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Below are the 2 most recent journal entries recorded in Marxist Slash's LiveJournal:

Friday, December 29th, 2006
10:01 pm
pairing: Che Guevara/Mao Zedong
slash subgenre: WINGFIC!

DISCLAIMER: OK, the following piece is just cos I really wanted to use the phrase "But Ernesto, your wings, they're so beautiful!" and since Che met with Chairman Mao at some point, it totally works. Plus, I think if el Che ever had any gay sex, he'd totally be a "switch", so this a nice contrast with my earlier Castro/Guevara fic (but Castro, for some reason, in my sick little mind, must always bottom; there's no argument in my mind about this).

-Collapse )

Current Mood: teh sexx0rz
Tuesday, April 4th, 2006
6:44 am
"...but Cuban Cigars Are More Than Just A Cigar!"
It was a sultry A.M. in Havana and there I was, watching the sun come up. The first rays of morning made the sweat on my chest from last night's lovemaking start to glisten. It was days like this where it felt good to be Ché.

I sat up in bed lit my first cock-thick cigar of the day when Fidel started stirring. I slapped his ass the way I know he likes it and he turned around to kiss my hip. Yeah, that's it, bitch, I thought to myself. You know who your daddy is....

Somewhere outside somebody was playing the radio. Some Yma Sumac song was blaring. Or hell, maybe it was Bas Sheva with the Lex Baxter Orchestra? How the hell was I supposed to know? In thirty years, even fewer would be able to tell the difference, and in fifty years, these names would be, to most, forgotten.

I didn't even get a chance to ask yet, and Fidel wrapped his waking lips around my swelling member. Of course, I rarely had to ask. Most people would assume that he'd be the bottom, but if only they knew how badly I had him whipped....

"Oh, yeah, keep doing that...," I murmered around my cigar. "Yeah, now that thing with the skin...." I didn't even have to say it, but at this point I only said it all out of habit.

When he licked and sucked me stiff enough, I got up out of the bed and he instinctively flipped over and inched his sugar-candy asshole toward the edge of the mattress and slipped a couple of nicely firm pillows under himself. I handed him my cigar and he sucked it just enough, and careful not to get it wetter than it was. He knew I hated when he did that.

"Oh, Ernesto...," he moaned, as I rimmed him up nicely while filling my hand with the water-based lubricant. Marvelous medical invention this stuff is.... So many times, it's made me greatful for a lisence to practise medicine. I glopped up myself and Fidel's precious hole with lubricant and eased myself in gently.

"Tell me about the revolution and how marvelous it shall be, Ernesto...," he said, handing me back my cigar.
"Oh, I'll tell you more than that...," and through all the bucking and writing and squishy noises, Fidel and I talked of Marxist revolution as he and I gazed amorously into each other's eyes, dark and passionate. Oh, how could we let this end?

I came, cleaned us up and went to the window, naked as an animal and went to that window.

The sun was higher up now and I inhaled my cigar deeply again. Yes, another day all coming up Ché, I thought as the sun, slightly higher now, warmed my body.
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