/lit/ - Literature

Ahoy, c/lit/ commanders.

I just sat down and wrote this in the span of the last hour. Tell me if it's worth continuing. Eviscerate at will.

At the beginning of the summer of ’66, Glen had been entrusted with two tasks. He ended up completing neither of them, but at least he lived.
Martha, who would later go on to become his friend’s Pete’s wife, was not exactly beautiful, but she wore her features gracefully and under the right light could be looked upon as a more than worthy mating partner. Glen remembered the first time he experienced coitus with Martha, the tequila had flowed a little too freely in Tijuana, and they had both been left behind in a dark alley by an overeager, adventurous group. Neither of them ever regretted it and once back in San Fernando Valley, they continued their surreptitious affair. What was most odd in that whole mess of sex and degradation was that beforehand Glen and Martha had had very few words to say to each other. That did not at all stop them from engaging in acts of sex that would make the most promiscuous blush. Glen and Martha shared, while nothing intellectual, a similar passion for dangerously rough intercourse. Glen was a sadist and, wonderfully coincidentally, Martha was a masochist. They only had one rule, and that was that nothing could be done above the neck or below the knees, for these were areas exposed by lack of clothing. Pete, throughout all this, would not even catch a hint. When it came down to it, both Glen and Martha understood that what they shared was fleeting and not profound. The simple truth of the matter was that Glen had more pleasing orgasms if he made a woman cry in agony, and Martha was only able to achieve climax if someone was inflicting pain on her body (preferably concentrating on her nipples).