by Barbie Wilde
On the other hand, maybe all that repression isn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe the worse case scenario would be if every person on the planet had total individual freedom. It would mean utter chaos. It is almost as if man needs to be enslaved to the ideologies and cultures created by “The Few.”
The best recent example is Yugoslavia. For years, you have a reasonably unhappy country limping along and doing nothing more infamous than churning out the disreputable Yugo automobile. Suddenly, with the demise of its leader Tito, it turned into a place where tribalism reigned and virtually every little farm in the country was demanding independence.
Soon we will be back to the system of the Middle Ages, where every city is a sovereign state and the no man’s land in between is ruled by a robber baron of the week.
Refugees streaming out of the world’s poorer countries will be in the same boat that they are in now, but worse. It will be just like that film, The Masque of the Red Death. All the rich and decadent people will be partying up in the castle with Vincent Price, while the hoi polloi scrabble around for the odd potato in the barren fields outside. But the Red Death is around the corner for them all. There is no escape from the deadly viruses that now plague mankind: envy, malice, blood lust, ignorance, religion, patriotism and stupidity.
What people don’t seem to realize is that true freedom means having to use your brain. To take responsibility for yourself and your actions and not blame others for your troubles. To forget the past and think only of the future.
A while ago, I heard that Africans are attempting to get compensation from the European nations who were responsible for the propagation of slavery three hundred years ago. That is going to be a tough one, because how can they ignore the fact that there was a segment of the so-called Dark Continent’s population who were responsible for the slaves being captured in the first place? There’s the glory of culture again for you. Taking slaves is a fine old tradition of African tribal warmongering. (And the pathetic thing is, it still is to this day.) The white Europeans just took advantage of an already existing situation.
Some Afro-Americans are even demanding their forty acres and a mule that they were promised at the end of the Civil War. At today’s land values, this would add up to roughly $1.2 million per person. I think that if this compensation were paid, then they would have to deduct all the money that person and his ancestors stretching back to the time of the Civil War earned as a benefit of living in the most prosperous country in the world. After all, the average yearly salary of a person living in the United States is $32,788 while the average salary of someone from a Western African nation (where most of the slaves came from) is $391 a year. Frankly, I don’t think that most Afro-Americans want to go back to their roots that badly.
If this compensation thing spirals out of control (and with our litigation culture, anything is possible), then other downtrodden peoples might get the same idea and we’d all be sunk. They will have to compensate all the Slavic peoples in the world, because before Africa was exploited, the Slavs were the most enslaved race on the planet. (They even took their name from their unfortunate status.) Since it was the Romans who did most of the enslaving, it would be fun to see how the Slavs would squeeze their compensation out of modern day Italy. Of course, Irish Americans could demand reparation from the British for starving them out of their country during the Potato Famine, and what about the decimated Indian populations of Mexico and Peru? I bet they would love to receive a cash bonus from the Spanish on behalf of their aggrieved Aztec, Mayan and Incan ancestors. Oh, hell, why not just sue all of Christopher Columbus’ descendants and have done with it?
Why don’t people forget about it? Why can’t they just get on with their lives? Isn’t there enough racism and hate going on right now without having to dredge up the past and its horrors? I think that some people enjoy wallowing in the past. It gives them a feeling of having some kind of history. Otherwise what would be the point of their and their ancestors’ meaningless lives?
That’s the real problem. Most people have no purpose in their lives, which is why they are so dissatisfied. They long for something to believe in. That’s why they’re such suckers for the above named viruses, like religion and patriotism. Take that away from them, and they become the ants that they really are, only dreaming of being something important and never realizing their goal.
ENTRY 100:
This is very difficult to write about. I have been betrayed.
I had been wondering why I hadn’t heard from Elene for a while. Wondering, fuck, I was consumed with a kind of furious curiosity. I threw caution to the wind and drove to Elene’s neighborhood in my Project car. I parked a safe distance away and hung around. It being a Thursday, I assumed that Elene and Frank would have their usual date. I didn’t have to wait long. They arrived at around 10:30 PM. Frank walked Elene to the door. They stood and talked for a while. He made some remark and she laughed. Then he kissed her in mid-laugh. He kissed her, just like that. She let him kiss her for far too long. They talked some more. Then he kissed her again. He kissed her and she kissed him back.
I was seething. I felt like leaping out of the car and running over there, but to do what? To cry out, “Unhand her, sir!” They spent at least ten minutes outside, oblivious to the rain, kissing and really getting into it. And then—I can barely write this—and then they both went inside her house.
I waited there for another hour. It was obvious what was going on. He was fucking her. He was fucking MY ELENE. And she was letting him. I thought about sneaking around to the back of the house and peeping in the window, but decided that was insane. I wanted to see what they were doing, but if I did, I don’t know what I might have done. Kill Frank? Rape Elene? Fuck.
Frank got in there before I even had a chance. All I managed to do was rub her damn elbow in the elevator.
What the hell is going on and how long has it been going on for? The last time I saw her, Elene told me that she thought Frank was framing Lonnie to take the fall for the serial killings. She thought that Frank wanted to spit in her eye and prove that her psychological profile was wrong. She was infuriated by him a while ago and now they are fucking?
Something must have happened between them during the investigation into my serial killings. Now there’s irony for you. Incontrovertible proof that God really does shit in your shoe whenever he wants. Did I bring them together again by creating my works of art? I wanted her for myself. This whole thing was meant to bring us together, Elene and me. Frank wasn’t part of it.
This is devastating. I am trying very hard not to blame Elene. After all, what was she supposed to do, wait for me forever? While I have been dawdling around, stuck in a morass of wretched indecision, Frank walked in and took her. And I helped. If it weren’t for The Venus Project, they probably wouldn’t be screwing each other right now.
Maybe it started up again that night she went over there in her passionate fury over Lonnie. Maybe he calmed her down and gave her a couple of drinks and then made his move. She went to give him a piece of her mind and ended up giving him her body.
I bet Frank is an animal in bed. He’s banging her right now, I know he is. I bet she’s screaming with pleasure. I wonder if he has handcuffed her to the bed. Is she going down on him right now? I can just imagine her mouth around his big policeman’s cock. I hope that she chokes on it.
Oh God, I am driving myself crazy. This is unbearable.
Elene is with someone else. What am I going to do now?
ENTRY 101:
I woke up this morning feeling fine, then I remembered last night and I felt sick to my stomach.
I got up and had a cup of coffee and reasoned it out.
Every woman, given the chance, will betray you. It’s in their nature. Not that men are shining examples of purity either, but I think that promiscuity must be built into our genes. Although I can’t blame Elene, because she didn’t know that I wanted her. She didn’t knowingly deceive me.
Wha
t I am trying to say is that maybe if I had entered into a relationship with her, it would have ended badly anyway. Maybe she would have gone crawling back to macho man Frank in the end, and I would feel even worse than I do now.
So this is a blessing in disguise. I can see now that the object of my desire has feet of clay. To go for a guy like Frank, I mean, Jesus, all her taste must be in her mouth. The guy is right down there with pond scum.
The only women I can rely on are the goddesses that I made with my own hands. They can’t betray me. They can’t run away from me. They live in the shadowy halls of my mind: forever young, forever beautiful, forever mine. A real relationship with a woman—at this point in my diseased life—is impossible. She would kill my feelings for her by complaining about my socks, or picking her nose, or farting in bed. Now that I have tasted what it is like to be with my own personal Venus, a mere woman just isn’t good enough.
I will have to create some more, I guess. As dangerous as it is, I will need more soul sustenance soon.
I almost wish I could take Elene. It would be so easy to drive by one day and offer her a lift to Phoebe’s. Hit her over the head and take her somewhere and do anything I want with her. But I know that would be fatal. I have been in contact with her and I would be questioned. It is very frustrating though, because my fantasies about Elene are getting more and more detailed. Maybe when I am stronger in my mind, when I am not feeling so vulnerable, I will write them down. Spew them out on paper, where I can admire them in all their glory.
I hate the world again. Nothing could have prepared me for this shock.
I am very, very angry.
ENTRY 102:
I haven’t wanted to write down some of the fantasies that I have about Elene before this. Maybe in some atavistic way, I felt that writing them down might somehow diminish them. It is similar to how some primitive peoples feel about cameras capturing their souls. However, now I feel ready to commit my darkest Elene fantasies to paper. Those masturbatory waking dreams that have been keeping me warm at night. Even before the other evening, they were getting more and more violent. Maybe I knew something was up on a subliminal level. Maybe I could sense that something wasn’t quite right with my Love Object.
Well, here goes …
The Elevator Fantasy
Elene and I are in an elevator. We are total strangers to one another. Suddenly the elevator judders to a halt. The lights flicker and then it goes completely dark. We hear a sound that is like the end of the world, and I realize that it is the sound of the elevator slipping on its cables. Then we go into free fall. I turn to Elene, grab her and kiss her, thinking that if I am going to die, then I may as well die in the arms of a beautiful woman. She kisses back and I know that she is as turned on by the thought of imminent death as I am.
Then the noise comes back, an unbearable shriek. The elevator comes to a jarring halt and the door opens. We scramble out just before the elevator continues its fall towards the basement.
We look at each other. People are surrounding us, trying to take us somewhere where we can get over the shock, but we don’t care. We just want to go somewhere to celebrate that fact that we are still alive.
We rush outside. I have a limousine ready. Elene gets in and I follow, telling the driver to take us home. The partition between the driver and us slides up and when we are alone, I turn to Elene and kiss her. I put my hand underneath her blouse and play with her breasts. She falls back on the wide leather seat, her arms above her head, giving her body to me.
I reach up and rip off her panties and she cries out in surprise. I tie her hands to the door strap with my belt so she can’t interfere in my taking complete pleasure in her body.
Then I suck her pussy—I fuck her in the missionary position—I untie her and she gets on top and rides me, screaming with delight—she sucks my cock. We come and come and come.
Finally, I open the electric window. I tell Elene to stand up and put her head out the window. She obeys me without question. I kneel down and eat her pussy from behind, at the same time inserting my left forefinger up her ass. She is at the point of orgasm as I press the button with my right hand and slowly put up the window, throttling her. Her legs kick at me furiously, but she can’t save herself. I continue to suck her pussy as she dies slowly.
I’ve always liked the idea of fucking a woman in a limousine. Maybe one day.
The Angie/Elene Fantasy
Sometimes I pretend that Elene is in the car with me at the time of the Accident instead of Angie. It is just after the crash, and I have crawled out, miraculously unharmed. The only light is from the flames that are consuming the car. I find Angie/Elene lying unconscious on the ground. I am so angry with her that I rip off her clothes and fuck her on the hard ground, the pebbles grinding into her back. She comes to and begs me to stop, but I won’t. I hit her to make her shut the fuck up. I see blood on her lips and I bend down to lick it off. I pinch her nipples until she screams for mercy. I bite her on her neck like a vampire and I lick her blood. I keep telling her to shut up, but she continues to cry out. Finally, I just strangle the life out of her. I shake her by the neck. Her body is contorting beneath me and I am squeezing so hard that Angie/Elene’s head pops right off. It shoots off into the night, but her body is still alive, still responding, still undulating passionately. The blood is gushing from her neck and I put my face into the fountain and drink her blood. And then I come.
That one isn’t as good as the elevator one, but it does have a neat revenge angle to it. Although I always feel absurdly guilty about fantasizing about hitting Elene. I don’t feel guilty about fantasizing about hitting Angie though, so what the heck.
The Dominatrix Fantasy
This is a good one. Elene is a dominatrix. She is wearing a sexy black plastic outfit, topped off with fishnet stockings and spiky heeled, patent leather stilettos. She is carrying a whip. I am visiting her dungeon, which is located in a beautiful apartment in New York City on East 55th Street. The room looks gothic in the extreme, with that perennial Inquisition favorite, the Rack, on prominent display. Chains and other implements of medieval torture decorate the room.
I walk in and Elene orders me to undress completely. She then ties me to the rack and painfully stretches my body so it is impossible for me to move. She puts clamps on my nipples that are excruciatingly uncomfortable. I get a hard-on, because she is so beautiful and she is being so mean to me, but she gets annoyed that I have an erection. She takes her riding crop and hits the bottoms of my feet, a particularly tender area of my anatomy. I tell Elene I want to fuck her. I tell her that I will rape her if I ever get free, but then she whips my thighs, telling me that a dominatrix would never condescend to have straight sex with a client. Then Elene whacks my penis, which hurts like hell. I get very angry and I find the strength to break the ropes that are tying me down. Now, the shoe is on the other foot.
Elene is scared and she tries to run from the room, but she can’t run fast enough in her fancy stilettos. I catch her and wrestle her back to the rack. I tie her down and stretch her out on the rack until she begs me to stop. I get some scissors and slowly cut off the black plastic outfit, threatening to do the same to her nipples if she doesn’t behave. I take an enormous black dildo off the wall and gradually insert it up her pussy. She screams and struggles. I fuck her violently with the dildo and I can tell that it is hurting her, but she is also enjoying it. Of course, she would like it both ways. A little “M” with her “S”. I take the riding crop and lightly smack her breasts until they are pink and angry-looking. All the while, she is groaning and cursing me, ordering me to stop, then sighing with ecstasy.
I get up on the rack and I enter Elene. I stick the dildo in her mouth so she can’t scream. I can tell that she is panicking. She can’t breathe. So I take it out and stick my tongue down her throat. I fuck her and she can’t do anything about it.
Finally, I untie Elene and order her to get down on her knees. I tie her hands behind her and order her t
o suck my cock. After a while, I get hold of her head and pinch her nostrils shut. She can’t breathe. I smother her to death and she dies sucking my dick. It serves her right for hurting me.
*
There is a common theme in the above fantasies and it’s not a particularly surprising one. I like my women helpless and in the end, dead. Don’t need to be an Einstein to figure that one out.