“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”
-“The Great Gatsby”, F. Scott Fitzgerald
A guy called me and told me , very matter of factly, that he had a quicksand fetish. I think he was so matter of fact because that’s the type of swagger people develop when they have been laughed at or mocked in the past for liking weird things.
This guy didn’t even give me his name. I’ll call him Bob.
I misheard what Bob said at first. I thought he said he was into quicklime. If you read detective novels, or watch police procedural shows, you will know that quicklime is a powdery white substance fictional villains use on bodies to destroy the identity of corpses.
In reality, calcium oxide does the opposite. It would actually help preserve the body, not destroy it. We’ve all been duped.
Regardless, Bob corrected me and told me he liked quicksand. I breathed a little sigh of relief that there would be no corpsey cadaver sexy funtime hour, and then promptly became confused.
He had a role play in mind. I would be a girl in leather pants whose car breaks down at the side of the road (a great place for all vintage pornos and horror movies to begin).
In this scenario, my phone doesn’t work. Or I have no phone…and there is no one around….and I don’t know how to fix a car…and I’m dumb and helpless, so terror will visit me, which I deserve, let’s face it.
So Bob is lurking about, scaring me, and, since I am playing the part of useless twat in hot pants, I get scared and run into the woods. Did I mention my car broke down by the side of the woods? Marsh lands, specifically. Ain’t that just the luck?
I run, and I stop to catch my breath and gauge where the man who is terrorizing me may be. I can’t see him. Maybe I’ve escaped. Good, I can go back to my broken down car with no phone on the deserted road.
Wait a second….what’s this? What?! WHAT?! My feet are sinking! Oh no…is this…quicksand?! Quicksand?! Oh my heavens! Oh my word! Help! Help, I say.
Oh those stylish leather pants I just had to wear will be the death of me! Literally!
I hear a rustling in the bushes. I look up. Bob is crouched, watching my folly. And…what’s this? He’s jerking off! He’s jerking off to my folly!
Despite my distain and disgust, I appeal to him for assistance. I reach out towards him and beg him to help me out. He won’t, that rogue.
Just than he yells out “You shouldn’t have ignored me at that party, bitch!”
Um….Uh…..Sorry? Yikes. Much like quicksand, this story is deeper and murkier than I had at first thought.
I sank further and further down into the quicksand. Bob periodically yelled out something about what a bitch I was and how no one would save me. Bob came, letting out a sudden yell as he did so.
“That was great”, he said after wards.
“That was weird”, I replied. “What’s with the quicksand thing?”
Bob scoffed, like the answer should have been obvious.
“The Princess Bride,” he said.
Oh. OH! Okay…still not making heaps of sense here.
For those not in the know, in “The Princess Bride”, there is something called the “Fire Swamp.” Specifically, there is a scene in the Fire Swamp where Wesley and Buttercup are walking through the Fire Swamp. Well, Wesley is carrying Buttercup’s fine ass through the Fire Swamp. He puts her down, and she is sucked down suddenly into a pit of lightning sand, which is one of the three primary dangers of the Fire Swamp (the other two being fire spurts and rodents of unusual size.)
Wesley dives down into the pit of lightning sand to save Buttercup. They emerge together, suddenly, both gasping for air. It’s weirdly erotic and intense. It’s like they are cumming together.
This guy is obviously a member of the millennial generation, because he gets a hard on for nostalgia. Of course, he takes it much further than just wearing a Goblin King t-shirt.
I am also a millennial, and I also get seriously jazzed for nostalgia. While I was pretending to find my demise in the rapidly sinking earth, I was actually thinking about “The Never Ending Story”, specifically the scene where the young brave Atreyu’s beautiful white stallion Artax succumbs to the dreaded “Swamp of Sadness”. I had to use a lot of willpower not to shout out “Artax, you’re sinking!” while roleplaying.
I was also reminded of the part in “The Wizard of Oz” when the Wicked Witch of the West is melting, and she exclaims, “Oh, what a world, what a world!”
This generation loves nostalgia out of boredom and fear. There isn’t a great deal of interesting art being made so, we’ve regressed. There is a lot of shit being made, but, it’s all very safe and dull.
For example, the reason that “The Ghostbusters” remake sucked so hard is that it was obviously politically motivated, whereas the original was just fun and interesting. It had no agenda except to be a good story. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with being a good movie that brings people joy for generations to come? When you make a movie that obviously is making a political statement first, you drain the joy out of it. You make it a university lecture on gender politics that people are attending because they need the credit. So, people go backwards to find the things that were just fun and enjoyable. Movies they didn’t have to sit up straight to watch.
When I was looking at scenes from “The Princess Bride” on Youtube, and reminiscing fondly about the movie, I made the error of scrolling down to read the comments. There were a bunch that just banged on about how the movie was sexist. Right. Okay. Sure. Call me when you become interesting, generation.
There is obviously darker shit at work here with Bob, which is that one, this is obviously a revenge fantasy for the “bitch” who didn’t talk to him at the party, and two, this is, let’s face it, a snuff fantasy.
He never specifically said I died, but, the obvious outcome of being sucked into a pit of quicksand would be death.
I have had snuff fantasy callers before. I had a guy who wanted to strangle me to death in a hotel room once. I haven’t had a lot of snuff callers, but they are memorable. There are phone sex companies that cater specifically to violent and snuff based fantasies. I considered joining them. I thought maybe the money would be pretty good. Maybe that sounds callous, but, I entered this business for mercenary purposes.
I looked at the websites profiles however, and it seemed too disturbing, even for me. There were profiles of girls proclaiming to be crack whores that you could readily abuse and destroy. I was concerned that even though it wasn’t real, that I would somehow get affected by being exposed to that level of violence.
I never found out who the girl was that Bob was so angry at for ignoring him. He wasn’t much of a talker. I’ve had revenge callers before as well. Men who have outright stalked women that had scorned them. It’s sad and scary.
I guess though, if you have violent thoughts, acting them out on a phone sex line and feeling the release of it that way is better than acting upon the urge itself. I’m not a violent person, but, I know what it is like to have rage and hatred course through your veins like fast acting poison.
I’ve mentioned in past posts that I was raped and almost killed by a former boyfriend. I used to have violent fantasies about hurting him. I know I would never do it, I know it is natural to feel this way, but, I never dreamed that there would ever be a point in my life when I would feel that way about another human being. I imagined that with one swift act of vengeance the past would finally stop being a burden to me, and that feeling was intoxicating. Living with that feeling was extremely uncomfortable, yet there was something about it that made me hold onto it for a long time. It was like a dagger in my gut I just couldn’t pull out for fear I would bleed to death from the wound.
There’s a big gulf between thought and action. Thinking doesn’t make it so, and doing means it can never be undone. But…I wouldn’t say that violent thoughts don’t do something to your mind. Your brain is a physical specimen, it shifts with the ideas that roll around inside of it. Something is altered, even when these thoughts leave.
Edmond Locard was the pioneering doctor behind forensic science. He created Locard’s exchange principle, around which all forensic science rotates. This principle says that someone who commits a crime cannot leave a crime scene without leaving something behind and taking something with them. Thus, trace evidence.
There is nothing wrong with thoughts, even violent ones, as long as they don’t punch through that wall that separates them from reality. But, take it from someone who knows-if you plan on indulging in them, be prepared to clean up the crime scene left over in your mind.
- "Wherever he steps, whatever he touches, whatever he leaves, even unconsciously, will serve as a silent witness against him. Not only his fingerprints or his footprints, but his hair, the fibers from his clothes, the glass he breaks, the tool mark he leaves, the paint he scratches, the blood or semen he deposits or collects. All of these and more, bear mute witness against him. This is evidence that does not forget. It is not confused by the excitement of the moment. It is not absent because human witnesses are. It is factual evidence. Physical evidence cannot be wrong, it cannot perjure itself, it cannot be wholly absent. Only human failure to find it, study and understand it, can diminish its value.”
- -Paul L. Kirk.
