everything about his body, I penetrate him, I scratch, I bite, I
tie him up, I hit him with my hand open, with my fist, with
belts: he gets hard. He does each thing back to me. He is
nearly hard. Water condenses on the skylight and falls. We
move the bed. I am disappointed. I liked the extravagance. I
do everything I can think of to help him: impotent and suicidaclass="underline"
I am saving his life. We are on an island, isolated in this European city. There is us. There is the bed. He is nearly hard. We move back to his city, where he is from, into a room that is
ours. He needs some act, some gesture, some event to give him
the final confidence: to get really hard. Reader, I married him.
*
I love life so fiercely, so desperately: there is an endless
abundance of it, with no limits: it costs me nothing.
Reader, I married him.
*
I thought I could always leave if I didn’t like it. I had the
ultimate belief in my own ability to walk away. I thought it
would show him I believed in him. It did. Reader, he got hard.
*
He became a husband, like anyone else, normal. He got hard,
he fucked, it spilled over, it was frenzy, I ended up cowering,
caged, catatonic. How it will end finally, I don’t know. I
wanted to help: but this was a hurricane of hate and rage let
loose: I wanted to help: I saved him: not impotent, not suicidal,
he beat me until I was a heap of collapsed bone, comatose,
torn, bleeding, bruised so bad, so hard: how it will end, I don’t
know.
*
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Oh, it was a small small room with no windows: he had it
painted dark blue: he didn’t let me sleep: he never let me sleep:
he beat me and he fucked me: I fought back and I tried to run
away. The rest is unspeakable. He got hard and fucked easy
now. Reader, I had married him. He rolled on top and he
fucked: it costs me nothing, and there is an endless abundance
of it: I love life so fiercely, so desperately: how it will end, I
don’t know.
*
Reader, I saved him: my husband. He can fuck now. He can
pulverize human bones.
*
I got away. How it will end, I don’t know.
84
I love life so fiercely, so desperately, that
nothing good can come of it: I mean the
physical facts of life, the sun, the grass,
youth. It’s a much more terrible vice than
cocaine, it costs me nothing, and there is an
endless abundance of it, with no limits: and
I devour, devour. How it will end, I don’t know.
Pasolini
*
Sad boy. Sex is so easy. I can open my legs and save you. It is
so little for me to do. I know so much.
Sad boy. Desperate child. Gentle soul. Too much respect.
Afraid to violate. But sex is violation. I read it in books. I
learned it somewhere. I show you how: and I devour, devour.
There is an endless abundance of it, with no limits. I am a
woman. This is what I was born to give. How it will end, I
don’t know.
*
Then I can’t understand anymore. This isn’t what I meant. I
am so hurt, the cuts, the sores, the bleeding, let me sleep. You
are hard now, my husband: let me sleep: I beg: an hour, a
minute. I love life so fiercely, so desperately: I mean the physical facts of life: I want to make you happy: I don’t want to die: the fists pounding, wild, enraged: sex was always so easy: it
costs me nothing, and there is an endless abundance of it, with
no limits: and I didn’t want you to suffer, to die. How it will
end now, I don’t know.
*
The bed: I show you everything: every wild game: soon we
drop the scripts and just tie the knots: how to penetrate: how
to move, when, even why: every nerve: pretending to pretend
so it isn’t reaclass="underline" pretending to pretend but since we do what we
pretend in what sense are we pretending? You pretend to tie
me up, but you tie me up. I am tired of it now. I do what you
need, tired of the repetition, you learn by rote, slowly, like in
the third grade, not tone deaf but no genius of your own: the
notes, one by one, so you can get hard. You get hard. Now
85
you’re not pretending. I don’t know how it will end. I am
waiting for it to end. I know what I want: to get to the end:
you will tell me when the game is finished: is it over? are you
hard?
*
He is normal now, not impotent and suicidal, but in a rage:
my normal, human husband who gets hard: he is in a rage,
like a mad dog. This isn’t what I meant. I love life so fiercely,
so desperately: I thought only good could come of it: sex is so
easy: there is an abundance of it, without limits: I teach him
what I know: he needed a little more confidence, so reader, I
married him. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Believe me, not
them: the normal, human husband with normal, human rage:
little girl saints of sex with your philosophy, little darlings,
when what’s inside comes out, be somewhere hidden, chaste,
out of reach: it spilled over: it was rage: it was hate: it was sex:
he got hard: he beat me until I couldn’t even crawclass="underline" it costs me
nothing, and there is an endless abundance of it, with no limits:
I try to get away: how it will end, I don’t know. Until now I
devoured, devoured, I loved life so fiercely: now I think nothing
good can come of it: why didn’t someone say— oh, girl, it isn’t
so easy as it seems, be gone when what’s inside comes out:
impotence and suicide aren’t the worst things. His face isn’t
sad now: he is flowering outside, to others, they have never
seen him fatter, cockier, no grief, no little boy: the human
husband, all hard fuck and fists: and I cower: reader, I married
him: I saved him: how it will end, I don’t know.
*
You can see what he needed, you can see what I did. It’s no
secret now, not me alone. I got inside it when it was still a
secret. It is everywhere now. Watch the men at the films. Sneak
in. Watch them. See how they learn to tie the knots from the
pictures in the magazines. Impotent and suicidal. I taught him
not to be afraid to hurt: me. What’s inside comes out. I love
life so fiercely, so desperately, and I devour, devour, and how
it will end, I don’t know. Sex is so easy, and it costs me nothing,
and there is an endless abundance of it, with no limits: and I
devour, devour. I saved him. How it will end, I don’t know.
There will be a film called Snuff.