Hi,
How you doing this week?
I have some good news. Better Read than Dead Newtown in Sydney now has copies of Perve. It's on the display shelf which is really great.
Gleebooks Sydney also has it.
or through your local Amazon (type in full name and title).
Opening page.
The story is told over a twenty year period.
It opens with a trial then jumps back ten years.
Clara
The
Trial
Aged
thirty-three
Almost
everyone in this court has some sort of say as to my future, although I don’t
get to tender a word. And yet, I’m the only one in the world who actually knows
what happened. How does that make any type of sense?
My defence attorney wrapped up his
closing arguments yesterday. This morning the Judge gave her instructions to
the jury. That alone was an hour. It was all boring legalise but since then, the
jury have been deliberating. I’m on edge. More than that, I’m scared. Truly.
Perhaps for the first time. Not scared of what I’ve become. I always knew who I
was. Well, from early teens anyway. Hell, most of us are aware of some sort of
sexual feelings in childhood. Perhaps before we know what they actually are. We
don’t suddenly emerge into knowledge. It’s a scattered, chaotic, struggle to
understanding. Much like the coalescing cells that create life. Or the
traumatic emergence from the womb itself. Do we ever recover from that
shock?
I knew I had strong desires. And I somehow knew that I should keep them private. People rarely spoke about sex in those days. Not in public. Not in front of kids. I didn't know that adults talked about it all the time. Or actually did it. And masturbated. Indulged in pornography. Went to strip bars, sex clubs and did it with strangers in fluorescent bathed black corridors. I knew nothing. I thought I was the only one. That I was somehow indecent. That wanking made me a freak. A perve.
I know different now, of course.
Many of us feel the same way. I grew to accept my interest in illicit,
clandestine, sneaky sex, if you will. Consensual sex within the confines of a
relationship is fine but I wanted it to be more exciting. More risqué. A
stranger. Someone I just met. A pre-arranged hook up. A pick up in a bar or club.
Someone who was in a position of authority over me. As I became older and more
successful, I also wanted someone who was beneath me. Literally and
figuratively. Sex with someone already in a relationship. Sex with someone
married. Sex with someone I worked with. The thrill of the chase. The
excitement of the unknown. All of that stuff.
Be careful what you wish for. It’s
what got me into this nightmare. Now I'm facing the strong possibility of no sex.
Or even worse. Prison sex. I’m not opposed to man sex per se. I've done it occasionally.
Usually as a last resort, when there's been no access to females. Especially
when I was younger. And especially when I was drunk. I imagine that being
inside Cell Block H isn't exactly a pool of potential quality partners. Oh
Jesus. Why am I even joking about this? This is exactly why I'm freaking out. And
for very good reason. My arse could soon be on a carousal.
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