


Maybe the Olympic Ideal meant something more than a thousand fucking years ago.

           It means fuck all now the 2008 Games have been awarded to China.

           Michael Phelps has just won eight gold medals, beating Mark Spitz’s thirty five year old record for the most gold medals won in a single Olympics, though China is currently leading the USA in gold medals.

           The Olympic Games are meant to foster openness, friendship, and good relations, between nations, not to mention some goodwill, and a little more prosperity, for the ordinary citizens of the host country, among several other things.  

           But fucking China; the most oppressed major nation on the planet, and with the very worst human rights record on earth; did the fucking Olympic Committee think they were going to change that by awarding them the Games; if not, then what the fuck did they think?

           Already impoverished families have had their homes demolished, and forcibly evicted, to make more space for it. A small group of private shops refused to be evicted, so the Chinese authorities built a big fucking stone wall all around them, hiding their existence from public view, and their already tiny income has suddenly dropped by eighty per cent.

          Two old ladies, one seventy five years old and the other eighty five years old, filled in an official application form asking for permission to protest about being evicted from their slum home, in which they’d spent most of their lives; not only was the application denied, they were both sentenced to a hard labor camp.

          Several Americans, holding up Free Tibet signs were deported the next day, a young Chinese student, and his girlfriend, thought they would do the same; they were give a choice between confessing they were criminals, pleading guilty, and the all-compassionate People’s Court of the Republic of China would award them both just twenty-five years each in a hard labor camp, or be found guilty anyway, have their hands tied behind their back, blindfolded, and take a bullet in the back of the head.

          They have three large designated areas for protesters; no onlookers, and no media coverage, and a long way from the Olympic site, so, if anybody turned up, nobody else would know, and every single application has been refused, and, no doubt, those that did apply were all quickly shipped of to hard labor camps.


Dion came back from the bathroom, excited.

          ‘Give me the room key …’ she said, then whispered in my ear ‘I’m getting my pussy fucked … I’ll call you when he leaves … about half an hour …you come up .... I’ll leave the door open … okay?’

            I gave her the key.

          ‘Who is he?’ I asked her, and then I saw a waiter, hovering close by, trying not to look too obvious.

          ‘Him …’ she said, and then took the key, and went. The waiter kept a respectable distance behind her as he followed her out.




Under Construction