I'd like to stick something into the gap between her two front teeth. I suppose there's something inviting about an opening within an opening, another place behind another place, and yet...
"I haven't always been a good girl", she says. "You'd be surprised by some of the stories I could tell you."
I'm hoping that she won't tell me because there's something innocent about her and I want her to remain that way. I don't want her to be mesmerized by me. I can tell, though, from the way she talks that whatever stories she wants to tell me will be of the harmless variety. And it isn't just that. You see this happens to me all the time. I tell a group of humans a few stories about myself and there's always one woman whose holes get wet at the danger of all the little things I've done and then she'll go on to tell me about the time she was caught with a boyfriend fucking in someone else's dorm room or some collegy shit like that.
"Everyone has stories", I say. "But it's usually someone else's story."
And I understand the repulsion and the attraction to an unbeing like me. It has to do with doing things humans wouldn't normally do; acting upon and reveling in those thoughts hidden in the unconscious. Humans act like they're seeing something they have never seen before, but what they're seeing is someone doing things they could never do but would like to do.
I'm here to tell you though, that I would like to change. I no longer want to be the excrement of the collective id.
"I'll tell you one day", she says.
"Maybe you can", I say.
"Maybe you can pay me a visit some time", she says.
And at one time that might have been the start of something dangerous for her--that inhaling of blood particles in the air that would have had me swallowing anxiously--but not anymore. It's not the start of anything. At one time such an invitation would have led to her inner thigh where I would have ripped the femoral artery from her body and lined my throat with her blood. She'd let me get closer than she should have and I wouldn't be able to resist because it's the nature of the collective id to give in to temptation through socially acceptable ways. Like war. Or documentaries on serial killers. Or soft porn. Or me.
But I'm starting to feel used. I'm starting to think that you humans should start doing the id's work yourselves and leave me the fuck alone, because ever since the day that filthy human told my story, it's been one sucking and fucking, one killing and blood-spilling after another. Sometimes I'd just like to relax and not be such an evil bastard, but nobody gives me the chance. So I'm sending out a plea to you. Don't throw me back into the fucking mix. Lay bare the unconscious yourself.
All I'd like to do is have dinner with this girl who has a gap between her two front teeth and just fuck her in the normal way. No sucking. No ripping. No hypnotizing. No damnation of her soul and all that dark, evil shit. So don't take this there. I know you really want to, but I'm appealing to you to continue in a lighter vein.
Maybe I'll meet her later and she'll tell me her stories and they'll be harmless just as I had hoped and not filled with sexual innuendos that would get my blood racing to the point that I would use stainless steel devices on her before I clamped my teeth into her thigh. Maybe this will be the start of a less destructive theme for me.
But then I think of the people who deserve my wrath. The holier than thous. The do-gooding narcissists. The same people who need me to rail against, who secretly wet themselves in excitement at the thought of me because it gives them a chance to quench their primal thirst for killing. I would find great pleasure in ripping them to pieces, if only they would let it go that far? But they don't, because the collective id doesn't like to turn on its individual parts.
But what about you? Would you let me do it? Tell me that you would and I'll take her by her hair and rip the muscles from her back while I fuck her. I would do that for you, if you let me do that to them. If you let me do that to you. But I know that you won't. So I'm asking you to just let me have a nice quiet dinner and some pleasant conversation because I'm thinking to myself that I like her too. Just like that. No sucking, no blood, no killing. Just like. Plain, old simple like. You see, there's nothing wrong with that. I don't have to do more than that. Just like her.
So I tell her, "Sure, I'd be happy pay you a visit."
I say it sincerely, but then I shake my head and think to myself that you'll make certain that I do.