Witch and Wittens
Dreamed 2012/2/20 by Wayan
I'm sculpting a dance troupe of centaurs: the Cendancers. Carve then glue two Barbie dolls together into a gracile centauroid, stretched out prone, resting her chin in her cupped hands.
But the hands droop, then fall off! So much for epoxy! The strongest glue in the world, right. I'll go back to dabs of silicone caulk, that seems to glue Barbie skin pretty well.
And now for paint. I'm thinking... cloud leopard. Ah, those big rosettes...
Break time! Drive out to Golden Gate Park with my friend Cory. At the foot of the huge lone pine by the buffalo paddock is a gaggle of birdnuts gawking at an owl nest 12 meters up. One owlet's big as a large kitten. Adorable.
But I'd rather watch girls watch owls than owls. A tourist family comes by with a tall slinky feline blonde and two shorter teenage sisters with fascinating faces--wideset eyes and synchronized expressions and stances suggesting they have, like my sisters and me, an empathic link. They feel like wildlife, not human at all.
I like that. So sexy!
But they hop into a car and drive off.
So we walk Balboa Street. Cory points out a blonde violinist practicing at bus shelter. My type? Attractive AND a musician, but her aura's too normal, too human. I feel shy around her. I didn't feel ambivalent about those owl girls in the park, barely passing as human.
Blurt to Cory, "I'm still unready to date. My Lyme treatment's only half done. What if I'm still infectious? No one really knows much about it." Is my caution realistic, or just a rationale for this shyness that's based on... the sneaking sense I'm not human? Why am I only attracted to rare weirdos?
Cory and I go see the newest film from Miyazaki's studio, The Secret World Of Arietty, based on Mary Norton's old book The Borrowers. Bittersweet. Mouse-sized Arietty really likes Sean, but he's human; a giant to her. It's impossible. She'll have to marry that shy feral boy who brings her grasshopper haunches and grunts at her. The Borrowers, her tiny species, is nearly extinct. Life's given her zero choices.
I know the feeling.
My sisters and I have been hunting a treasure. At last we fly round the world to Hong Kong to meet a witch or seer. She's pricy, but said to be accurate. We need to know not only where the treasure is, but what, exactly.
We three crowd into her tiny bathroom and sit in a row, as she slips into oracular trance. But it feels fake to me--a calculated act.
Witch and her Wittens
And then our worst enemy walks in--a pale catlike brunette in a long slit maroon gown. A sorceress chasing the same treasure. Sits by me, touching me, brushing legs and hips, her seductive aura oozing in through my skin. I don't look at her after the first glance. No need.
It's the oracle I'm glaring at! She acts unsurprised. Bribed, then, to set up this little scene. Low!
I stand and say coldly "I see our time is up. Thanks for your advice. We'll leave you to your next client, then." And just leave.
Not long after I hear a BOOM. Fire and explosion! The sorceress for sure, but are the pyrotechnics her triumph at driving us out, or rage that I didn't succumb to her judicious slice of thigh?
My question's soon answered. I have a vision: in her mansion, our rival's delighted at our rout. Her half-dozen minions, weaker witches, kittens to her cat (wittens?) all cheer from the top of the stairs. The Sorceress, at the foot, straddles the ornate wood banister and rocks with her gown up around her thighs, she's so excited. What was that explosion, to turn her on like that? Her wittens leap and rub. Some erotic power in the blast. But the Sorceress controls her sex, always; flashes legs and squirms and says "I'll use THIS on him." On me.
I know we'll face off tomorrow again. Uneasy. I think I'm stronger, but what if the Oracle Witch joins her? Not so sure, then. And the wittens seem weak to me, but... collectively?
I feel disgusted AND attracted. Never felt such a push-pull before. Any way to reconcile? Puzzle it over for an hour. In the end I conclude sex'd be safe with her only if I zapped her with a euphoria spell so she'd forget her ulterior motive. And that's rape; a spell's no better than a drug. Worse, we'd be fertile, I can feel it; she'd bear a powerful witch baby. So I'd have a few months with her, then have to take the child with me; couldn't let her raise it. But I'd be just as unfit a parent, after using sorcery on her! No, picturing the consequences of my angry fantasy convinces me: when we face off, I have to just ignore her sexiness. It's a mirage. Just can't work. You can't fuck mean people.
A third feeling flowers: disappointment. That feels deeper-rooted than either anger or lust: it's whole-hearted, unambivalent. Tomorrow, don't hide my disappointment! Let her sense that: my deepest judgment of her.
Still, my grim sex-fantasy warns me how vulnerable frustration makes me. I need a girlfriend I trust!
And then I wake.
NOTES IN THE MORNING
SIX YEARS LATER
In 2012 I talked a doctor into risking long-term antibiotics on me. It worked; I improved a lot the year I was on them, and kept the gains later. Not a full cure (well-established Lyme is nearly ineradicable) so I still take herbs to suppress flare-ups. But they're mild now. I'm healthier--and a lot happier.
In 2016 I also learned I that by the DSM's criteria I'm clinically autistic--very smart, which somewhat masks it, but... there are real reasons I have trouble dating & sustaining intimacy--especially with neurotypicals. I need LOTS of solitude; too much couples time and my immune system collapses. I relate better to animals--or that rare girl with an animal soul. My highly autistic, kooky, kinky provisional (not permanent) solution was the Foam Furs (Caution: furry nudity, sexual issues)
In 2018, I ALSO learned that most of my other symptoms (extreme flexibility, odd proportions, fragility, easy bruising and connective-tissue injuries, constant joint dislocations) are from Ehlers-Danlos syndrome; a rare mutation weakens my collagen. Some types of EDS cause high-functioning autism too. No wonder I only like weirdos; I literally am a mutant.
For a zebra (the slang name for an EDS patient) I'm doing splendidly. Still single... but clear at last what odds I'm up against.
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