Kickoff written by vichitrabanda

An Interruption

Exploration of Pain, Jouissance and Terror

It's just as I am about to arrive.

A thrumming pain. It begins in the back of my skull. I imagine a little bit above where my brain stem is located. It sort of announces it’s coming abruptly. A splat. If I had to give it texture, it would be wet, like when you squeeze a balloon filled with water. But it stays. The pain stays. The wetness stays. Rather than trickling down, it floats up, expanding its form to now engulf the entirety of my skull. Pain changes with the expansion. The thrumming eases into a monotonous beat, and the acicular pain moulds into flattened sheet, dousing my head in a pleasant warm shower. if pain had fingers, I imagine, that’s what a head- rush would feel like. Fingers that stop just short of my brain. Instead of scratching they stroke. But just as the wetness creeps up my skull, there is a loud bang, and I gasp for air.


"She is doing it again", he looks at me, through the crack of the door. "This is what she does when the room is closed", he turns
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away in disgust, but stays right there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop. Waiting for me to straighten my back. Waiting for me to remove my fingers. To let go of my folds.

But I am stuck.

You see, he is no longer there. The man in the doorway. Baba. Papa. Asad. He is actually in Oman right now. But he is also with me at my most intimate. Hunched over with me, between my thighs, looking at my index fingers gripping onto the strawberry seeded flesh.
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