I, Lucifer: Finally, the Other Side of the Story by Glen Duncan Page B

thinking now,' she said.
    I gave her a devilishly nonchalant smile of my own.
`You're thinking about how little you get for six million in
South Kensington, and that in any case you won't keep it for
more than a year, since London houses are filled with sadness. You're wondering whether I'll fuck you because I've got a thing for older women, some dreary oedipal tumour,
or because I'm the sort of young man who believes that
self-degradation elevates him to some kind of divine knowledge.'

    `You're really rather good at this, aren't you?'
    `The best.'
    `There must be a story to tell.' She sounded weary at the
prospect.
    'After.'
    `After what?ff
    'You know what.'
    Oh my angel, my bad angel - well that pressed a few buttons,
obviously - Oh my angel master, fuck me, flck your little piE'bitch, mmnyesss, stick your filthy f 4cking cock up my f lthy f cking
arse, all the filthy fucking way, all the way, um-hmn? Nn-hmn. You
know I'm yourfilthy little cocksucking whore, don't you? Fuck your
little Virgin Mary whore -
    Lost my head a bit at that point, I'm afraid. Curiously
though, this monologue (yours truly too busy with the miracle of his own restored and restive rod to bother
responding) all delivered in a robotic monotone, like a somnambulist bishop reciting the Athanasian Creed. It's become
one of Harriet's tools for submergence, has sex; it takes her
to some depth of consciousness far from the surface of her
life. The pornologue's mantric (as is the Athanasian Creed,
for that matter) sucking her down to a level of herself where
no questions are asked, where her history evaporates, where
her self bleeds painlessly into the void.
    And though I kept shturn myself, there was no denying
the effect of such saucy language on Gunn's tackle. Even
from Harriet's passionless lips they effected a startling trans formation. (And ferried in the memory that Penelope
couldn't, simply could not talk dirty without cracking-up;
whereas Violet's dyspepsia lurks so close to the surface that in
a few heady encounters it's come out in a mild dominatrix
shtick that's had Gunn spunking like a hound-dog.) It's been
that way for him ever since he learned to read. Indeed, his
childhood proficiency as a reader was driven almost exclusively by desire for the sexual knowledge books contained.
Even as an adult his balls tingle at f uschia, f ucivorous, cunning,
cuneiform, cochlea and cockatoo - for no better reason than that
they're dictionary neighbours to .fuck, cunt and cock. An
absurd way for a grown man to behave, I'm sure you'll agree.

    Harriet looked sad as hell when it was all over. Sad as hell
that it was all over. Sad as hell that time had started again,
with its all ticks and all its tocks, all its excruciating reminders
of who she was, where she'd been, what she'd done, and
where, in the end, she was going.
    `You're worried about going to Hell,' I said to her, flexing
Gunn's breasts (I almost typed `pees', but I don't want to
insult you) in front of the mirror, whilst smoking a cigarette.
`Don't be. I've made some changes down there. All that fire
and brimstone, all that agony? History. No point. Plus, my
fuel bills ... I'm kidding. But seriously, can you give me one
good reason why I should waste my time making my guests
suffer? This whole ... this whole line about me making
souls suffer - it's so stupid.'
    `Please stop talking.'
    `My feeling is, hey, mi casa su casa. As long as you're not
with the Old Man upstairs, my job's done. There's no reason
we shouldn't be civilized about it. No reason we shouldn't be
comfortable.'
    `It's a nice gimmick, darling, but one needs to know when
to stop.'

    No one gets it. Which do you think would annoy Him
more% Souls in Hell suffering and wishing they'd been
Good? Or souls in Hell partying and thinking, `Thank fuck
I didn't bother with all that morally sound behaviour crap?'
You see the logic, surely?'
    'There's no comfort in logic,' Harriet said, picking up