A Tour of Hell: A Review

A Tour of Hell: A Review. When I awoke I found myself lying on the barren ground, confused and disoriented. The last thing I remembered was the heart monitor screaming that my heart had stopped in that hospital bed and yet here I was, lying on the rocks in the hot sun, naked as a baby. And young. And pain-free. I sat up in a jolt. Was it a dream? Where was I?

And then looking around I saw a man, heading towards me. He was dressed in white and smiling softly and with pity and compassion. He was coming from a dark cave. I stood up. For the first time in many years I felt no pain at all, no back pain, no angina, no arthritis. I felt young and vital. It felt good. All around me was nothing, just barren rocks and the sun beating down from a blue, cloudless sky. And this man coming towards me. “Hello”, he said to me, offering his hand, “My name is Virgil. I am to be your guide.”

“Where am I?”, I ask.

Virgil turns to the cave and points to words carved roughly in the stone above. In massive letters it reads, Inferne and below it reads Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here. There is a sad smile on his face. “There is no escape”, he says sadly, “You will be confined here until Judgement Day, the end of all times”. “Christ”, I exclaim, “You mean I’m in Hell? Why? What did I do? Is there no trial?” “Someone I can talk to?” “Right now you can talk to me”, says Virgil, “But I am just your guide. I am not your judge. I have no power here. Its only by the grace of the Creator that I have dispensation to help people like you on their final journey.” “What if I don’t go in there”, I say, panicked, “What if I refuse to enter the cave?”

Virgil smiles wanly at me.

“Your body is not your own. It belongs to the Master and the he compels it to enter this orifice. Your soul is trapped in that immortal flesh so that you can experience never-ending pain and torment from wounds that always remain fresh, through nerves that never deaden, and see horror through eyes that cannot shut out those sights. And most sadly of all, you will remain sane.” With infinite sadness Virgil turns to the cave. Against my will my body follows him. I am filled with dread and fear. And suddenly I remember my history: there are nine circles of Hell, each one more horrible than the last and the condemned are assigned that circle that most befits their sins. The deeper into Hell I descend, the worse it will be for me. “Virgil”, I whisper, “What Circle of Hell will I inhabit? Do you know what pain I am to suffer?”


Virgil is thoughtful. We had arrived at the throne of Minos, the judge of the dead. He sits on his throne, a chained lion on his right, a leashed and vicious she-wolf lunging at me from his left. The Judge of the dead and the doomed nods to Virgil and lets him confirm my punishment. “You’ll know soon enough”, he says, “But you will spend your days in Circle 2, the Hell of those who lusted and abused their bodies sexually. And you will spend your nights in Circle 5, the Hell of those who expressed wrath and hate against their neighbors”. We walked into the dark cave and as my eyes adjusted I saw, far into the limitless distance, tiny babies sleeping in bassinets, their tiny hands clutching and un-clutching, small smiles on their innocent faces. “The un-baptized”, explained Virgil, “They will never know fear or want or lack of love, nor will they ever know the Creator.” And though the view of sleeping babies went on to infinity, we were suddenly in the anteroom of Hell. Here were millions of stinging wasps, stinging the countless millions who were chasing a pennant, and incredibly had it within their grasp until the last microsecond when it slipped away. Their bodies were covered with welts and they swiped at the wasps but they never took their eyes off the pennant. The pennant is Satisfaction, explained Virgil, pure achievement and contented satisfaction. These are the opportunists and the indecisive and theirs is the most gentle of punishments. They will be goaded by wasps and they will never achieve their goals and all they need to do is stop to talk to the one beside them to achieve peace but in death, as in life, they are too busy or too stupid to take time for anyone or anything else but themselves.


And then we entered Hell. “Will will I meet Satan?”, I asked in terror. “Pray that you never do”, whispered Virgil, blanching in horror, “But I fear that you will meet the Master sooner than you would wish”. And then he pointed to my punishment. It was a lake of water. On the far shore was a beach and a jungle of green trees and plants. Even though we were deep within the cave it was bright daylight with the sun throwing up sparkling diamonds of light from the azure water. A soft breeze filled the air with the smell of jasmine and lilac. “There is no one else here?”, I asked. “No”, Virgil replied, “Hell is infinite. There’s no waiting here. When you are condemned to spend eternity in torment, the Master decrees that eternity begin right away”.


He smiled sadly and as he pointed, my body compelled me to enter the lake until I was waist deep. It appeared tranquil. What could the punishment be? And then I heard a noise from the beach, the parting of bushes and the mellifluous laughter of a woman’s voice. My attention was riveted to that spot where she would emerge, and emerge she did, in all her naked perfection, a wreath of flowers on her head, a gentle smile on her innocent face, the most beautiful and desirable woman I had ever seen, all my dreams and fantasies made flesh. And when she saw me she called my name. I was filled with what I first thought was love, but it was lust. I instantly became priapic, painfully so and I looked down at my straining, pulsating member. Every fiber of my being wanted her in my arms. I had never felt this before, nothing like this, pure lust. I had to have her. I had to. I struggled through the lake, getting closer to the beach where she waded in to greet me, her arms outstretched, her perfect breasts topped with hard, pointy nipples. She wanted me too. I called to her. She called to me. All I could think of was stabbing her with my hardness, taking her in the sand, against a tree, in a thousand ways.

Time waits for no one

My mouth watered in anticipation. But the lake turned glutinous. I struggled vainly to gain an inch. I fought against the water, cursing it, my need for sexual congress and satisfaction growing stronger by the second. And then she called out to me, telling me to hurry, that she wanted me, that she needed me and that she could not bear to wait. And standing there she gently and slowly ran a finger up and down her wet slit, smiling at me seductively, showing me the way.


And yet I could not move. No matter how I struggled, no matter how I fought, progress was impossible. And I cried out in frustration. She was inches away. I could feel her hot breath I was so close. I tried to masturbate but when I touched myself my hand burned as if thrust into a blazing furnace. And yet my lust grew with each passing moment. I had to have her. I had to. I struggled harder, I struggled for hours, I struggled despite my exhaustion and she never wavered, always there, smiling, beckoning, calling my name, tormenting me with her perfect body, a body I knew I would never, ever touch, nor get tired of seeing. I would never have satisfaction, and I would never have relief. I would be compelled to struggle for her, led by my infinitely rock hard dick always pointing at her. In my rational mind I knew this was futile, that I should stop or give up, but my body was in control, the feelings of sexual excitement and lust at their highest possible measure.


And then it was night. And Virgil led me by the hand back to the opposite shore where I wept in self-pity. “Come”, he said to me gently, You have yet to experience the worst of your punishment. And in an instant we were transported to Circle 5. I smelled plowed-up earth, as if on a farm, and then I smelled smoke and burned gunpowder and the stink of death and fear. And then I heard the crack of countless guns and the screams of millions and over the top came hordes of soldiers in gas masks and carrying rifles with bayonets and they swarmed down on the countless millions who joined me in this miserable, half-flooded trench and I found myself locked in combat with these enemy soldiers.


In life I had never been a fighter but here I was suddenly filled with wrath. I took up a shovel from a body and slammed it into the nearest man, opening his belly while his guts sprayed onto me as he screamed in pain and fear. At the top of the trench his mate jumped down and stabbed me in the belly with his bayonet and I screamed in agony as the serrated blade pulled out my entrails. I fell to the ground pleading for help and mercy while all around me men fought and stabbed and shot each other and I staggered to my feet, only to be filled with rage at what had happened to me and took up the nearest weapon and struck out, over and over, while they struck out at me. My mouth was filled with blood and the taste of dirt. I was dying of thirst but there was no water to be found.


The men around me died over and over in brutal, horrible agony but the trench never filled with their bodies and the soldiers just kept coming over the parapet in waves, no matter how many were shot by the machine guns on either side of me. Their blood ran like rivers over the muddy edges at the top, the water in the trench turned gummy with gore while rats feasted on the entrails of the dead, who moments later would rise and fight again despite their horrific wounds. All night long I battled and killed and died, feeling every bullet that pierced me, seeing my limbs hacked and blown from my body, only to be restored moments later. And I was filled with unquenchable anger. My rational mind pleaded with me to stop, stop, stop, but I could not. I felt only wrath and hate and anger and the desire for righteous revenge and I killed and bled all night long. And so it went for eternity.

 


Until one day I saw Satan. He was dragging himself from his ocean of boiling blood, the broken chains around his wrists and feet and waist and their manacles dripping with gore pouring from his countless wounds and filling the fetid air with the stench of rotted flesh. He had broken free from the center of Hell where he had been encased in ice for eternity, reigning over the pain and misery he had created for all of condemned mankind. And as my tortured eyes wandered over his disfigured, bleeding corpse, he dragged himself towards me malevolently, blood coursing from his sneering mouth and down his chin. My tortured mind could think of only one thing to say to Satan himself.


“Well done”, I said, gesturing to the Hell that he had created for me. And then I turned my straining dick towards the perfect girl on the beach, just inches from my outstretched fingertips, whom I could never touch, and in my relentless desire I forgot he was there.

About Jay Bazzinotti

Seeking my destiny; 4 patents, 3 books, 2 degrees, 24 countries, 46 states