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    Pornography I've Seen: six men looking at women
    Pornography I've Seen: six men looking at women
    Pornography I've Seen: six men looking at women
    Ebook40 pages32 minutes

    Pornography I've Seen: six men looking at women

    By T. E. Scales

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    About this ebook

    wanted to experiment with writing in the male voice, so created six characters to explore the experience of the Male Gaze. each of these men commits an act of abuse against the women they observe; from dissection to distillation and worse. see more at tescales.com

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherT. E. Scales
    Release dateMar 31, 2010
    ISBN9781452390321
    Pornography I've Seen: six men looking at women
    Author

    T. E. Scales

    T.E. Scales is an award-winning screenwriter and playwright.

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      Book preview

      Pornography I've Seen - T. E. Scales

      Pornography I’ve Seen

      by T.E.Scales

      Smashwords Edition

      *****

      License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

      Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      six stories about men looking at women:

      1 ……………….. She was a redhead, all right

      2 ……………….. Fucking Mrs. Linneman

      3 ……………….. A Four-Inch Scar

      4 ……………….. Mood Indigo

      5 ……………….. Short Carl and the Golden Box

      6 ……………….. You.doc

      She was a redhead, all right

      She was a redhead, all right, a real redheaded sorrowful little slut and God wouldn’t I love to show her how to hold it in her hand and watch it grow.

      But she was my friend’s sister—a good friend too, even if he is an alcoholic—and she would join us at the bar some nights, especially when she knew I was there, because she was getting off work and hated her husband. I never met him, but I know he hardly ever slept with her. She told me as much.

      She’d limp down the smoke-stained stairs of that old basement bar, red hair rain-wet and tucked into the corners of her mouth, white skin glistening like music, her face pinched and glum like she needed someone to wake her from a disturbing dream. Some kind of foot problem at a young age gave her just the tiniest limp, not hardly noticeable but sad anyway, sad the way she looked when she talked about her husband or her life or when she finished laughing at something I said and didn’t know what else to do but look away.

      Above her ankles she was proof of God’s erection, a put-together ice queen that wore makeup like a whore and short skirts right through Christmas. She had a kind of nervous daring to her sexuality, and a smile that melted so overtly you figured she would do you right there if you asked her right. Every time she joined us in the basement she would seduce my eyeballs, slipping off a coat or adjusting a stocking and glancing over at me with that red-waxed smile turning up at the corners of her fuck-me-here mouth.

      The bar was dark and wooden in those days, and at five o’clock deserted

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