Tales of a Hyper-sexual Spy
What are we reader? We’re talking monkey’s on a rock shooting through the vast sea of space…halfway between the animals and the gods. That’s exactly who we are…no doubt about it, no messing. Things are changing and they’re changing fast…with our technology we become more like the gods every day. But we’re still half chimp. What a life to be born in to!
Does that make us crazy? Are we crazy? I know you’ve asked yourself that question. I know you know how it feels to ask yourself that. Close your eyes and remember that feeling. That uncertainty. That dry taste on your tongue. That’s how I’m feeling today. Normally I think that we’re all crazy, so I don’t concern myself with the question. But anyone would start to wonder, I suspect, if they had their psychologist in a flood of tears.
How did I get psychologist in the first place?
I didn’t do anything crazy. Nothing much was happening, you know…down there. I have to use products if I want sex. It vexes me, it’s not natural. The doctors tests found nothing wrong and referred me to a psycho-sexual expert. Now, a little wild as it is, my sexual nature is not my main psychological concern. My main concern is…
I’ve no idea if I’ve killed anyone.
It’s not that I don’t remember, it’s that I remember that I did, and that I didn’t. Before you go running off to the police, I should tell you that I’m a spy and that the dead in question were hardened terrorists. But whatever…I should remember just one version of events…it’s more like three or four depending often on how much I’ve drank and on the incident in question. I know that one day…way out in the sweltering sandy desert, Jihadists exploded an IED in the midst of a group of schoolchildren. Their dismembered bodies bleeding…crying…dying. Sand in my face, the smell of blood and shit, the smell of death. I remember running messages, guarding a prisoner, and tending to a dying boy. His brains leaking out into my hands. The way events played out though. I could only have done one of those things. Why would I remember doing all of them? It vexes me as well.
Later that night, I remember fucking the camp’s gorgeous blond haired green eyed lady doctor. Her kisses were bitter and tasted of the salt in her tears. I fucked her with a loaded pistol…I also remember I didn’t do that…because I was playing cards and chain smoking.
Later still that night we intercepted a communication from the the terrorist commander…he was laughing and I fell into a hatred as deep as any love I ever felt. And like you reader, I’ve felt a lot of love. Six weeks later I tracked this bastard and his bandit brethren down….I remember that I showed them no mercy…I called down an air strike and thirteen of the enemy were slain, in a flash, a split second and the power of the hell fire missile ripped the very earth itself. I also remember that someone else found them, perhaps using my work, and that I in fact was eating a ham and cheese sandwich when the killing took place. I remember the cheap taste of the processed square of cheese as clearly as the earth ripping.
I brought this up with the the psychologist, my nails scratching the leather of the sofa I sprawled across…the smell of her cheap perfume dangling in the air. She began to cry…now I have two psychologists. One for sexual disorder and one for PTSD.
As she wept my time was up…but we hadn’t discussed my sexual nature at all…
She doesn’t know I’m badly behaved…she doesn’t know how I love the taste of a dripping wet woman in my mouth or the feeling of a man’s cock hard in my hand…she doesn’t know how much I love role play…she doesn’t know that I must have had a thousand lovers…that I paid some and that some paid me…she doesn’t know how hard I can come…she doesn’t have a clue how it feels deep inside…she was thirty years my senior…old and kind, but she doesn’t know I would have spread my legs for her…and even though nothing would have happened down there…in some sense it would still have sung my body electric…a kiss on your neck…both dammed and divine…the shivers on my spine…we all know that feeling don’t we reader?
So tell me…am I crazy?