Dismemberment

[headpop]

A study in anotomy? Not quite. More like a study in empathy, though it has been known to have the opposite effect. She was the only tutor of her kind. No one else anywhere in the whole world taught what she taught. She'd start at the head and work her way down. Spending the whole day, sometimes two on just one aspect of the human body. The eye. The ear. The hair. The nose. And working her way down; the neck. The shoulder. And the really pleasureful ones, tutor understandably made him stay a little longer. The breast. The nipple. The belly button. The vagina. The thighs.. It was actually kinda funny that some people thought her to be a meditationist. A feminine monk of some kind. But what Deedee really was, was a therapist for the very ill. A woman who taught men how not to be sick. A woman who made men worship what they were, what she was. And everyone in the inner circles swore by her. They called her a psychological accolade. A woman who conquered the mind with fetish. Who made beautiful what was meant to be beautiful, piece by piece. A meaningful dismemberment of the human body. Loving and meticulous. Intimate..

Ramond's door knocked and his mother answered. "C'mon in." She said. "He's been waiting for you." "Is he still crying?" "No. He stopped. He's in his bedroom." "Thank you." And she climbed the stairs, slowly and curvy. Muscle bound in feminine virtue. When she went in she was gone.. hours spent in an intimate eternity..

[headpop]

"I don't want to do this anymore." "I do." She said. Her legs crossed. Two beautifully shiney shins in front of his hunched nervous sit in the chair opposite her. She had a way about her.. Calming. On the verge of sexy all the time. The smell of soft scent surrounded her, and filled his otherwise scentless room. Her presence well known, she said: "Come here, Ramond." And almost immediately he went down his knees. Slowly walking towards her. She handed him her hand and he took it, first nervous, but then feeling the warmth of the skin. The weight.. The trust she'd just given him, letting it relax in his grip. "Study it." She said, and Ramond did. Putting it up to his face..

[reflux]

good start :)

[headpop]

Intimacy is a thing far away and alien to most of us. Most of us have the tendency to thinking we should shy away from it like a disease. But truth of the matter is that even the most macho of people the world had ever seen were highly intimate. Some, obsessively so.. Ramond was sick and rendered indigent by a lifetime of a lack of intimacy. And that's what Deedee's role was. Like a nude poser in front of a painter, only the painting was in Ramond's head. A painting of something far more interesting, just by sheer definition alone, than what he'd thought. Something far more mysterious too.

And he was learning it.. piece by piece. Attached meaning to what would otherwise be a dissection. Attached life.. And eventually domination.

[headpop]

Deedee once wrote a Thesis in Grad School titled: The Coffin of Life. In where she theorized that the secret to living life to its fullest, in all freedom's virtues, wasn't a big opened field of territory to be conquered. But instead what she called "microscopic intimacy". A cramped and debilitating prison cell of life, all accepted and loved as it really were to survive; a prisoner in any cell could find comfort beyond his wildest dreams. Domination was the misunderstood matter of the conscience of the 21rst century. And she spent the rest of her career "experimenting", proving to the scientific community that it was true.

Ramond was one of her subjects, and his therapy was well underway. Were his mother to have walked in on them she'd think something very very wrong was taking place.. But in Ramonds mind, and in Deedee's, it was a psychological nirvana. A place of emotions excited far beyond normalcy. And a place of growth.. unbelievable psychological growth.

[headpop]

"That's it.. blossom.." She whispered. It was the loudest sound that came from the crack in the door..