vamp-pirate, Queen of drag; Lavender Film Noir; Electra’s dictionary (jm muse chronicles)

Of course I cannot go back to Jörn’s place, my head is not able to face his family

And knowing that Hanna will be staying at the penthouse in the bedroom that faces south I take another way to the master suite that faces north

I shut the door of the bedroom and lean against it shaking. I sink down onto the floor thinking ....

how much of all of this did Jörn know before we ever met? How can I trust him? am I everyone’s pawn?

It is my sense of trust that causes me to stumble; my lack of better judgment; mistrust. I wonder in this swirling panic : How did I think I could trust Jörn...?

Why —why did I ever trust Jörn....? why???

When I need no one ...

have I just been dazzled by those pirate eyes; those haunting eyes that pull me within their private den. Like the priestess Elan?

Should I question .... the parallels ....and patterns; and behold the codes

The parallel lives.... what do they mean ?

but then what about the haunting dreams that —is real, or, no, I mean ....

that is something—yes.... ? Or am I certifiably out of my mind which .... I have often come to wonder especially these days

Only maybe this is somehow part of some larger picture that I don’t quite understand....yet

I remind myself now: I don’t need anybody

As it’s always been just.... the celf.... just me and the celf and so it shouldn’t change now just because ....

I force away those other things. Those .... things of curious and compelling mystery that have kept me up so many nights. Like his haunting music. His fascinating mind and mystique. Those nights awake to his pounding the piano keys ....Watching his shadows on the wall .... the wild madness of his passion and

those unspoken things between us in the dark. When we come together. How I always turn to him in sleep; and always wake up wrapped around and pressed against his hips; even the first night when I first slept next to him; he broke all my codes .... never trust; never let anyone in. Especially not .... in sleep; the most personal space of all.

He got inside the walls. How? I don’t know why; as if he’d already been

have I betrayed myself.... by trusting him? why did I — what made me trust him?


I walk through the master suite to the washroom. Shut the door. Lock it. Lean against it and .... sink down.... and tell myself again: Nobody owns me.... I belong to me....

I remind myself now why that was always the policy.... never trust, don’t let anyone in, I am mine

my own Frankenstein

.... freak that I am, and ....

I really don’t care that nobody understands,

I like it better this way

I am not made to fit a standard,

so ....fuck it

And yet, here I am putting things together thinking-/he set me up

and what a disappointing mistake....

I feel myself begin to fall apart,  like swirling in the sinking labyrinthine spiral of weeping through the waters of Lethe I start to cry

How long is mercury retrograde? I wonder, as my mind feels like an atom bomb ready to go off


In the hysteria of emotions I think: Unfinished business —lesson missed; the Viking was sent to destroy me again. I think over everything that just happened with Willem and am so heavily sunk in this morass I decide to fill the water in the tub....the need to....wash....to be clean; find safety in

myself.

It is about an hour later when I hear the sound of the doorknob being turned and jolt up,  reaching for my glasses. I watch Jörn walk right in.

How —the fuck— dare he and how—the fuck— did he? When I locked it?

I don’t notice what he’s wearing, I’m too angry and shout at him

“I locked the door! Do you mind?!”

“Did you really think you could lock me out?”

It is only now that I notice

~He is dressed in drag~

He wears a satin black kimono that reaches above his knees, his long, and quite beautiful legs are clad in black fishnet stockings. And only now I notice he is wearing kohl around his eyes and something iridescent on his lids that makes him look even more like a vampire-pirate

“I read you like this,” he says with a lecherous smile in an exaggerated seductive tone as he kneels down next to me beside the bathtub ....he leans on the ledge of the bathtub and starts to wash me like a geisha

I jolt back stunned and am caught up in staring at him and it makes me think again of how he likes to dress me up, like the night of the opera

He does not make a pretty transgender but that does not detract from the erotic impact that.... it has on me; I dare not say exactly how it is intensely disturbing nor dare admit how arousing. I dare not

“You —do this —to—distract from —the fact that....”I seem to forget what I mean to say

“What?” he is nearly laughing at me but holds it back as he leans closer in this way so that his hair seductively falls loose. He looks directly into me as if blatantly reading my mind. He reaches to put his fingers in my hair and takes hold of my face,

“You don’t trust me because of what Willem said—you think I have been setting you up.”

“Well haven’t you?”

I watch the black kimono fall open as he intentionally leans in this way and he watches me with a smile,
“do you really believe that, or are you so used to taking flight, min lilla duva?”

“This is a slutty trick, Jörn....” but my anger has somehow become deflected, “you want some hidden code from me— and—you think I have some buried secret— like —I am —like —a buried treasure ....for the pirate to mark with a big X crossed—“

“Where?” he asks and puts his hand into the water and touches me, “here?”

“You —can’t do that ....so ....easily,” only, sadly,  that is not accurate but I look right at his eyes and don’t blink and firmly repeat, “you can’t.”

“No?”

“I —mean....you expect me to —to.... trust—“ I stop what I am saying as he distracts, no, not his fingers, instead it is the opening of the kimono and what it reveals, “....that isn’t fair,” I stammer and say, too weakly to be convincing, “it is so ....low....”

“Is this low enough?” he asks but he means something else

“Seriously....”

“Ask yourself....min lilla duva, what do I have to gain from ....decoding you?” and now everything he says takes on double entendres

“Stop confusing me,” I touch him, reaching for him with my hand to lay upon him

because he is so far away I use my left to grip hold of him by the kimono to pull him into the water with me

but he laughs

“No, I don’t think so!” and hauls me from the water like a sack of swords, kicking wide the bathroom door and on the way out he bites my neck and says into my ear,

"Låt mig vara din lesbiska älskare,” and laughs

but I don’t know what it means

It is later— after—


I do not realize that we hold hands and it only occurs to me now when I feel his long fingers stroke across my knuckles with their long sweeps. I do not realize it.... because his touch has become—or always was—is —subconscious to me.... as if he has become—is—a part of me.... his touch..... somehow anticipated.... these hands and fingers that know me intimately, do I trust?

“Where did you get these?” I ask him, touching him through the fishnets

“An ex lover left them,” he shrugs with levity, but I don’t really believe him