Acetone Enema
by Nicholas Tillemans


"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does
not become a monster. And when you look into an abyss, the abyss also
looks into you."

Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

  I never thought it would come to this…but, then, who would have? Who would have ever thought that I could have fallen in love with my now so dearly beloved? I am not the sort of guy to point fingers or play games or have respect for things that don't deserve it. And, by the way, neither am I the sort of guy to have nightmares nor think of things that
are offensive to other people. I just delight in my predicament. Mine is a love story. Let me hail it from the rooftops that I love my sweetie with every ounce of my uncommonly immutable passion. So who cares what anyone thinks? To me she is deserving of only the very best. And given that she has been challenged every step of the way, it only makes me love her more. She has fought and won every impossible battle. She has infected and treated me in one broad, magnanimous stroke. She is at once the creator and the destroyer. And I am the man who loves her. I am the
pleased captive. Perhaps, I am the nexus.

  Suzy was born without a head. It took fifteen years before she was able to express her opinions in a suitably subtle manner. For years she was tutored around the clock to comprehend what was said to her and to, upon comprehension, respond with one brief, albeit somewhat unflattering, spout for "yes" and two for "no".

  She spent many of her high school and college years being studied and tutored in a controlled environment. She was taught Morse code; and learned to form simple sentences. Her instructors eventually required her to wear a jar over her head, as she grew quite fond of conversation.

  She seemed capable of thought and feeling. But there was no brain. She was an enigma in a Chinese puzzle box locked inside a chest and buried deep inside a secret dark cavern. She was all spirit. There were no conservative explanations for the phenomenon.

  At once I was troubled and fascinated. There was a charming plainness to her. I felt as though I could read her every thought. Not only was her body attractive to me; but also her whole manner was pleasing and amazingly subtle. Conversation was often a logistically tedious endeavor; but it was always worth the inconvenience. I would crudely
translate my ideas into Morse code and tap them out on her wrist. She would sometimes respond with a "yes" or "no" or shudder or simply put her hand on mine and caress it. Sometimes she would get excited and run on and on in Morse code. I always translated her strings of long and short spouts into English and thought about what she had to say.

  It was only a matter of time before she was entrusted exclusively in my care. Suzy was a testament to an otherwise unsupported theory I had championed for years. I studied her very carefully. I measured the volume of the discharges erupting from her neck by customizing the jar we placed over her neck with a vacuum pump and a graduated cylinder. I
was careful never to assume a direct parallel between her crude sentences and the reality of her inner experience. More than anything, I felt a need to facilitate her in being herself.

  It wasn't long before I craved to be seen in public with her…to walk with her on my arm. And I could not get her out of my mind. As much as it seemed it was all about her, I was able to overcome my own selfish inclinations and be there for her. My friends half-applauded and half-ridiculed me. They kept asking me if I was "getting any". I was mostly the gentleman. I never told them about our steamy nights of passion or the frenzied euphoric plateaus we reached together and surmounted time and time again. Besides, a man like me would never flaunt a thing he wanted to keep.

  I sometimes joked around with my friends about her--saying things like how she is delightful at dinner parties...I just put a bag over her head...she'd be no worse than a stroke victim if only she could aimlessly yell for me like a retard...ETC. I always felt bad about it after I had said things like that. I must have seemed like a real jerk ...thinking so little of even myself. But, then, I've always owed it to my friends. Well, of course, you understand. If ever you introduce
anything into the equation that will make friends obsolete or in any way lower the significance of their presence in your life, you have to convince them that you think, as a matter of fact, you have taken a step backwards in your life. Your friends are always out there at the end of the tunnel. The light is always amongst the very best of friends.

  Before Suzy, I used to jerk off all the time as I imagined raping thirteen-year-old boys and girls, drooling and squirting over the pages of such magazines as "Smooth and Little". For a couple of years I got off by driving up next to playgrounds in my Dodge cargo van and masturbating to the music of Jefferson Starship. That was all back in the day when I had nearly shoulder-length, curly blond hair with distinct bangs and a black oral sex mustache which I dyed every week. Occasionally a concerned parent would spot me and I would come instantly. I would quickly engage my van and burn rubber out of the parking lot or wherever I was parked. No one could ever prove anything. It was never all too obvious just what I was doing. Besides, I was an esteemed pillar of society. I was probably just some sentimental guy who enjoyed watching kids play in the park.

  I wooed Suzy for years. I remember the night we kissed for the first time. Initially, it was really just a matter of me removing the jar over her neck and sucking gently on the stump. But she soon began stroking my penis; and, when it was fully erect, she mounted it. She rode it very diligently until I was at the very brink of rapture, at which point she
was not only riding me more wildly but also madly spouting quarts of gore from her neck. My cock exploded inside her. In all my life I had never known such ecstasy, such a loss of all control. I even licked her neck clean and came once more down her throat. I rubbed my body over hers and fell asleep beside her. Not a word was exchanged. There was no necessity in it...or so it seemed at first.

  When I think about it now, I guess I really was disappointed that night. I couldn't put my finger on it. I had reached a milestone in my life. I had almost come to a realization...probably I had and just wasn't aware of it. All my life, I had always been reaching for something just beyond my reach. I had clearly grabbed a hold of something, though I wasn't convinced whether or not that was what I had been reaching for all along. It was that feeling that troubled me. If,
in fact, I had found what I'd been reaching for, the feeling was not so tremendous as I had hoped. It didn't make me feel any more secure or any less alone. In fact, I could only see how I would feel worse if anything changed.

  Maybe that's what love is all about. But, then, maybe I don't know anything. Maybe I've never really felt it. I mean, it all looks good in the movies and you always wish you had something that would come close to that sort of thing. You never do; and it would drive you mad, only you can't tell the difference except when you're just splitting hairs or drunk and can't get it up...well, maybe, that's just what she said. Come on, who are we trying to kid? She hates you; and you are definitely wrong. Just ask her. She'll tell you if you press her hard enough in the wrong place.

  I could never find the wrong place on Suzy. She never said "wrong hole" or anything like that. Well, she couldn't. But that's beside the point. She never communicated anything to me to the effect that I was entering or had entered the wrong hole. Every nook and cranny on Suzy was fair game. Not that she was "fast" or anything...but just that she
always aimed to please and never found anything too kinky. That drove me wild and I had to intimately know every inch of her body. Night after night, I explored her body from head to toe with my throbbing cock; and I always found a place to put it.

  Occasionally I would buy Suzy a new wig to put on her jarhead. Sometimes I felt like a redhead, sometimes a blonde and sometimes a brunette. I always got off. From fucking her throat to doing her up the ass, I always shot my wad. She was great and I always tried to do my part.

  I took her out to fancy restaurants. She was never an embarrassment. She was always neat and tidy. She never had food dripping down her chin or even any stains on her blouse. She would stick a funnel down her throat and use a tiny novelty plunger she had picked up on a trip to Vatican City to carefully force her meals down. She always enjoyed the
food and usually found the service impeccable. I always found the service to be top-notch with nothing left to be desired and never had a single complaint. I always paid the tab and always left a generous tip.

  Though Suzy always ate reasonable portions whenever we ate out, it became the case that those portions could no longer satisfy her fierce appetite which had grown exponentially from what it had been before she had come under my care. When we would return home from our dinners out, she would eat at least another five times whatever we ate. Amazingly, she wouldn't gain a pound; and, in fact she lost weight. Soon, I was buying groceries enough to feed six or seven grown adults. I examined her very carefully but could find no explanation for the frenzied climb in her metabolism. There was a correlation between an increase in her libido and the change in her metabolic rate...but I couldn't find any sort of causal relationship. Of course, I had my suspicions.

  I liked to explore her body and try new things with her in bed; but, strangely, the nights soon led invariably to her guiding my penis into her asshole where she would finish me off via the manipulations of a set of muscles over which she had gained complete control. This behavior seemed to correspond to her increasing appetite. I could find no
explanation for any of it. She would have it no other way. I would pet her clitoris and feel some juices running out; but I couldn't work her up to a level of excitement that would produce an orgasm without sodomizing her. Strange as it sounds, she would sometimes even push my hand away from her vagina and refuse to be touched there altogether. It
all felt rather awkward at first; but she assured me that she found our encounters to be as much as twice as pleasurable as ever before. I always got off and was never disappointed.

  The first time I fucked her ass, I popped something back there...some large gelatinous ball that smelled like ripened raw sewage when it popped and spilled out across my bed as I fucked her. At first when I had run into it, I tried to pull out; but I had forced the ball back a bit and was sucked in at it. The ball popped as she worked my penis over. She squeezed her muscles so tight at times that I was afraid she would permanently flatten me. The additional lubrication, however, made the experience extremely pleasurable. The foul stench made me think about pulling out; but I was too aroused by the prospect of continuing.

  I had always been excited by the thought that there would be undesirable consequences to my actions. As the consequences became clearer, I invariably found myself knocking on ecstasy's door. As my bed soaked up quarts of gore and sewage and my flesh took on a stench that would not rinse away anytime soon, I lost touch with myself. As much as I felt unsettled, I was mostly complacent about that feeling. A single vague feeling was parasitic on my mind and existed in the moment to the exclusion of all else. All other concerns registered only insofar as they augmented that one inescapable cluster of emotions.

  Sex with Suzy was always as good or better than the previous time. I had never experienced anything so incredible with other women. Before Suzy, sex with a woman had been too much like sex with an inflatable doll. You blow the thing up and fuck its vagina and its face a couple of times and it's great. But, after just a couple of times, you end up
greasing its ass so you can fit into that ridiculously tight little pocket. Before you know it, you've popped it and it's deflating in a series of squealing and farting noises while your coming inside it for the last time. When you're done, you just cut its face off and make a mask out of it, because you can't think of anything else to do with it. I never had that problem with Suzy.

  Years ago, I had taken the liberty of recording several of, my at-the-time girlfriend, Linda's orgasms. I would listen to them sometimes when I masturbated. Those coos, moans and cries really pushed me along. That was, perhaps, the only thing left to be desired in Suzy...though I also sometimes missed the occasional sucking and tonguing of my ears. When Suzy and I were getting it on, I would often times play the tapes I had made of Linda to supplement the experience. I don't think Suzy was ever cognizant of that. It was probably for the best. It would have hurt her if she'd known. As much as I cared for Suzy, I had my secrets. I don't know whether she realized it, but I think I had them because I was never hard pressed to share. Were I to have divulged them, the effort wouldn't have accomplished anything positive anyways. It would have only made Suzy wish for things she couldn't have. I did consider building a device into the jar over her head that would churn out all those pleasant moans and cries at the touch of a button. But then I started thinking that there was so much more I could do on top of that.

  There are too many improvements to think about them all. Were I to go down that path, I would never find a stopping point. That is not my goal. I want closure. I am all about finality. Suzy is the woman I will marry one day. She has no dreams of fancy wedding or anything of the sort. She has no desire to have children. Myself, I am undecided. I am
afraid the children would take after their mother a little too much. The precious thing about Suzy is that she is one of a kind. I would always be resentful of the children for taking that away from me.

  They have made a scandal of this whole affair over at the University; and, since, I have left my position there. In a pinch and strapped for cash, I have retained a position at a local collection agency. It's been a change of pace; but I am an adaptable creature...unlike most of the people I talk to each day. I don't care who it is. If it's some little old lady who can't do anything but sit in a wheelchair and suck through a straw, I don't care. I'll go in there and crush her like a bug. There are no excuses for being a parasite. There is no glamour in it...no mysterious passion or energy there. There is no reason to feel compassion like a sucker. They all have excuses they invent. They want people to feel sorry for them. They lie and cheat and steal and cover for themselves until one of their relatives can produce a death certificate or until they get backed into a corner... whichever comes first. I have no passion for my job...no desire to talk with the people I deal with on a daily basis. But I make bank every month because I can.

  I pay my bills and keep Suzy fed. I love my life. I love Suzy. I love fucking everything up the ass. That's the best part of life...when you finally come to that realization. "Please...may I...you wouldn't mind if I...." Just fuck it. Why else would it exist…to care for you? It's selfish and even more so when it doesn't seem that way. Fuck it until it begs you to stop and then fuck it harder.

  My alarm went off this morning and I didn't feel like getting out of bed. I showered and shaved. I went to my closet and thumbed through the hangers. I don't always like what I see; but, then, I could really dislike it.

  I must be middle class. I would fancy myself being an extravagant type but, then, I am all too familiar with the predictable fashions...ties and shirts by Perry Ellis, Kenneth Cole, Halston suits, etc. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and I can tell that my blazer hangs just a bit better than the ones that don't. I can tell that the top button on my shirt is murdering me; but I hold myself in check. While I could invest the extra hundred or two dollars here and there to have each cut and size precisely right and to fool everyone into thinking that I have class, I have no need for it.

  Suzy is lying topless in my bed with only her white bikini panties on. She has no reason to get out of bed at this hour. She can sleep as late as she likes. I'll have this picture of her in my head all day; and I'll come home to her with the same desire I have right now. Sometimes I resent getting up and going to work. But Suzy wasn't made to work a day job. I make more money in two years than she could in five. Deep down, I think she realizes that and is grateful for all I have done for her. The thought consoles me; and, while it seems she is always looking to get more out of me, I think it's just an attempt to hide her insecurities. So, I know it shouldn't bother me. But it does...

  Really, I'm afraid of what’s become of our relationship and of what's become of Suzy. I only hope its not too late. My friends and family have all started vanishing from my life. I suspect Suzy of cheating on me. Worst of all, she's cheated on me with the people closest to me; and, then, those very people have vanished from my life forever.

  I would never bring it up to Suzy. But I have found some of the most grotesque things in the garbage…all wrapped neatly in black plastic bags. They must be remains of animals or maybe human beings. But they have no skeletal structure.

  A couple of weeks ago, I thought I saw the remains of my friend Steve in our trash can. But the thing looked like a deflated flesh sex doll. Something inside me said that he got what he deserved. I basked in the glory of the thought for a while. But, now, I think that it really was my friend Steve…and the pool boy and the mailman, etc. I’m scared to
death.

  Suzy has done the unmentionable and must be purged of whatever force has possessed her. She is a monster or an angel. I can’t tell which. She is devouring everyone around me. Am I next? I’m not perfect. My friends betray me; but they’re my friends. My family betrays me; but they’re my family. Suzy doesn’t care. She destroys whatever deviates from a set of values she holds dear. But I don’t understand her criteria. I don’t want to understand. I just want her to stop.

  To that end, I’ve been meaning to give her a good scrub…to burn all of the evil out of her soul. I don’t care what my psychiatrist told me the other day. I am not imagining things. He tries to tell me that I cut Suzy's head off with a hacksaw. He even tries to tell me that I killed the mailman, the pool boy and my friends...and family. I keep telling
him to check the house again or call the University. I didn't cut Suzy's head off. She never had one. I tell him that she's probably where I left her this morning. But they won't check the house. They say I've been here for two or three years. I left my house this morning and went to work like I always do. But they picked me up and brought me here.

  I have to go home and fix the problem. I wish they’d let me see Suzy. I have to find a way to fix her. I know they’re lying to me when they tell me they can’t find her. And, yet, they insist on keeping me here.

  They ask me where the bodies are. I can’t tell them. I don’t know. They claim that they’ve been looking for Suzy for several years. They assure me that she isn't at the house. So, I play along and think really hard. But, then, all I can remember is that she used to hang out in a dumpster somewhere. They keep asking me where. I can’t remember.

© 2001 Nicholas Alan Tillemans. All Rights Reserved.

Visit his web site:  http://home.earthlink.net/~ntillemans