|Atlas-Shrugged Love (standard:Satire, 674 words)|
|Author: Ashok Gurumurthy||Added: Mar 19 2005||Views/Reads: 2177/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|An imitation of Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged.|
Lucy was formally dressed as if for an office meeting; yet in her posture—she was sitting erect on the chair—Jim detected a casualness which needed and sought no concealment in the grim rigidity of her concentrated attentiveness. She seemed not to ignore his words but to destroy the foundations upon which they stood waiting for her acceptance by granting them that complete recognition of their worth through thoughtful nods. Jim did not know whether the simplicity of the shock he felt, that he felt no shock, angered him or amused him. With his usual lightness of step, he walked to her and slapped her on the forehead with the back of his hand, but it looked as if she had slapped him. He slid one arm under her thighs and the other behind her neck and lifted her; then with a tempestuous calm he threw her on the bed. She was gently gazing at him, but it was clear to him that it was not she who had bidden him to bid her bid him do that but his amused shock at her amused acceptance of his childish amusement that did. She undressed herself slowly appearing to challenge him to stop her. She then noticed how his features had changed: the two planes that his cheeks had been had puffed up in ugly admittance of his want for the need for her; his nose had become thinner in invitation of contemptuous silence; the glint in his eyes had transformed into the granite paleness of his hair. He now pounced on her savagely as if the savagery could obliterate their mutual desire. One could not have defined what kind of violent acquiescence it was that melted the overwhelming burden of weariness and active resilience into indifferent self-immolation stemming not from the desire to inflict hurt but from the cautious recklessness of the transient certitude of consequences. She knew that neither indifference, nor fear, nor respect, nor awed adulation, could induce him to make her want to hurt him, but she did know that feigning absence of these could. And he knew she knew it. He also knew that if she resisted he would have to rape her and if she consented he would have to force her to resist. But he dared not name his fear of the unknown fear that he should have to endure pleasure if she should not resist giving consent or consent to resist. Neither of them knew what they should do if the other chose to break the one's spirit by choosing not to agree, nor to disagree, nor to not care, nor to be indifferent, but to be casually interested. When their naked bodies met, their passion was stirred. They knew that the highest compliment they could pay each other for the mutual pleasure was to insult their act. Jim said, with sedate bestiality, ‘You are much better than a one-dollar whore.' ‘You are much worse than that whore's pimp would be.' ‘I was referring to a whore who cheats by selling her soul rather than her body.' ‘I was referring to a pimp of the soul.' ‘Don't suffer the delusion that I was fucking you silly for the sake of fucking you silly. I actually enjoyed it.' ‘I know it.' She had said exactly those words which would torture his soul with the allegation that what was to be their common hurt had become excruciating pleasure for him. He now said ‘You are a senseless bitch'. She smiled simply—with the detachedness of a simple fool, but they were both now aware of, but dared not voice, the consternation that, instead of feeling the sated languor of a masochist, they felt the terrible shock that they felt no shock that they had failed to be amused by the incredible possibility that there would be no shock that the hurt the one felt could not hurt the other as it should, because of the consternation that, instead of feeling the sated languor of a masochist, they felt the terrible shock.... Tweet
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