Wednesday 10 February 2021

Your Mid-Week Update for 02/10/21

English is such a strange language. We don’t have a word that describes the butterflies in your stomach, we willfully chose not to called a “Pineapple” “Anana”, but we have a word that means both “disembowelment” and “eye surgery”.

Needless to say, I’m very glad that my search history is not tracked in any way. I don’t think I could handle the embarrassment.

On the plus side: my murder den is officially up and running. I took James on a tour of the place last week and we christened it before heading out to find our first victim. It seemed only right that I let him choose the inaugural human whose life whom I would experiment upon.

I also hate English grammar – in case you never noticed before. It’s just ridiculous. So long as the other person understand what you’re saying, who cares if I end my sentence with a preposition or dangle a participle? I’d much rather end lives and dangle bodies.

I am so sorry. The joke was right there and demanded that I make it. Please keep reading.

I’ve always found it very sexy when James picks out victims for me. It’s a kind of foreplay, it helps to build the anticipation. Over the years, I’ve also discovered how much James likes to watch me work. I’m grateful he hasn’t done too much hands-on work – I like to think I’m keeping him as safe as possible by keeping his hands clean (relatively speaking). It also means there’s a sexual tension weaved into our murders which I used to find off-putting.

Look, I know a lot of people think there’s a sexual element to serial murder. And for a lot of murderers, there absolutely is. But not for me. Genuinely. I don’t find sexual satisfaction from gutting someone. Fascination, curiosity, satisfaction, joy. But the only thing I find sexy is the way my husband comes up from behind and whispers his orders in my ear. The way I’ll drive slowly down the street until he leans across my body to point at the stranger coming out of a shop and definitively says: “him”.

The way I can feel his eyes on me as I stumble across the street, taking on the guise of a woman in distress, knowing that my husband is watching me. Only the two of us know our little secret. I’ll admit, I get a shiver of anticipation upon seeing his smirk of pride when I successfully pull the stranger into the back of the car, closing the trap door.

Many times, James won’t dictate how I kill or what actions I take once I’ve t successfully captured my victim. He knows that this is my element and he trusts my expertise (which is an aphrodisiac in and of itself) but every once in a while, I like letting him take complete control.

Tonight was not this night.

Tonight (and by “tonight” I mean Saturday night), he helped me drag my victim into the murder den and then sat back and watched while I went about my work.

Which brings me back to my hatred for the English language. I went and Googled “evisceration” for instructions on how to disembowel someone and found information on removing an eyeball and naturally got distracted. I never knew I had a dream of removing someone’s eyeball with an ice cream scoop but now I do.

It feels nice to achieve my dreams. Even small ones.

This year has been so shitty when it comes to feeling a sense of freedom and normalcy so it felt like a treat to myself. I got to have a night of fun with my husband, a stranger, and an ice cream scoop – and, just, so much blood.

So much blood.

I love it.

My point is…

Make yourself attainable goals and English is a stupid language.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

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