Cunt

Since he's autistic, he decided he was defeated and might as well just say it loud. "I SAID NOPE YOU FUCKING CUNT" he yelled really loud angrily, cumming from the pain of telling the truth to a good friend whom he have just met on this beautiful rainy day. It started to rain harder and lightning as ChrisChan's jaw dropped, and also his DS on the hard concrete…

bruises looked to be the size of his huge hands. she could see the creases that were the imprint of his hands. She felt something growing hard and long about just before his mid drift. It felt huge, tearing its way inside. Ripping open the chasm. Her cunt was dry as the desert sand is wet. It tore into her, he crushed and bruised her breasts. with his huge hands. They to had the same bruises upon them that her thighs had on them. The object that was entering her chasm felt fiery and hot. She…

“I asked did you find your sister, Angela?” the voice repeated, this time from directly behind Alex, causing her to whirl around frightened by the mysteriously appearing vocalization. When she focused, she saw a somewhat pallid-looking girl with auburn hair. She was dressed to look Goth and was staring back at her from inside a mirror that stood in the corner of the room. “Jesus-Fucking-Christ!” Alex cried out having been startled by the girl’s sudden presence in the mirror.…

room, everyone looked at me snickers from the left, then the right, then the whole room was full of chuckles. My heart thumped faster, and faster by the second, and I slowly raised my rifle, aiming for his his face. “What are you trying to prove here cunt?” The room fell quiet, the echo of what I had just said still living in the room, in the silence. “Me? Nothing, you proved it yourself, and shit this isn’t your first story with no thought out research is…

family. My father in particular would go to church on Sundays and put on the facade of the most genuinely kind and gentle person you’d ever meet. However, the other six days of the week would be filled with verbal tirades against my mother. “Bitch”, “Cunt”, and other vulgarities were not uncommon. Nor was the occasional throwing of household objects. By the time I reached second grade I was actively encouraging my mom to pursue a divorce. Yet despite this miserable home life, I always held out…

snatches of the sunrise…” This second quote goes to demonstrate that having a wife and children did not stop these men from seeking other sexual partners whether it be male or female. The man from the Beat generation where looking for the “ultimate cunt” (The Portable Beat Reader…

In his short story “So Much Water So Close to Home,” Raymond Carver criticizes the lack of sensitivity society has in regards to the power imbalances between men and women by depicting domestic discord and a community’s response to violence that specifically targets women. The reader is introduced to gendered modes of experiencing the world since the story is told from the wife’s perspective instead of her husband’s. Carver’s narrative choice to frame the story from the perspective of Claire,…

positions within society. From the earliest point in the novel women are described physically as “plump, appetizing, extremely beautiful, pretty and tractable little brunette” (Voltaire and Cuffe). Even Cunegonde’s name had the Latin origin meaning “cunt” which makes her character appear sexually appealing. Paquette was also described as “pretty and tractable” (Voltaire and Cuffe) and rest of her identity was ignored. The old woman is not characterised as pretty or tractable in her first…

“kindest man ever;” however, “once the suffering began, Allen had raged” towards his loved ones (Saunders 223). Allen struggles with his terminal illness for a while, emotionally harming Eber and his mother as a “diminished pale figure in a bed, shouting CUNT” (Saunders 224). Allen eventually dies, but his death is a reminder to Eber of the villainous disease that transformed Allen to “THAT,” as Eber referred to him. Eber contracts cancer similarly and is reminded of Allen’s illness; thus, he is…

Normally, it was not unlike Kolda to rise before a human had any right to, on the cusp of an ink-blotted morning, when the trees were still working tirelessly to shake the vestiges of dew from their waxy-leaves. When, on the horizon, a burnt orange ribbon lined its lip, radiating waves of indigo and cobalt and casting the world beneath it in an eerie, complacent glow. A creamy fog would trickle across the hyssop field from border of Sylph Grove, a merciful cover to nature’s cities beneath,…