Faint Memories of Him and Other Reasons To Commit Suicide
He sometimes stared at me with dilated black holes fringed by a color much like the bark of elm. An emasculated body that salivated glands far back in my throat. Bone structures were not hidden from my eyes or lips. Hands almost podular at their base, stemming out from wrists not much larger than thinned branches. In the morning, after clearing through the haze of the prior nights blurs, his fingers would rattle as leaves struck by wind. Depending on his mood he would lie around or hop up from the dilapidating mattress whose posturepedic supports were failing, and fetch his pacifier from the gas station across the corner.
Spider leg eyelashes that bump against one another in a wasted attempt to get somewhere. Even in sleep his body moved nervously, toes curling back and forth across each other. I was endeared to him personally by the way that my face fit between his shoulder blades.
Pages of nerves housing his vitals. Rounded lilac crests. An ovular face coming to conclusion in a flat bottomed chin that harbors a small indention. Genetically black hairs often frisked about after being disclosed from under a cap...I would often find them either in my own pubic hairs or abound in my bedding.
I would throw off my skin and curling against his unconsciousness to infect it with my own. Wet lump of mouth tracing saliva trails across that body until everything vanished...finally free.
Embarrassed, insufficient.
How I want to break free of physicality.
So You Want to Know What It’s Like Getting Raped and Locked in Closets?
“Yeah, sometimes”-Me, and with that I went from having two fingers in her cunt to four, and believe me I didn’t make the transition very nicely. I quiet literally crammed my hand into her up to the base of my thumb.
“ahhh, ouch, hey...be careful”-Kathy, obviously seeing how I went from docile to aggressive.
“Oh, don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make sure I’m real careful with you”-Me almost seething at the mouth. Remember, sex isn’t about love, it’s about domination, I thought while I pressed my four fingers down so hard against the bottom of her vaginal wall (which is extremely painful) that my ring finger knuckle actually cracked.
“Ah, ah, ah, oh....okay...not so rough”-Kathy attempting to remain in control of a situation which she was now noticing was getting very out of control.
*Giggle*-Me with a dead expression and staring at the wall. It was unreal.
“That’s one of my fetishes you know...it (incest) really turns me on”-Kathy, probably thinking that if she explained herself I might snap out of it. She was obviously starting to get uncomfortable.
“I can tell”-Me, with my whole hand aside from my thumb in her over used snatch.
If This Doesn’t Stop Soon Someone Is Going to Get Hurt and It’s Not Going to Be Me
In my mind two things were present.
1. That I had to get out of there. (If you haven’t noticed, I can’t stay around 98% of people for longer than 30 minutes or I start feeling stuck and go nuts). My emotions...thanks to the Vicodin and alcohol...were stable but the cracking point was close. I didn’t want to have another experience like I had with David...who about two years earlier I had almost choked to death. My will to leave was also dwindling. I wanted to hurt her.
2. The pathological abusive side of myself was no longer registering any sympathy for any of the parties involved. I was astral projecting, out of my body. Thinking of myself in the third person and thinking of her in terms of an object. I noticed that her lips were moving but I was no longer hearing her voice. The whir of her vibrator was the sound of a surgical drill.
Going Away From It All
Faint instances of unintentional exposure...where that feeling of love and gratitude for his existence brought forth a flash of intense passion that would bloom and vanish. Pushed from consciousness only to be whip-lashed back into it crudely...but even so...my eyes were willed open and I would eventually learn every nuance of his face...the angularity of his cheek bones, dent of his chin...but times ellipse erodes these images. Days evaporate with the sun’s revolution and his presence fades into a further part of my brain; accessible but muddled.
I t would show itself despite my efforts to keep my love silent. In some way, it isn’t as humiliating as long as you act as if nothing is happening.
The Final Straw
Something Kathy says makes its way through the sound barriers because it is almost unbelievable that she would try this tactic to pacify me. I now wonder if she wanted me to hurt her.
“You and her could make a lot of money together”-Kathy attempting to point out the positives of having your cousin fuck you for seven years. A common misconception had by people who aren’t molested who have an incest fetish, is that incest is about love, that incest isn’t rape, and that incest is consensual. To someone who hasn’t gone through it, it could probably seem sickly romantic.
“It’s crossed my mind”-Me being starkly honest while whatever was holding me back was ringing...You have got to get out of here, you have got to leave now, you’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Please don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her. “We really can’t keep talking about this”, I said desperately.
And then she fucked up. I cannot say that I feel bad about what I did, but it’s very hard to admit what I did. It goes to show that I’m a monster just like the monsters who made me and that I have no self-control once provoked.
“Dear, there is nothing wrong with what you did, you need to accept it, it’s a beautiful thing”-Kathy said and within two seconds of her saying it I crammed two fingers into her dry ass.
Before she even knew what was going on she felt it, felt her insides being ripped open before she saw my change in position. Four fingers in a snatch and two in an ass with no lube is a lot of stretching for anyone to take, even a whore like this. I felt my teeth clinch, and my brow wrinkle. If she wanted to know what it was like being abused and forced to take part in things she didn’t want to do, my patience had run out and I was now willing to show her.
This worked instantly, for all of my insistence that I didn’t want to be here, that I wanted to leave, that I didn’t want to do this...it took an aggressive, pain-inflicting gesture to show her that she was crossing lines she didn’t want to cross.
The vibrator dropped from her hand.
Kathy panicking and moved away from me. She had caught on.
I wanted it over, and made it end.
So was this what I had been reduced to? The must subversive type of sexual battery?
