My mind has always been something I regarded from a distance, something whose workings I contemplated with curiosity, respect and something of worry. My mind has never been my own. When I was younger, it was easy for my mind to slip up behind me and do something that I could not explain to myself in the standards and rationales that humans have lying around so handily.
I would lie in my bed at night. Terrified of the things my mind was without doubt bound to do to me on the morrow; things that were going to cause me pain and stigma. To me they were normal natural things. But the world didn’t see it from my point of view. I was always the enemy, always the outcast. A good thing I thought, until I learnt that in the world of humans, it is the one with friends who survives. And so the cycle continued. I suffered for being myself, because my mind wouldn’t obey, because I didn’t want it to obey. There was a time I tried to care…
It tore me apart. The confusion, the self loathing… she was there, all the time. Soft and pleading, Reminding me (She who called herself my mother) that I was not cast in the ordinary mould. But she was never truly my mother. I did not need her. She stood in my way.
It is her fault she is no more.
I came to terms with my self; my beautiful, dangerous, pure self. I learned to observe my mind, to use it. To make it my greatest tool in this existence I conducted among these cattle, these milling thoughtless cattle.
My mind is my greatest possession. Nothing can tamper with it. And as I entered that therapist office, as I closed the door gently behind me and felt it lock with a soft snickt into the wooden frame. I knew,
This was war.
I regarded her coolly, but not too coolly. I presumed mid thirties. Well she was my aunt’s peer after all. This was without doubt an intelligent woman. Intelligent people have a slight… presence. She had it. As we exchanged pleasantries, I searched in my mind for the proper temperament to exhibit, the right mask to wear. What do people who go the therapist for the first time feel like? Awkward? Fearful? Defensive… all three?
I surveyed her. She wasn’t a bad looker for that age. She had a face that must have once been startlingly pretty and was now ageing in that distinguished well kept way. I looked at her soft creped arms, and like a swordsman feinting and parrying, I kept her engaged in conversation while I imagined the rest of her. Thick yellow thighs, shapely and dimpled in places… soft buttocks quivering furiously as I fucked her prostrate form over the desk.
Do you have a girlfriend?
No, what for?
Her voice poised, the statement hung in the air like a moment. the consequences of forgetting your mask.
“The thing is, I am at a point in my life where I m focusing so hard on a career, on making It.” …lower voice for effect. “I do not want to be a burden. My aunt cannot understand this. I know she wants someone to care for but. Now drench everything with emotion, “when my mother passed… I learnt I had to learn to be on my own. I don’t want to blame anybody for my hurt. I have to devote myself to my life.”
Her lips pursed, her neck angled. She was thinking. She smiled.
“Reginald, But you have to know that no man is an island. We all need each other. To be frank your behavior is worrying your aunt, she knows that…”
Ding ding ding ding… you are in the clear…
I like women. And not just because of the challenge. I like women because if you want to understand society, understand its women. Study women. Women were my hobby. Not to mention that masturbation is boring.
I liked this woman. I was not going to forget her soon.
On my way out, I threw the blister pack of sleeping tablets she had prescribed into the bushes.