the sorenest of them all
Monday, July 21st, 2008the lady re-entered the room as i was settling onto the table, and she proceeded into dimming the lighting a little bit before (to my mild regret) reverting it back to its original brightness level. i personally believed one’s senses can be significantly magnified in a darker room. she then went and started some classical music on the cd player which i slightly recognised. the ambience was set.
so i was lying there quietly as the lady began working on her foreplay. not bad, i thought, and i could get used to this. the way someone could apply those kinds of caresses and butterfly touches, there’s got to be some art invested in that. i felt so validated. and then it was over as soon as it began. the lady notified that she’s got her needle and presser on hand. ruh-roh. let the sadism begin.
i had the brief chance to think with glee that the room lighting was on that certain level. heaven knows what unfortunate casualties could happen when a girl like myself has to share some space with a needle-wielding lady. but i soon realised that it wasn’t the needle i was afraid off. the presser, my friend, is able to execute more pain. ever heard how tedious it can get trying to kill another person with a balloon? it might take a long, long time. but it’s quantum-physically possible. though the same effect can be reached through a forced sitdown watching a marathon of heidi montag’s "music vids". back to the presser. well, here’s a nugget of wisdom: the blunt objects are the ones offering the more intense torture. minutes shall turn into hours of deathwishes and a heckuva lot of uncivilised curses. bits of tears were shed as i repeatedly chanted my made-up-on-the-spot mantra in mind. i tried to think pony, cold mocha with little umbrella on top, croc shoes being burnt, bratz dolls…being burnt as well, willy wonka and his chocolate factory but the sting was still persistently there. it’s funny how some people actually get off from pain. i just guessed that my endorphin gland doesn’t work that way. in other words, it’s awesome, but no need to try it at home.
gruelling part done and the time arrived for the rehabilitation aftermath. the lady changed the cd. it was some musical orchestra befitting for a war scene on lord of the rings. with the implication of an earthquake-esque death toll no less. i cringed inwardly. but somehow the lady telepathically caught the inappropriateness of her dj-ing professionality and replaced the cd again. nice soft intro. i could get that. and the dude started serenading. the song was ave maria. i started wondering if i’ve actually died from the pain and was attending my own funeral. pinched myself. yep. everything’s still there alright. phew. it was all cuddling afterwards. though it got old after a while.
man, i hate facials. though i had the gall to think that i could propose for extraction facials to be introduced as a government torture tool. it’s unpredictable, out-of-this-world afflictive and guaranteed to assist interogators in extracting (pardon the pun) information or confession; even from the most unyielding of them all. think about all the political agenda that can be executed through this method.
oh well, that, and they should have nitrous gas on spas.
