I WAS A SEX SLAVE ZOMBIE

The sexual Sahara that was my love life stared back at me from the mirror. It
said in a Tantric, Yogic, Buddhist, Gregorian type chant.
When was the last time you had a ro-o-ot
When was the last time you had a roo-oo-oot .
Om Muddi Padi OM! Om Muddi Padi OM!
It was as relentless as some of my friends. Hey! when was the last time you
had a root Mic? Hey Mic! When was the last time you had a root. I’d take a
deep breath through my teeth mentally rolling back through the calendars and
disappear into godforsaken desolation.

What you need is a good root! My reflection kindly implored from the
other side of the glass.

I had begun to notice subtle changes in my thinking patterns since my last

intimate encounter with the fairer sex. Which seemed to be exacerbated whilst
at my preparatory toilet, prior to an evening’s entertainment and socialising
with friends. My mind would dally with ideas of meeting a nice girl who could
converse intelligently with me on a broad range of topics, would compliment
my wit and humour, be philosophical with a pleasant and non overbearing
disposition, be practical in the area of motor mechanics. Have a sweet angelic
face, long flowing hair, nice legs, clear skin, sparkling eyes a slightly sultry
look and above all, the most important thing of all be a good root, root long,
root hard and root often root, root root root root ro-o-ot!

Sorry ladies and gentlemen I apologise…… it was the word sultry that did it
that time. All it needs is just one little trigger and I’m gone. My mind tumbles
uncontrollably into this darkened sexual tar pit shutting out all other cognitive
processes. My power for abstract thinking, GONE!, Syntax GONE, The ability
to decipher signs, symbols, metaphors ALL GONE. I’m continually on the
slippery slope that’s on the edge of the precipice, the next step a sickening
void where I become a lowly groaning, slowly gyrating think I’m sexy vehicle
of DNA the only thought of parking that vehicle BACK AND Fill, BACK AND
Fill, Reverse Forward, Reverse Forward. Touch the bumper don’t touch the
bumper, Touch the bumper don’t touch the bumper. STOP!

By using a cognitive behavioural therapy approach with positive and negative

reinforcers. My positive affirmation CBT statement is to repeat loud and long I
AM NOT A SEX SLAVE ZOMBIE, I AM NOT A SEX SLAVE ZOMBIE! NOT A
SEX SLAVE ZOMBIE! SEX SLAVE ZOMBIE NOT! Then stand back from the
vanity sink to get a full roundhouse swing I would give myself a good wallop or
two on either side of the face. By this method I was able to drag myself back
to the brink to rest precariously on the slippery slope enough time to fix myself
a little drink to temporarily flatten my carnal urges. And wait! Wait for my
mates to see what possibilities the night will bring.
“Let’s go to the Castle and have a game a pool”. This was the road to abject
misery why did we have to get on it so early. The alternative go to the
Scarboro and play pool. How long, How long, How long can I play pool for?
One hour- 20 years. Sometimes go to a party “any girls there?” None that like
me. The option to drink more beer add a chaser keep looking at girls, this girl
that girl, this girl that girl MMMM Girls, MMMM Girls Girls Girls Girls. Try this
drink try that drink lets go to a club it’s dead here. Meet some girls, talk to
some girls, see some girls nowhere, nowhere I keep ending up nowhere
totally pissed and totally rootless. Maybe if I bump into this girl on the dance
floor and give her my half idiot half moron smile shell fall in love with me and
well live happily ever after. Maybe if I dance close with constant eye contact
she may notice me……. I’ll do my James Brown, John Travolta, Michael
Jackson pissed pastiche of contemporary popular dance, the bouncers throw
me out for dancing like a dickhead.

That’s when I become a Sex Slave Zombie. Don’t blow me a kiss or look my
way, avoid eye and all other contact at all costs, keep your arms and limbs
inside the ve-hicle, please fasten your safety belts I REPeat Avoid Eye
Contact. Do not offer assistance if he staggers or falls give a full 3 metre
clearance if vomiting the grasping arms and grappling claws of the sex slave
Zombie know no bounds. The hideous kissing maw must be avoided at all
costs.

Another weekend night tag along with a friend to a party at his sisters. I don’t
get excited over sisters, their often a disappointing replica of my friends. They
just don’t count. We move out of our social scene if there is anything social
about it out. Friday nights wishing you were somewhere and someone else.
The sister’s house is without lights maybe we got the wrong night we knock
anyway. What my friend’s sister called a party involved people sitting on the
floor in a large circle waiting for the next joint to arrive a bong master
perpetually loading cones. I quietly drink, politely decline bongs and joints
make polite disjointed conversation to really stoned people many of them
mute. I am careful not to speak loudly or quickly, but maintain a gentle patter
and engage in conversation without being overbearing. I get away with some
light humour, am knowledgeable on a variety of subjects; I listen with interest
and am starting to enjoy the ambience of this peculiar party. I totally forget
about girls and enjoy the convivial sense of being in this place and this time
conversing with this fine group of people.

Then just when you least expect it, “love” comes walking through the door.
However it was not the front door, and there was no knocking more like
someone unexpectedly falling through a window. I became aware of heavy
breathing close to my skin searching hands fingers making circles in my back.
I stopped conversing momentarily as I had no idea what the origin of this
attention was animal, vegetable, mineral, male, female? I checked the bar
code it was the correct item. I was bemused, excited and mostly terrified,
Terrified that it would stop as swiftly as it started terrified she would disappear
if the lights went on. Terrified of how I was going to navigate the next step as I
had done nothing so far I was fearful that by doing something the spell would
be broken the best thing I thought to do was nothing.
I may have been intellectualising the process I was possibly paralysed and
unable to move. She bought out her tongue making wet circles on the small of
my back a highly erogenous zone for me which when the tongue is used
extends over the rest of my body. I now know that I had been paralysed. She
had taken complete control of my body my mind was shortly to follow an
insistent voice inside my head started a mantra I am a Sex slave Zombie, I
AM! A sex slave Zombie it continued slow persistent distant jungle drums ever
nearer ever louder ever, ever, ever! Now mute I was commanded to turn and
look,
Her eyes said, I am! The Zombie Sex Queen, You are! A Zombie Sex Slave!
Her tongue slid up my back under my shirt over my shoulder up my neck and
into my ear. Primal urges were taking over I was walking the Savannah,
climbing back up the tree indifferent to the loss of my opposable thumbs. I
was the ape man Ooooh Cooo Ca Chooo! She spoke words into my ear, “Lets
Go”. Taking my hand like a trained circus chimp she led I followed. We kissed
at her car she led I followed. We kissed inside her door she led I followed.
We kissed inside her room she led I followed.

I was putty in her hands. Every whim was her desire. I was plastic man,
elastic man, Silastic man ooorrr! FANTASTIC Man! She was a shape shifting
me around the room the aeroplane swing, the pile driver plastered against the
wall, bounced off the ropes she used the chair, I was Fay Wray she was King
Kong. In a tumble dryer with something wet and sticky attaching and
detaching, I came up for oxygen, plain air wasn’t enough. Dragged into a
sexual mangle I was spin dried, I was drip dryed, I was- tongue- tied.

WHEN, she had finished the foreplay.

She got down to the business, the tin tacks, the fundamentals, the sine qua
non if you get my drift. I looked at the ceiling and thought off--- rafters rattling
away from wall studs. I heard floor joists bouncing off stumps. Windows
rattling out of casements. There’s probably a crowd forming out on the street
bemused neighbours quilted dressing gowns, stripy pyjamas and Y-fronts
wondering wether to call the police or better not get involved. Best not to look
I closed my eyes and imagined…… a jellyfish pounding a sea cucumber to
death.

Then a single sky rocket that one shot at the moon that goes beyond, past
Mars, Saturn, Jupiter then bravely curling and snaking around the outer
planets still onwards and upwards seeking that ultimate place that little corner
of the universe where a thousand tongues work every inch of your body that
sweet darkness of universal bliss beyond the galaxy beyond the cosmos
beyond known thought that quiet zone of deeply held breath and anticipation
of the exploding multicoloured mandala where the self extends beyond the
self where for one nano second truth, brotherhood of man, the incandescent
canonising glowing warmth of true love and final satisfaction in the
achievement of that one perfect goal is all about to happen. Where intellect
ethics, morality and any sense of decorum quietly slip out the back door.
When you give the gift of your DNA to another Greater Love Hath No Man.
A distant door with the words in red lights above it, “Evolutionary Success Exit
Here”. I am running to it my feet and heart pounding in unison, Running,
Running, Faster and Faster the lights brighter and brighter, closer and closer.
I yell to the door “I’M COMING”
I momentarily think of Sigourney Weaver in Alien, get out of the
spaceship! She’s going to blow!
Why would you go back and get the cat?????

Then ppphhhh! That’s PPP- HHHH. Ppphhh! The brave little rocket stalls
splutters offers a rasping little cough just trying to hold on to what it’s got. It
holds position for just a moment then gently falls slowly beginning to tumble
through the cosmos, accelerating through the galaxy no curling and snaking
around the outer planets this time just fading, fading, fading. The planets melt
and blur to grey darker and darker to black inkier and inkier a lightless
soundless space. Beyond this there is nothing.

Morning….I am sitting at her kitchen table trying to mimic polite conversation

around her Ken Done décor. I ask meekly if she has a bus timetable “here
have mine” she retrieves it from her room. We go to kiss at the front door a
possible chance at rekindled passion, she turns her cheek, I kiss the air.

In the glaring light of day I view an unknown suburb the only clue to my
whereabouts ….a bus timetable. I open it to unravel my place in the world a
scented piece of pink paper with floral corner motif appears with a message
addressed to No-Body.

“Don’t worry, it was probably me”.

And to this day I will never know who ME was! To me, SHE Will always be the
Zombie Sex Queen and in dreams I will always remain her ever loving Sex
Slave Zombie.