Ultra Awakenings (3)

Memories of my childhood abuse flared up while working out the conundrum of what to do with the contraband. I knew that the recollection, if stimulated with aphrodisiac narcotics, would place me in a sexually receptive state of consciousness. My abusers recorded proceedings with me; I possessed the sound files as part of evidence in an overdrawn court case. I think they were handed to me on purpose to turn me on one day. Seriously. I have always considered listening to the recordings they made of me being raped and knocking one out over them. I know it sounds sick but the idea was even more prevalent now with so many substances around.

I remembered how sexy coke and ecstasy used to make me feel. My abusers dosed me up on that good stuff before they played with me. It was an old aunty mainly, and her friend from the local River Island store. They used to take turns penetrating me with a wearable plastic penis. Honestly! I was only a wee boy, I didn’t know what was going on, apart from the fact that my legs seemed to be always in the air. I hated everything about it, but as I matured into adulthood I fantasised about the pair of them frequently. When I saw them in court during the case, my aunty had enormous maroon inflatable botox lips. Her mate had a brown tanned plunging wrinkly cleavage.

My aunt had gone on to own a nursery named Wind In The Willows Childcare. I was equally repulsed and attracted to her all over again. I half wished she would come around and rape me again, now that I was all grown up. Part of me would have loved it. I thought about secretly writing her a letter, making the proposition legitimate in print. I was only pressing charges because the CPS were twisting my arm about it. I didn’t much care whether they got away with it or not. Like I was saying, I became convinced it was all about getting those recordings into my possession somehow, a sly excuse to enslave me to the memories all over again, if I dared replay them in my ear, which I always thought about, but never did.

Hearing my abuser’s voice instantly set my loins alight. My head sighed with shame and my heart sagged with embarrassment but the excitement of my nether regions didn’t lie. Her cruel dominant lispy accent sent me absolutely crazy. There was a hurried impatient nuance to her clipped military tones, an expedient urge, which put me on heat quickly. Remembering her body, and her attire, and all the little characteristic details I’d forgotten over the years, made me crave for her on some deep level I hadn’t noticed about myself before. The longing was still there after all this time and it was not only uncomfortable, but almost impossible to deal with. What exactly did I do with this sexual need suddenly alive and alive well and truly within my members? I’d adored her as a little lad, and perceived the perversion as genuine consensual love.

The recordings…the drugs…I could have a tug. But when would it end? I’d be down there for days and days if not a week. I was diagnosed with masturbatory psychosis in my youth. That was when I was involved with another woman. This one used to undermine and ridicule everything I said or did. She would abuse me too, but in subtler, harder-to-prove ways, it was more verbal, she had a thing about stripping down to her expensive lingerie, she was only 25 but she had a breast implant jobbie. I think she had hurts like I did. She was weird and eccentric but she would never strap one on with a minor. That takes a particular degenerate breed of woman, wouldn’t you agree?

The psychosis had me seeing her mind projections in my abode. She would think something into my home with her brain from a bunker underneath and my eye would physically see it. She would spend all day doing this, layering the floor with snakes and having flying rats congregate around the lampshade. That was at the beginning, to get me back for finishing her. She bought a How To Draw Anything book and started making her own creatures up. Worse than anything, they could touch me on a physical level as well. I thought this was special technology from the program handlers but it turns out to be a perfectly natural phenomenon which close emotionally conjoined brains can do if in spitting distance proximity. Now I believe she has a brain-computer-interface, to enhance the signalling.

The wider community now bounce their zany mind projections around my home. I’m on a list for extra-judicial justice. That means vigilante punishment outside of the courts. It’s something I’ve learned to live with. Try the projection stuff one day. Attempt to put a slimy monster in your neighbour’s bedroom. You never know, he might just be able to see it. And feel it.

Hold it a moment. It’s my dear beloved angelico speaking. She wants the contraband burned on the porch asap. She fears both the scared and demonic energy of my feverish desire, not knowing where it will lead to. I hang my head and stare at my feet with lipstick and nipples in the back of my mind; in the front I am swinging in the sunshine in a bushy park about to be burnt up by a solar flare, or a nuclear bomb, like a scene in Armageddon or Terminator. I don’t know what’s with the dystopian aspect, but everything feels very end of days like to me, as if the final decision I have to make has monumental consequences on a cosmic level.

When you’re abused in such a way, and you have both divine and heretic lingering foes to distract yourself with for day to day company, and you have pure ULTRA blood running thru n thru your flexing veins, life seems to pan out in such epic ways. There’s no such thing as normal anymore. Even a pen and paper looks outstanding. Or a whisk. Or any old household object. In fact, all objects are fascinating. The creatures that girl used to make were always holding at least two. That was her one unique stylish trait she did when bombarding me with projections – have them holding at least two random objects. Anything. Didn’t matter what. As long they were always fresh and new and novel. It was her thing at the time. I didn’t understand it. She just had a thing for objects. Now I’m beginning to, in a way. You should see the state of the monstrosities she flings indoors with me now. Anything to pass the time.

My angelico wants that fire blazing. I’m gunna have to obey. See ya in a bit. Don't miss the next installment.

∟^,M₭┐...🧠