Recently discovered and never before published, these two short novels were written in the early 1970s, at the beginning of her career. Rip-off Red reads as a kind of Raymond Chandler for bad girls, as Kathy Acker's typical literary playfulness transforms the genre conventions of detective fiction into a book that is simultaneously a mystery and a personal, raunchy, and politically astute account of life in New York City. The Burning Bombing of America is a dystopian vision of the destruction of America, combining crypto-Socialist class critique with the visceral surreality of the Book of Revelation. Published together here, they reveal a young writer on a literary romp, imposing an original, sexy, and subversive worldview that is unmistakably Acker. They are a perfect introduction to Acker's oeuvre and essential for all Acker readers. Chapter One
1 April 20
I'm five foot three inches brown hair curling all over my face, bright green
eyes, I'm 26 but my body's tough from dancing if you know what I mean-well I
got bored doing a strip, well first, I got bored doing that Ph.D. shit and being
frustrated professors' straight-A pet, especially being faithful to a husband
who spent all his time in bed dealing out poker hands; I left school, descended
to the more interesting depths and became a stripper, even that finally bored
me, so I decided, on my 26th birthday, to become the toughest detective alive.
This is the story about how I have kept myself from being bored.
I was lying in bed with Peter; he had on his leather jacket and wrist bands; I
woke up as the noon sun hit my face through the window; a cat started howling. I
put my hands around his hips, I could see the thick whiteness and the dark
hairs in the insides of my eyes; my nose burrowed in his neck, then inside his
ear as far as I could get. He turned slightly toward me so I could caress him
better, and moaned I had fallen for him first because he loved to be loved and
showed it. Most men act cagey and think they shouldn't show any feelings. Peter
rubbed his blond beard against my cheek, moved his body against mine. Our legs
entwined; I felt his breath against my ear, then his lips on the skin of the
ear, his tongue darted back and forth. Shivers ran through my spine, I felt his
hand on my left breast squeeze slowly squeeze, my lower muscles started moving.
With my teeth I pulled at the hairs on his chin, moved my mouth up to his lips
slowly pressed my lips against his, moving back and forth until I felt his mouth
open. For a long time we kissed I could feel his lower body pulse against mine,
his muscles hardened, I let my hand drift down to where I knew he liked to be
touched best he wasn't going to get it that early as his lips started to touch
barely touch my nipple as if they were the wind and the shivers started rolling
again up down my spine, I let my fingers pull gently at the soft hairs under
Peter's cock; I ran my middle finger up and down the muscle behind his huge
cock, at the warm wet creases between his legs and cock, just between not-
feeling and his feeling tickled. His legs opened, his breathing became heavy
fast; I let my other hand curve under his body; my finger caressed his asshole,
not into it, but just enough of a caress so that he remembered all the millions
of wonderful nerves curling inside and around his prostate gland. The muscles
around my clit started tightening and loosening; my consciousness and the center
of my body became my breasts then my stomach then the whole abdominal region-
-I could smell myself-then the region of beauty and fur between my legs.
Peter's hand slipped from my back down to the inward curve above my ass in
response I pressed my thighs against his, I felt his cock rise and fall against
my opening thighs. His finger slipped between my buttocks into my asshole I
moved my body faster, usually I like to be licked but this time I was too hot, I
thought I would come from just the touch of his hands. I never liked anyone as
much as this. The covers became all tangled dogs and cats started howling in the
streets we moved faster faster; "let's cut the crap," I said, "and get down to
business."
I rolled on my back I like to feel solid weight on me; Peter quickly moved on
top of me. I like to feel cuddled: I pulled the covers over his back, let my
hands rest on his back under the covers. I could feel his cock throbbing against
me, I couldn't wait until he got in me and the real shivers start spasms
crawling up down my body like electric eels inside my nerves until I start
coming and coming and coming. Peter starts purring like a kitten rubbing against
my damp skin and hair I open my legs his cock hardens inside then I feel him
move deeper the pain stops he moves deeper as the rhythm starts as he starts
moving back and forth still slowly I rise up I move into my clit into every
microinch his cock touches I roll over a swan's neck into a quick orgasm a good
beginning! He starts, as I come, to move fast quick higher up against my clit my
hands scratch his back at the edge of pain I come again all feeling centers in
my clit ah ahh AHH take a breath aahh I roll to a peak. Down.
Take a breath.
As I fall into dream, he starts again moving slowly, this time gently long
strokes against my cunt, so that I barely feel him inside me, I start moving
with him without disturbing my dreams I'm buying a dress I design dark green
velvet fur a slit up my right leg which is as long as Peter's leg to my black
cunt hair sparkles as brilliantly as diamonds, the dream changes I'm buying the
most gorgeous dress in the world I fall into piles of velvet thick white Chinese
satins. As I start coming again remember I'm fucking, I throw my thighs upwards
press my abdomen, now open to thousands of sensations, against his, I feel his
cock tremble inside me, is he going to stop? Keep going. Keep going. His strokes
shorten he moves from side to side to delay my orgasm no I can't stand it I
throw my body against his, more! More! He starts moving back and forth again
like I like it it's happening it happens again again!
"Did you come?"
"Not yet."
"I can't tell when the fuck you come."
I'm too sensitive I can't stand to have his cock in my cunt against my cunt, I
can't stop coming, I keep moving. Barely so I can feel his desire. We fall to
the left; his arm moves under me; his middle finger slips into my ass: that's
the center of my brain! That's where all my thoughts are located! We swing
against each other deep into the freezing then fiery center of the earth around,
now it's working, I want to come to, I want to get mine in I can feel his
muscles move beyond his will, tense some then more, we're still moving in curves
only faster, faster and harder; his finger leaves my asshole: rays of light
shoot inside me from by ass to my belly button to my clit: the Holy Trinity O
it's coming I don't give a shit anymore where he's at or what he's doing; my
clit and my mind are one being light shoots through my body clit to legs! Clit
to nape of the neck and outwards! Heat shoots through my body! Sound supersonic
fluorescent waves.
I've had enough for the moment.
Peter still keeps moving; I watch a mosquito dash against the light bulb;
finally I make the decision. "Listen sweetheart."
"What do you want now."
"We can't fuck all the time; we've got to do something more exciting."
"We could stop starving."
"I can write a book. I want to do something better than fuck."
"You dykes are all alike: best fucks around haw haw."
"Shut up creep."
"Anyway fucking's a bore."
"I'm going to change my name. You're my brother and you're going to have to go
along with everything I do, be my secretary, and wait for me until I return from
each assignment."
"Where are we going to go?"
"From now on you're Peter Peter and I'm Rip-off Red the famous detective. We're
going to go East; in spite of the Mafia, the Jewish Mafia, and Mr. Nixon, we're
going to get rich quick."
"On the road?"
"Listen. This is a dream. We're going to New York to rip off the money. Everyone
in New York's an anarchist or a junky and many of the anarchists are junkies.
We'll wander through the zoo; when the zookeepers are in the bathrooms, shooting
up, we'll jump into the seal ponds with the seals. We'll nibble at their black
velvet ears, with our secret hands rub their businessmen bellies; we'll fuck in
front of the lions until we're howling more than they are. Listen. I'm going to
go out this second down to Tijuana, rip myself off a black satin detective suit
so I can set up business in New York as soon as possible: we'll rent a floor in
a building on Madison Avenue in the Sixties, two rooms bare of furniture like a
Japanese hara-kiri house; we'll have a sign on the door:
Mr./Mrs. Red, Detective
Peter Peter, Detective
We won't wear guns but carry junk needles; anyone who opposes us will receive an
instant high. You have to protect me in all emergencies and tell me I'm
wonderful. Listen."
"You're wonderful," confesses Peter Peter. "Where're we going to get all this
money?"
"Money doesn't exist, of course. Don't worry about it; I don't. I just want
everyone to love me. To love me and you."
This is Peter Peter's fairy tale as he falls asleep: Afternoon has begun. He's
going to be a millionaire, eat snails and wine, fuck as much as he wants.
End of the dream.
Peter Peter puts his head on my shoulder, his hand over my still wet hairs. Am I
interested? I put my head near his right nipple, he doesn't seem to mind. My
lips barely touch his nipple; then, as his hand presses against me, against my
cunt, as his hand slowly opens and closes, exerting gentle constant pressure, I
quickly brush my tongue against his nipple as it hardens. I turn my head to the
side; touching his nipple excites me too much; I return, my mouth becoming my
eyes and hands; I don't know what's happening, I can tell I feel strongly Peter
moans, presses his lips hard against mine. I kiss his lips, this time move
straight down to his white stomach; his flesh is firm and thick like a child's.
Sexy as a child's. I curl my tongue into his belly button until the tip of his
cock aches. Meanwhile my hands roughly massage his cock and balls squeeze pull,
the more he pulsates, the harder I squeeze. I bite his inner thighs, pull with
my mouth at the hairs around his balls; I roll his balls in my mouth; I run my
tongue into his asshole and around toward his cock, do everything but touch his
cock in order to drive him as insane as possible. I keep this up for hours: he
moans; the moaning turns into harsh sighs. Suddenly I reach for his cock let my
mouth slip over his cock until the tip of his cock is in my throat. I let my
tongue alternately press at the undertip of his cock right at the edge of the
hole then curl arabesques up and down the length of his gorgeous plunger.
Quickly I spit into my hand, run my hand around his cock, corkscrew; in an
opposite motion, twist my throat around and around. I play with rhythms: I start
light and slow, go faster with heavy pressure and emphasis on the pressing
tongue. As Peter moves faster I reach a low peak, then start again, slow,
deliberate; I let him, rest, and slowly again get into moving with motion of my
mouth and hands. I move my mouth and hands more this time, accentuate the
corkscrew motion; we work together; I move faster, take more cock into my
throat. No, I've lost him. I don't stop, but move more slowly. We meet; now I've
lost consciousness; I'm a machine of throat, mouth, tongue, hand symmetries and
pressures; my body pulsates in sympathy. I no longer know if I'm doing a good
job. This lasts forever; time intercedes, I can feel his cock expand; I push my
tongue, my throat grasp; I become a gymnast, a snake; Peter moans; his whole
body moves now his hands rest on my head I start sucking use my tongue more his
cock grows enormous I can't his hands press my head down I can feel two muscles
which run up the sides of his cock wriggle, the liquid rushes into my mouth I
press my lips against him in rhythm with his coming, now. I lift my head up for
air, quick swallow, then gather him in again was it good? Now I'm resting
against his shoulders. Below my outer skin there's a layer of shining warmth; I
savor my horniness, keep it till it increases impossibly.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Rip-off Red, Girl Detective and The Burning Bombing of America
by Kathy Acker
Copyright © 2002 by Estate of Kathy Acker.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Copyright © 2002
Estate of Kathy Acker
All right reserved.
Fans of Kathy Acker (1948-1997) will welcome the first publication of two early short crime novels, Rip-Off Red, Girl Detective and The Burning Bombing of America, by the late postmodern author. Both are imbued with the raunchy and subversive wit typical of Acker's more mature work. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
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