The Clone Saga – Why Can’t I Quit You?

May 2010.

Here the story takes a turn for the better and then veers off at a tangent heading towards a horrible conclusion via a really nasty (and probably unnecessary) act of self abuse.

My animosity for the clone lessened and I started to view him as more than just a “thing”. I could see the value in having him still living, breathing, that sort of thing. That value was in T-shirts. Free T-shirts to be precise. was running a competition for their customers to create an advert in which to showcase any Darkbunnytees that they had bought. The format was fairly simple:

“Rules are simple – Take a photo of you (or a friend, or more than one friend depending on how many t-shirts you own) In a movie-themed setting. This could be anything at all. A recreation of one of your favourite movie scenes. Inside a cinema with a bunch of your mates, whatever you like.”

I already had an idea in mind for the competition before my incident with the clone in the bathroom (see last instalment of The Clone Saga) but it required two people and, to be honest, I don’t have that many friends that I could ask one to help me. So the clone appearing when it did was serendipitous indeed!

I sat it down on the couch in the livingroom and told it “I need you to be in another one of my photos” to which he responded not.

I slapped it in the face 3 times.


I got more forceful “You will assist me with my photograph”, I waited, hand poised to slap again. He nodded his agreement, slowly.

I slapped it in the face again. Felt great.

Suitably subdued and ready to shoot, I prepared the clone and set up the rest of the shot. It was to be a “re-enactment” of the Idol lifting scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark with me as Indy (naturally) and the clone in the background as Satipo, the back stabbing guide that gets his comeuppance via some nasty spikes.

I took the shot.

Raiders of the Lost Tee - Competition submission. Kicks ass, doesn't it? A sure fire winner!

It looked good. I was pleased. It needed a bit of work on the computer before it was ready but the shot was good.

I was so pleased with the effort I thanked the clone. Even bade it sit and slapped the kettle on for us to have a coffee each.

Coffee in hand I got down to work tweaking the image for submission. After about 10 minutes I had completely forgot the clone was sitting there, watching me.

I finished up the photo and sent it in to be judged, knowing full well I already had it in the bag.

I closed the lid of the laptop and drained my coffee. Then I looked around at the clone. He was still watching me, his coffee untouched. It just sat there, staring. I stared back, my anger and animosity towards it creeping back in.

Suddenly, his eyes softened, his expression changed from that of lethargic hatred to one more akin to apathetic longing.

It was strange. All those years of treating it like a minion not fit to lick the dirt from my boots and now, now I looked at it with awe, with adoration.

Those eyes, that slack jaw.

The godlike musculature, those blowjob lips*!

*The Lips of Heaven(c)

He was beautiful.

He was…me!**

I stood, held out my hand and waited for about 5 minutes before I realised that my sexy clone was a moron. I grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bedroom.

Yes. The bedroom.

I am not going to sully the act that took place within my bedroom in those next three minutes. An act of love, pure and true. An act that did not require the full and willing participation of both parties. A physically demanding act of ultimate self-love.

No, I shall not sully it by describing it in minute detail.

Image forbidden by order of the missus X/

Once was not enough, however, and, as is the want of men, the second time got kinky. I wanted to be deep, deep inside and I got what I wanted. I always do.

In deep. Far, far to deep.

For the next week we were almost inseparable…until, finally, I was able to be extracted from the clone at the casualty ward.

That week stuck inside the clone made it love me all the more but I, I had been changed. I had been traumatised by the event and, indeed, the depth of my own personal depravity.

I couldn’t look at clone. I couldn’t even look at my own reflection in the mirror. I was disgusted by myself and the clone. It took me only a couple of hours of being free from physical contact with it before I realised that the clone, not I, was the depraved one.

The clone, not I, was the one who seduced me.

The clone. The fucking sexy clone.

I steeled myself and confronted the clone for our final battle…



**with the exception of the slack jawed gape.

[to be concluded in The Clone Saga – Tears of a Clone]


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s