TheRapist by J. Levy

mother hardly ever put the lights on. She always made the same things for dinner. Always white food. Potatoes, chicken, rice, turnips, parsnips. Always boiled. Everything always tasted of salt, which she used excessively because it was white. Just patches of white food on chipped LCC green plates. Ancient plates in that sickening green colour. Dinner never tasted of anything except salt. Even the occasional biscuit was white. She never let me drink anything except tap water and creamy milk. My childhood was tasteless and I was constantly thirsty and confused. So I used to spend time on this farm. A tiny farm with a farmer called Fred, on a small patch of land surrounded by semi’s. I always thought that was funny, Fred the farmer! I used to help Fred with the eggs and the cows, Errol and Flynn. We would brush the horse together, she was beautiful and her name was Sassy May. Sleek and brown with flies in her tail. Fred taught me how to take care of the animals. He would show me how to gently move the hens to collect the eggs without disturbing them. How to milk a cow the old fashioned way, by pulling on their udders. He really took the time with me. Have you ever felt an udder? It’s like a tiny soft dick. Even if you pull it really hard and rub it, it doesn’t get hard. Not like we do. Not like men do. Fred showed me that. He taught me the difference. After my father died, I didn’t have anybody to teach me about boy things. My mother wouldn’t tell me anything. The first time I got an erection I thought I was dying. I thought something had climbed inside of me to kill me. I was so scared. But Fred showed me what to do. He showed me how to make it explode in a good way so that you felt relief. I was so relieved. Fred told me that the reason it felt so good was because I realized I wasn’t dying. He was so good to me. I don’t know what I would have done without him? I would practice at night too, in my bed with a box of tissues. I would cover my face with a pillow so that my mother wouldn’t hear me scream. But one night she caught me. She opened the door just as I had thrown the blanket off because I was so hot and I was sweating and she caught me with it in my hands, just as it was exploding into the tissues. I will never forget the look of horror on her face. I could see her eyes because there was a streak of moonlight coming through from the landing window that was shining into my room, reflecting off my mirror. Her mouth looked like a gaping black hole, as if she had modeled for Mü nch, but the light in her eyes showed pure horror. That was the first time I ever really saw real expression in her eyes. Never before. Never again. She never really looked at me again. Not properly, not right at me. Fred made me feel better though. Up in the barn, behind the haystacks, he showed me that wanking was a good thing and that if I didn’t want to do it at home anymore then I could always come to the farm and do it there, with him and that he would never make me feel bad. He was so understanding that it made me want to do something for him, to make him feel good. So then I would do it to Fred. He showed me just how to hold it and stroke it and then he would feel good too. Sometimes he would almost cry with joy. I learnt so much from Fred. How to milk a cow, brush a horse, fuck a farmer .
     
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    The Therapist was in a rotting world of his own, as t houghts trickled back, seeping from a hidden shell inside of his brain…… as he lay on the used bed. Weeping. His body shaking with the force of his tears, fat belly trembling, causing slight ripples in the damp, gray sheet. He felt used. Dirty. She had made him feel like a slut. And how many times in his life had he made a woman feel that way? How many times? How many women had he hurt, using them as nothing but a sperm-dumper? How many women had he fucked, shooting his crap into their bodies, treating the lovely, sacred flesh of a woman as nothing more than a vessel? Now he