01;
Elizabeth has come to a binding conclusion. Everyone is perverted. She is perverted. Her parents, our parents - although we all wish otherwise, are perverted.
Now she is sick, she has only the desire to fuck, drink martini and smoke pretentious cigarettes. she does this - we do this, because we, with our warped and painfully distilled sense of adventure like to believe we are enlightened. Enlightened like the teenage boy who realises the Beatles for the first time, the same teenage boy that doesn’t realise the Beatles existed until he found them.
She didn’t exist until she was sexual. Worthless, unloved - not by people, by god, the higher being that seems to direct our decisions. Maybe it was fate, rather. Nevertheless, sex is natural, even in the most unnatural of situations. A sloppy fight for survival, it is base and all thoughts are toward the climax.
When you first write those awkward words, the cry for help - your very own dirty message in a bottle, casting it out into the sea of sexual frenzy, it’s a buzz. New unfounded territories.
“I’m an absolute newbie to this” I write, adding a little innocent smiley thing.
“Well…” he retorts “we can soon do something about that Elizabeth”. wink wink, the computer equivalent of a sexual drive-by.
Everyone here calls me by my full name. Elizabeth-Rose. The men that post me messages generally like the young, studious, innocent, doe-eyed girls. Like me. Not like them. Not like me.
Everyone here has their wires crossed. Gay, Straight, Bi, Bi-Curious, Couples and seeking, Married and Seeking, Single and seeking, Single and skeeting. I don’t care, sex is physical. Right?
We lay as we are for at least 2 minutes.
“What do you do then?” number 43, Matt from god knows where asks breathlessly - he’s lighting up one of my cigarettes, inhaling, and casually passing it on.
“ Does it matter?” I growl between catching my breath. I snatch it from him. Letting it hang from my wet lips as he begins his mid thirties single male monologue.
“ I was happy - that was until I realised I wasn’t. I was never thought I was lonely but I was.” his faux soul searching makes me nauseas. I pass back the fag, sit up and look for my clothes. “ I was lonely. I was always lonely - I just thought that was what a relationship was.”
“mnn-hmnn” I answer, grabbing my knickers. Before replaying what I just heard. I look at him, propped up against the headboard of my bed, handsome, but tired. His body aged prematurely by all work and all play. Getting back into the bed, I close up to him and nod with an ounce of sympathy, but mostly the spinning sensation of déjà vu. “I know that feeling. Completely.” we kiss for the first time. He dresses and leaves.
In our 5 minute demoralisation, we have sought the golden fleece, we have seen god, and come back empty handed. We are spent, we are hungry, we are restless but we are left wanting.
Prologue
"In our 5 minute demoralisation, we have sought the golden fleece, we have seen god, and come back empty handed. We are spent, we are hungry, we are restless but we are left wanting."