Tag Archives: masochism

The Normal State of Things

Overcome with self-loathing, K nevertheless continued to coax the girl. He sighed to himself, wondering what he got out of these rituals. He sighed again, then ordered her another martini.

 

A practiced man in this regard, K already knew what she would look like underneath her top. Her breasts would be decent, her stomach would be tight. She would have a tattoo decorating some body part. This did not excite K. But he pressed on. He had already determined that she was wearing a thong and made inferences about her grooming customs that were probably correct.

 

He knew what it would feel like. The bodies of women are always the same on the inside. He knew that she would thrash and moan and that he would respond accordingly. She would say amazing things under his spell. He would do the same in kind.

 

The charade bored K. It even disgusted him. Yet after tonight, he would do it again. He was probably already thinking about it.

 

“Be rough with me,” said the girl. K sighed and retrieved a knife from the kitchen, eliciting a frown from the girl – not that rough!

 

K handed her the knife and closed his eyes.

 


Why Should You Be Spared?

As she choked me, I wondered if she had murdered anyone before. Her grip was confident. She showed no concern that she might take things too far–as though she knew the right moment to stop.

Had she not been so attractive, I may not have followed her home that night–out of curiosity, I assure you. She may not have approached me: “Why are you following me?” She may not have invited me to her home to debase and fuck me. But the intensity of her presence was hypnotic. I was truly under her spell.

Get the fuck out of here. I was used to the way she spoke to me. It chilled me but kept me alive. I balled up my clothes  and headed toward the door. Catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection of her glass liquor cabinet, I rubbed at the red striations on my throat. Anybody would be able to guess what happened.

Use that.  She nodded to a purple Armani draped across the sofa.

“Madam, have you ever killed anyone?”

All the men who come here. And with that scarf, in fact. Now, come here and let me tie it for you before you go.


But the Attacks Continue

She said she wanted only to swim with the jellyfish. “It’ll hurt,” I said, “a lot.”

We gazed out at the ocean.

“I know,” she replied, sharply.

She had this thing about being hurt during sex–they always do at first–and was ready to make the jump to daily life.

“I’m a masochist,” she had said the first time we had sex. She didn’t understand that masochism is a complex theory of living. And I didn’t feel like explaining it to her. So I did as she asked and broke her fingers with a hammer before fucking her.

But as she eyed the ocean I became concerned. “Masochism is contractual,” I pleaded, suddenly feeling as though I were discouraging her from having an orgy with numerous men who weren’t me. “I know when to stop. Those creatures don’t.”

She sighed. “Jesus, K. Give it a rest. I know what I’m doing.” She stood and untied her bathing suit. Without looking back, she ran toward the ocean and dived in. I haven’t seen her since.

I wonder about her from time to time: did she drown, did she find her jellyfish?

I ignore rumors of a jellyfish woman with mangled fingers.


100 Years of Masochism

With concerned fingers she traced the wounds on K’s back. What happened?

He made up his mind some time ago to stop lying to women, even to the ones who lied to him and to the ones who lied to themselves.

So he told her about the woman who had evil in her skin, the woman who dug her fingernails–always immaculately manicured and long enough to make Trent Reznor jealous–into his back whenever they groped and pawed at each other. The marks the woman left always turned into festering sores that gave way to sinewy scars. He saw a doctor once. A woman did this? He never went back.

He told her how he stopped taking his shirt off in hot yoga classes or going to the beach or otherwise appearing half naked in public (men like to do all those things). He told her how intimate moments with subsequent women ended before they began because his refusal to take his shirt off when he fucked them bespoke serious mental problems.

I like this scar the best, she said, and bit into it.

K jerked away, but by then it was too late; she had already disappeared into his wound.