2008-10-10 - 8:43 p.m.
Jack's Titillated Captivation
Yesterday I held a hand gun for the first time.
I was over my old roomate's house and she asked me if I wanted to see her husband's gun.
She has asked before, but could not find it last time.
She knew where it was this time. Her husband was away and she scared herself watching some serial killer special.
Standing in the closet, making sure there were serial killers or boogie men in there for her, I heard her voice from the hall.
"Do you want to see his gun?"
I felt all of my senses still. Then heighten with the next breath in.
I am Jack's Titallated Captivation.
The way these aroused moments feel you almost want to say no. You almost want to hold yourself back. What are you afraid of? Liking something too much?
Feigning nonchalance, I said "Sure, why not."
But she knows me better than that.
For some reason, it felt like we were about to do something we were not supposed to. The gun is legal. Registered. We are both adults. But I felt almost like I was 15 again.
I sat on the bed and she got down what looked like a tool case from the top of the computer hutch. Opened it in her lap, then held up a black handgun.
Before handing it to me, she told me not to point it at anyone. It was not loaded, but you are always supposed to handle it as if it is. I know what can happen when people play around with guns. My sister knew a friend who had a friend accidently blown away right in front of her. His best friend thought it would be funny to put a real gun to his head and pull the trigger.
No one expected it to be loaded.
I told that story to my roomate real quick almost as an oath to be responsible. Then I reached out my hand and accepted it without hesitation.
I always thought I would be kind of scared.
But I wasn't.
A strange seriousness came over me and I was not afraid.
I wrapped my left hand around the handle, pointing it toward the floor. Fingers nowhere near the trigger.
And I liked what I felt.
It felt good.
Strangely familiar.
It felt right.
These days in most of my dreams I have a gun.
It was strange that I was standing like this in real life.
That this gun was real.
I sat down on the bed and laid it across my lap for a closer look.
It read "AK TACTICAL"
I know little about guns, but found this interesting.
The metal felt cold as expected. It also felt smooth. Butter smooth. Almost like velvet. I am a very tactile person. I felt it for a few seconds, surprised how soft metal could be to the touch.
Then I handed it back to her and she put it away.
These few moments only wet my fascinated appetite. I want my own gun even more. I know a gun is something I really should not have, but that only makes me want one more.
Part of me wants to be that much closer.
Part of me feels I would actually be a less self-violent person.
But if I ever wanted to be...
I am probably going to keep this little experience to myself.
My therapist would not approve.
Sometimes she thinks it would be alright for me to go somewhere where I could rent a gun. Get my jollies then go home.
Other times she said she does not even want me handling someone else's.
It probably depends on what I tell her that particular day.
But most of the time, my gun fascination is something she is trying to break me of.
One of those things that bothers her because I refuse to relinquish it.
Some things are better left broken.
If that is how she insists on seeing it.
Jack Is Still Fighting His Antagonist (2) - 2008-10-22
Jack Is Still Fighting His Antagonist - 2008-10-22
Jack's Recurring Nightmares Of His Antagonist (2) - 2008-10-22
Jack's Recurring Nightmares Of His Antagonist - 2008-10-22
