She lies, reading the book, engrossed in its content that
would be tedious to most. She’s invigorated, engrossed, fascinated by the ideas
that challenge her thinking. She consumes the words that feed her interest –
hungrily devouring sentence after sentence as her passions flare.
She stands up, reading the book, carrying it throughout
the house, turning the pages swiftly, eagerly anticipating the next page.
She pauses, stops, stares into the distance, holds the
book by her side and thinks.
She stops thinking. She’s overwhelmed by thinking and the
passions that have built up within her.
She returns to the book, acknowledging the stirring feeling
that this reading has awoken inside her.
She slips her hand into her trousers, gently sliding her
fingers towards the line of life that defines her womanhood.
With practiced precision, she presses the bud, caressing
it intimately with swiftness and confidence – undetectable to the untrained
eye.
Rigidity ensues. She stands perfectly still, staring into
nothingness, holding the moment in its fullness.
No screams of delight. No writhing with sensation. No
tears from the tantalising pleasure that has enveloped her.
Stillness.
And then a quirky trace of a smile, quite different from
the structured smile that she’s learned to add at the end of the sentence – the
one that she uses to introduces herself to the world.
And the moment is over.
She places the book aside. Her job is over. Her time is
come.
For now.
……………………………………………….
She walks into a crowded room, a bar, two or three deep
with people chatting, shouting, gathering together, drinking, buying drinks,
laughing, talking.
She waits.
She looks across the room and sees him.
She catches his eye with a clear and constructive stare.
No game-playing, no pseudo-nervous look away only to return her gaze on the one
that’s caught her eye. Abrupt, determined, focused.
Got him!
He walks towards her and offers to buy her a drink.
She refuses. She doesn’t want a drink.
He walks away, infuriated by his misinterpretation.
Confusion works its way across her face. Wasn’t she
direct enough? How could her stare possibly be misconstrued? It was perfectly
obvious what she wanted.
She walks across the room to where he has dejectedly
returned.
Why did you walk away? She asks him.
You refused the drink I offered, was his reply.
I didn’t want a drink. I wanted sex.
No point in wasting time with introductions and small
talk. That isn’t her style.
Do you want sex?
They leave the bar.
……………………………………..
Bodies sprawled across the bed. Nakedness in every way. Stark
fucking. Feel the heat. Work away towards the orgasms. Cum. Cum. Flop.
Prolong the orgasm by grabbing the blanket into the
crotch to warm its journey – allowing it to spread from the inner realm to the
thighs and stomach, to the chest and the hands. But hold it away from total
immersion. Don’t let it feel. Turn your back on your helper.
Sleep. Post-coital. The perfect state of slumber -
lasting an eternity of fifteen minutes or so.
Job done.
Job returned to.
A body sprawled over the screen. Severed. Guts cleanly
cut. Two bodies. Three women – two victims, one voyeur.
Focus. Look for signs. Concentrate.
……………………………………………
He wakes, disturbed from sleep by the encroaching light
from the laptop. Perhaps she’s looking at porn. Perhaps she’s ready for more
cock, his cock – eager and hopeful.
Aghast, frightened, he sees the women – all three of them,
knowing none.
Work – she explains. Police. Länskrim Malmö
……………………………………..
Poor Saga.
Fortunate Saga.
……………………………………..
Poor Saga.
She doesn’t feel. She’s oblivious to the thoughts of
others. She’s unconcerned with their needs.
She can function. She can interact. She can have sex.
She can’t have Satori.
She can’t feel the orgasm to the extent that it should be
felt, when it flows mindlessly and mindfully through your body – to your heart,
your soul, where it connects you with the one person who knows your mind, your
body, who you are.
She can’t feel the warmth of the escalating desire that
connects two bodies together. She can’t understand that moment when the
physical act of penetration isn’t just functional but is a magnetism that
naturally happens of its own volition, drawing the bodies into one, for a
moment of perfect synergy. Nothing can prevent it. The whole force of unity –
indescribable beauty.
She can’t look into the eyes of another, knowing that
every unspoken word is streaming from the mind into the silent consciousness of
making love.
She doesn’t hold that emotion of love.
…………………………………………
Lucky Saga. Fortunate Saga.
Her heart won’t be shattered. Her sexual loss won’t be
felt because her sexuality isn’t intertwined with her soul.
Fortunate Saga won’t be touched, threatened, overwhelmed
with destructive emotions. She won’t feel jealously, envy, hatred, boredom,
anger, disgust because she doesn’t connect in order to be consumed by such
evils.
She won’t feel bereft, disrespected, lost because she can’t
and won’t allow herself to be embroiled by the negative effects of loving
another human being. She can’t because she doesn’t know how to.
The emotions that inflict their presence in some of our
minds can’t affect this woman because she doesn’t have those emotions. Is she dehumanised
by their absence? Is she dysfunctional because she can’t emote? Or is she
protected from a world that causes distress to the rest of us?
Saga is learning. She functions perfectly well but is
genuinely inquisitive about how people connect with one another. Should her
main concern be the wellbeing of her colleagues when she’s going into battle? Should
she allow herself to be vulnerable for the sake of others? Should she give
something of herself in order that she can know what it is to feel? Should she
think of others beyond the knowledge of functional sex - when she goes into a bar
hungry for sex?
…………………………………………….
Saga is fortunate because she is undeterred by the
feelings or thoughts of others. She can strip off in her office without
understanding the possible effects on the male anatomies that encircle her. And
even if she does notice their emerging hard-ons, she simply accepts this as a physical
reaction without even contemplating where their thoughts wander as they take a
trip to the toilet.
Saga is fortunate because she doesn’t understand what
could cause someone to be so destructive through passion – because she’s never
experienced it. She understands passion. She has a passion for her work but she
can’t multiply this passion. She can’t take that passion into other areas of
her life. She can’t use that passion to be creative or to feel and she can’t
reward creativity and feeling with more passion, different passion.
She knows her limitations. She understands that she can’t
manage people, she can’t interact properly with people – hence the false smile
that doesn’t spread to her eyes, hence her ability to have raucous sex without
even thinking that the other person might be developing a connection with her.
Saga is fortunate because she’s never experienced destructive
emotions for herself. She sees it in others – in the victims and perpetrators
of crime, but she’s never experienced the feelings inside herself that could
lead to emotional responses.
This is fascinating because it isn’t about her choosing
not to have destructive emotions or training herself to be non-attached. She
has no choice because she has no experience, and this is where she differs from
others. Her coldness is somehow negated by her lack of experience. She is human
but she hasn’t experienced the afflictions of that humanity. Those who choose
to be disconnected are doing precisely that – choosing. Saga has no choice.
She’s never experienced destructive emotions in her life because
she’s never experienced all that life has to offer.
Does that make her fortunate or does it make her poor?
In some ways, I want to reach out to her, lie her down,
make her connect with herself beyond the functional wank. I want her to look
into someone’s eyes and feel the magnetism growing. I want her to feel when
someone is sad or angry or overwhelmingly happy and instinctively know that she
has to respond to that. I want her to allow herself to be wrapped in another
person’s body – prolonging that wonderful orgasm with a sensation of wholeness
that every person ought to experience at least once in their lives.
But if I open that world to her, I open up the
destruction too – and the potential of upsetting her inexperienced equilibrium.
Dehumanise. Humanise. Dehumanise..........the cycle continues.
