Friday, April 19, 2013

Why I Loathe Sex--The Sorcerer Gaumata

It was not always a pleasant experience to possess another’s body. I found out the hard way. I assumed that I could control a body if I tried hard enough, but there were exceptions. Women! Indeed these are perverse creatures that I cannot understand. Perhaps it was my foolishness in trying my trick on my own mother. You see, my friend, even if you hate your mother, there is a tie to her that resists all attempts of a man. It was such with my mother. Oh, I hated her, but she proved wily. No, perhaps I give her too much credit. The truth is this—a man cannot control a creature of lesser intelligence. I know this to be true because I once tried to enter the body of a cat and was forced to taste a rat. Tail first that beast consumed it, taking its time to savor the stringy guts.
I felt an odd responsibility to protect my mother, despite her perversions, or maybe because of them. After all, she never stopped reminding me that I had been the cause of her misfortunes. I was a young man old enough to have a woman of my own, but no woman of my village would ever consider me, the son of the village whore. I had to put up with my mother’s customers, but after some time, she began to bring home a string of unsavory lovers.
I hated them, and I hated having to hear their brutish sex. My mother, the whore that she was, had found a new lover. This man was squinty-eyed, chinless, and short. His greasy hair smelled like rancid head lard. We lived in a one-room hut at the time and my mother had strung up a dirty old sheet to separate them and me from their nocturnal romps.
Mind you, as a child, I’d already been exposed to this perversion. As a child, I had been curious, but not overly so. Now, as a young man who was, nevertheless, innocent in that I had never engaged in the act, I was disgusted that night after night I heard their moans escalate until they cried out like wild animals being tortured. I decided that whatever they were doing was horrible, painful, and most unpleasant. Yet I wondered what drove them to repeat this thing night after night! These nightly passions made them scream so that I spent my nights in terror, certain that the evil man would finally finish off my mother and then kill me as well. I ordered the man to leave our home and never return. He laughed in my face and told me that it was not my home, but my mother’s home. He said that he would leave if she ordered him to do so. She stood by silently.
The cries became louder and fiercer until one night I had enough! I decided that I would use my mother’s body. I would enter her body and then beat the man senseless. This might then put an end to their nightly struggles. Yes, I would use my mother’s body to beat that man out of the house. If my mother was such a coward, I decided, I would pummel that greasy-headed man with all the ferocity and hatred I felt toward him.
That night, I waited anxiously until I heard their moans. Then I concentrated on my mother in the same way that I had learned to focus on any man I had possessed before. Unlike other occasions, however, I was frightened. Suddenly I knew that I had made a drastic mistake. My mother’s passion had made her mind more like that of an animal’s, and I wasn’t experienced enough to handle it. I tried to back out of her mind, but it held me like a vise. I realized that I wasn’t possessing her at all. I was trapped.
I felt the sweating, stinking bodies come together. My mother spread her legs wide as her lover began to poke frantically at the wetness between her legs. I was caught up in her filthy feelings. It was like I was attacked by an irresistible need, something like an itch that has to be scratched—yet the need was so great that it overpowered me. I tried desperately to pull away, but I had no control over that woman.
Her greasy-smelling lover began to pump against my mother seemingly with all his might, his sweaty abdomen squelching against her. The repulsive smack-suck sounds emanating from their frantic union made me feel intense nausea. They beat against each other in this way, the pain-itch of it causing them to utter animal grunts and groans until, reaching a fevered pitch, the man suddenly stiffened and went limp inside of her still pulsating hole.
The hideous appendage was now flaccid and slippery as he withdrew it, making a trail of slime on her thigh as it did so. The revolting, reeking substance became sticky at once. The hot hole between my mother’s legs pulsated and she writhed again, trying to scratch the awful itch somehow.
I felt seized in a terrible snare from which I could not escape, but suddenly I felt her grip on me recede and I opened my own eyes. I found myself in bed with my hands balled into such tight fists that there were bloody little half-moons against the pale white skin of my palms. Most terrifying to me was that my own genital was stiff and painful. I did not sleep again for many, many nights. It was this event, I believe, that caused me to conceive an incredible hatred for women. I hate them especially because of their hunger for sex. I have never again tried to possess one.

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