kristinhardy
Guard
You definitely will not have to wait a year. Not even a week. But there is a surprise ending.
yeeeees!!!!!, quickly, quickly, quickly!!!!!! lolYou definitely will not have to wait a year. Not even a week. But there is a surprise ending.
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Kristin, I really hope you keep sharing your fantasies with us. I find them deeply arousing, very well written and incredibly intense.“Go on with describing your fantasy,” my mother says.
“After both wrists have been nailed I offer up my feet for nailing.”
“What precisely do you do?”
“I place my right foot twisted slightly inwards, with the heel flush against the stipes. Then I place my left foot over the right foot. My executioner adjusts the position so that a single nail will pass through both feet between the space just inward of the big toe and next toe.
“Then I feel him position the nail at just the right spot. It must go through the space between the bones inward of my big toe and second toe on both feet without actually breaking a bone.”
“It is difficult for him to do that if you are struggling,” my mother says. “You need to lie still otherwise it will be a botched job.”
“I know. I am afraid I will not be able to do it.”
“Go on. What happens next?”
“He hammers the nail through both feet but not into the wood.”
“And then?”
“He pulls my feet down a few inches so that my knees are just slightly bent. Now the heel bone of my right foot is hard against the stipes and my feet are at a 45 degree angle to the horizontal. Then he hammers the nail into the wood. I am now fastened to my cross.”
“So far you have described what will happen to you very precisely,” my mother says. “What happens next?”
“My cross is lifted and allowed to fall into a hole with a thunk. I am now hanging on my cross. My feet are about a foot off the ground. My arms are stretched taught at an angle of 30 degrees from the horizontal. My feet rest on the nail that passes through both of them, I feel pressure on the heel bone of my right foot pressed hard against the stipes. I feel what Jesus felt.”
“Do you embrace your agony? Do you feel Jesus inside you?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you can’t know until you are hanging.”
Again, we look into each others’ eyes.
“You are very nearly right my darling. Just one detail. Before you lie on your cross a circle of barbed with will be placed around your head. It will be your crown of thorns.”
I understand how strange this must sound to any reader. Here is my mother, who loves me dearly, and who I love more than anyone else alive, calmly discussing with me the details of my forthcoming crucifixion. Everything is in the future simple tense. It is understood between us that this is not a hypothetical. It will happen. I really am going to be nailed to a cross. I really shall hang from a cross suffering the agony of Jesus.
Only, will I exult in that agony. Will I embrace that agony? Will the agony be my ecstasy? Will I feel Jesus in me as I hang on my cross?
Or will I just die a terrible death “to no avail” as my mother put it.
My mother, the rock of my life so far, offers me no assurances. It is a chance I have to take. And we both know that is what I shall do. I shall accept my crown of thorns, lie down naked on my cross and see what happens.
What's going to happen ?Four years pass. During this period I am consumed by just three things. One is, of course, mathematics. Specifically combinatorics. I have proved a number of theorems and published one paper in Journal of the American Mathematical Society and two in Inventiones Mathematicae. My professor tells me I am certain to win a Fields Medal. I don’t care. It is the mathematics that is important, that consumes me.
The second thing is sex. I cannot get enough sex. Early on I discovered I was bisexual. I like everything about sex. Especially I like a foursome. Any combination. Me and three bisexual men. Me with two men and another woman. Or me and three other women. After all, my mathematical passion is combinatorics so you would expect me to want every conceivable combination.
Sometimes people think mathematicians are asexual. Some are. One of the most famous mathematicians of the twentieth century, Paul Erdős, probably was.
He was of no permanent abode. Instead he travelled the world collaborating with mathematicians. He would turn up at the house of a distinguished mathematician somewhere in the world, would invite himself in as a house guest and spend a few weeks or months in collaboration. Then he would move on to the next mathematician who might be on a different continent and start another bout of collaboration.
Some mathematicians have what is called an Erdős number. Paul Erdős himself is number zero. Anyone who has co-authored a paper with Erdős is assigned an Erdős number of one. If you co-author a paper with someone who already has an Erdős number of one you get an Erdős number of two. And so on.
Bill Gates’ Erdős number is four.
My Erdős number is two!
Eat your heart out Bill.
At the other extreme some mathematicians are permanently randy. Albert Einstein, not strictly a mathematician, was a womaniser. What a pity he’s dead. Imagine being fucked by Einstein! The thought makes my pussy wet.
The popular image of Einstein is an elderly grandfather figure but the young Einstein was a sexy hunk. I wonder if he would have enjoyed a foursome. I bet he would have. I’d have convinced him to try it.
No prizes for guessing my third obsession. It is my upcoming crucifixion.
It is not something I discuss with any of my fellow mathematicians or my sex partners. But it always there at the back of my mind when it is not at the front.
My mother and I discuss it frequently and in great detail when I visit her. She tells me some of what I will feel. The muscles in my legs will start cramping. The cramps will spread to my abdominal muscles at which point I will feel as if my bowels are being squashed. Which is what is happening as the muscles cramp.
“The point about crucifixion, my darling, is it inexorability. No matter how intense your suffering at any moment, you know that the next moment will be more intense and the one after that yet more intense until you die.”
My mother explains all this to me very calmly. She leaves me in no doubt about crucifixion. You are nailed. You hang. You suffer. You die. And that is the end. There is no singing in a heavenly choir for eternity. You are dead.
If the cross truly is your destiny you will experience a joy while hanging, while suffering, that only those destined for crucifixion can know. Every moment of agony will be an eternity of heaven.
If, on the other hand, you are wrong, it will be the worst possible end to a life cut short for no reason. Every moment of your crucifixion will be an eternity of regret. It will be a hell beyond anything that Dante could have imagined.
And there is no way to be certain. You will not know whether you have made the right choice until the hammer strikes the first nail for the first time.
Sometimes I lie in bed alone and sob uncontrollably. I want my cross. I want to feel my nails. I want to hang. I am terrified of my cross. I lust for my cross and I fear my cross. It looms and it beckons. It pulls and pushes. But that cross is always there. I cannot escape it. I will submit to it. I will be nailed to it. I will hang from it until I am dead. I cannot escape.
No date has been set but my mother assures me it will happen “when the time is right.”
Then, a few days after my twenty-second birthday my mother phones. “You need to come home my darling,” she says.