Destruction of the Sexual Thing
"What is a Picture?" Times Two
Saturday Night Fever, or "What is a Picture?"
Étant Donnés: Le Gaz(e) d'Éclairage
The Rustle of Painting
The Amateur Genius and the Dog
The Newly Renovated Opera House on Gilligan's Island
Watching Things Work
"What is a Picture?"
Nothing else worked, so I kept cutting myself. This new activity of mine went on for some time. A lonely task, messy, but it was all I had. I felt shame for a time regarding my perversity. [
"Maybe we can help each other." "Do you like these'?" [
Little exploratory nicks at first, seeing if the mysterious ganglia of sensation would be impressed by this transgression of flesh.
I really had tried everything else. Normal sexual stimulation, abnormal, and everything in between. None of it worked to revive the piece of flaccid tissue my cock had become, to bring feeling back into my life.
After my accident.
PET scans, CAT scans . Resonant Imaging. Nothing. Though the accident had involved my head, there was nothing wrong a machine could gauge.
My wife gave me up in tears while I was still on the mend. The embarrassment of having such a husband...
A year passed with no sensation down there. I gave up on it.
Saw a pack of razor blades resting on the bathroom counter after the casts came off. Thought of killing myself, tried, cutting shallowly.
And felt something.
Then the pain started changing. One day while lazily cutting a clean line over my chest, little bubbles of me oozing out, I felt...
Something. Like what I recalled of a sexual feeling. Still not centered in my genitals, but rather a more comprehensive experience.
After the first time, it got even better as I reached some sort of non-area-specific climax. I wondered if this was what women felt. I had to be careful not to slice myself in ribbons of gratitude.
Elly sat at the foot of my bed. She'd checked the certificate somewhere. It had passed whatever test she'd imposed on it.
"How much can you move your body?"
"As much as anyone, but a bit slower. The doctors say I'll be almost normal in a few years."
She nodded. As before, she was wearing black, a mini this time, low-cut. Black stockings. A Walkman clinging to her black purse. Never taking her gaze from mine, she slipped the top down, revealing her breasts. Average-sized, but from the POV of a starving man, beautiful. They were also dusted with some makeup that glittered vaguely. Her nipples were large, erect.
Under one was a long, nicely healed scar.
"Suck them." She moved forward on the bed. "This one."
Slowly, I cupped the proffered breast in my hand, smelling flowers and spice. Licked, heart beating like crazy, then sucking, wanting to bite.
She'd slipped her mini up, and touched herself languorously, eyes shut.
Suddenly, I felt her small hand tugging at my hair, pulling me away.
"But I can't. My-"
She shook her head, raven hair gleaming. "No. Do what you do."
She smiled. Wantonly, I want to say, but there was something else there. Fear maybe. "Don't be afraid, Julian. Go ahead."
I reached into my dresser. When she saw the blade she let out a little sigh, then lay next to me. Her hand moved to my still useless cock and I froze.
"No, it's okay. I want to see it." Pause. "Can l? Please?"
I unzipped, showed the thing. Another sigh as she cradled it gently in her smooth cool hand. "It's lovely," she said. "So sweet."
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This new activity of mine went on for some time. A lonely task, messy, but it was all I had. I felt shame for a time regarding my perversity.
"Maybe we can help each other."
"Do you like these'?"