Born again Electra 3

Today  the sun is gloriously shining. Today is the day of my rebirth. All my “sins” have been purged. I don’t believe in sin of course, I lost any belief a long time ago. Pleasure and transgression are my only values.

Saïd is gently snoring at my side. I open the curtain and let the bright sunshine in. He stirs, rubs his eyes. He has a beautiful body. Could he be of some use to Dieter and I? Could he help us lure some prey?  Things were getting tedious and I don’t want to let depression get the better of me.

He  kisses my neck very tenderly.image

” You look so much happier this morning. Shall I bring you breakfast in bed?”

I give him my most innocent smile.

” No, let’s go to a café… We’ll have coffee and croissants.”

And here we are, enjoying the French experience. I am just an unwordly British tourist, enjoying simple pleasures, basking under the warm Parisian sun. I am glowing, exultant. Ornella is just a distant memory, slowly decaying in a bin bag. I revel in my ultimate triumph and her ultimate defeat. Life is beautiful.

The judement of Paris Electra 2

Wandering through the streets of Paris in the pouring rain. I am staying in a dingy little hovel in the Rue Pascal, next to the Boulevard Arago, very close to la Santé Prison. Good health to you! This is where they used to execute people, carry out public beheadings and everything. I’m sure you would have loved it dear

I am doing my best to avoid tourist attractions, one can never be too cautious. I have come here to fee, not to attract attention to myself. I still remember that strip club we went to not so long ago, the one that was full of Russian hostesses. We felt like demigods then. How times have changed! I wasn’t yet devoid of humanity. I felt compassion, real compassion for them. You said they were just making a packet but I hated the way you humiliated and degraded them. Now I feel remorse or is it just disgust? You would call it self pity.


Remember the Stranger by. Camus? He killed and didn’t feel remorse. But then again he killed more or less by accident, because of the sun, not for thrills, and he paid the high price for it.

I go to a shabby little bar still in Bd Arago, still under the same downpour. I order a brandy, then two, then three and then more wine. My lips are cracked and smeared with red.

” Do I look like an assassin?” I find myself asking one of my fellow drinkers.

” No, you just look like a drunk.”

” Are you American? Are you American? One guy keeps slurring. One Albanian pimp and two whores are sitting in a corner. One of them is staring at me. She has very blonde hair and icy blue eyes just like Ornella. Ornella… Tears come to my eyes. I start sobbing and hiccupping in my drink.

” Hey, don’t look so sad.” It´s another guy, an Arab called Saïd.

” Come to my place. We’ll have some whisky. That should cheer you up.”

We leave the bar. It’s still pissing down. Saïd and I kiss. Paris city of love.

His place is not very far and looks a bit like a shoe box but he has some pretty persian rugs. He tears up my bra, bites off my breasts. I tell him I want him to give it to me up the arse.

” Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

He thrusts deep inside me and for a moment I forget everything. Even the pain is delicious although not the exquiste pain that Dieter could inflict upon me. He slaps me around a bit but I can tell his heart is not really in it. When he’s finished, he holds me tight in his arms. We drink some whisky

He asks again when I am looking so sad.

” My boyfriend killed a girl and  I helped him.”

” You’re joking, right? Is that why you want to be punished? Cause you’ve been a bad bad girl?”

” Hold me tight. Hold me very tight. Right now I don’t want to die.

Some cats are meawing outside.

” Hey, would you like to do some sightseeing tomorrow? It’s my day off. We could go to the Louvre or Versailles or the Conciergerie…

Kings and queens, Marie Antoinette and her severed head, all the headless victims of the Terror… She’s here, Ornella is here with her glassy eyes, her putrid smell, the dark blotches on her face… How I was holding her, half unconscious while Dieter was inflicting the blows. But she is triumphant now, she is defying me.

I stagger to the bathroom and vomit.

” Are you okay? ”

” I’m fine. Too much whisky.”

Soon it will be dawn. Soon I will get on with my life. And I am alive. Alive.

By annagaelle

Electra complex

Dieter is rich. Dieter is sadistic. He is my German lecturer and teacher in the art of cruelty and submission. He enjoys demeaning me and he said I would enjoy it too. And I enjoyed part of it. He says we are two of a kind.

Oh, I remember how we met at the little cafe in front of the Uni. He came and sat next to me. Me the goody goody pupil so desperate for top grades and validation.  School prefect, daughter of an army colonel and all that. I wanted to be recognised by someone exceptional.

” Mind if I join you?” Steely blue eyes staring at me.

” I was just about to leave actually.” I feigned indifference and gave him that disdainful look.

” I won’t stay very long. And I would really like to get to know you better.”

I stayed. That was his first victory. It was far from being his last.

I soon left the digs I was sharing with my friends to move into his flat. The first day I roamed in a bit disorientated. His flat was so pristine and luxurious. I wondered where he got his money from. He told me he had a private income. I did not dare inquire any further. I was dazzled by his brilliance and his intellect. For once I had someone I could look up to. imageimageI was up for anything. Let me repeat this to you. I was up for anything. Restaurants, nightclubs in London, so unlike the local disco in the dump where I come from, fine wines and silk lingerie, and a spot of cocaine now and then. And the sex of course. At first he was gentle and caring but I knew he wanted things to get a bit rougher. I told him I wanted it too…

” Don’t be afraid of hurting me.” I cried a little but there was pleasure in it too.

Today I am wearing the nightdress he bought me for my birthday and lying in bed, stroking his cat Obama, a real persian beauty. That cat was pestering me and nearly tripped me over when he wrapped himself around my leg, purring loudly. I gave him some Sheba to keep him quiet. How can Dieter be so kind to that animal, as cats are by nature untamable? Another of life’s little mysteries…

I am going to have a bath. I want to be nice and fresh when he comes back. He hurt me more the last time we made love. He told me he would rub some cream on me or he would take me to see a doctor.

” She’s a lady. She’ll understand. We just got a bit carried away baby. I love you so much.” I kissed his silky blond hair and blue eyes. My German baby… I want to surrender to him utterly with all my heart, body and soul… Cliché! Time for punishment. What will it be this time?




Vampire Lady

I belong in the woods and I belong to the night. Darkness will overwhelm me, wrap me up in a shroud of mist, and the bright light of the moon will guide me. I feed on strangers’ blood and am stronger than I have ever been… I am soaring above them all.

Owls are hooting , in the distance I can hear a fox barking. I am flying in the icy air and longing to meet my True Lover, my Soulmate of the Night, far beyond the realms of Good and Evil.

I embrace my fate with passion.image

Letter from a creep.

Is anybody out there?

Drowning…drowning when you really feel there is nothing to move forward to…  I am sinking deeper into the muddy waters, the dark recesses of my mind that I keep well hidden from everybody. I am an ordinary guy and you are a very ordinary girl, yes, you, the girl next door who acts so proud of yourself and so uninterested when I exchange a few words with you. I see you carrying your groceries up to your flat or coming back from work tired. You smile to me sometimes but I am just a ghost to you. I don’t look threatening. Did you know I strangled my pet cat when I was a kid? And my parents’ budgie? Could never stand the damn animal. How is that for a chat up line? Would that stir your interest a little? Still don’t like me? Oh well, I like you a lot. You’ve got nothing to fear from me…image



I wanna be a wild wild girl. No keeping my legs closed to be ladylike. I don’t give a damn about my reputation. I am not protecting my precious cherry. I lost it a long time ago. Some may call me  a slut, a slag or whatever. I am really not bothered. I have no catholic guilt left in me. Dieter, my German tutor, took care of that a long time ago. He taught me a lot of things and let ´ s say I’m  a very apt pupil. I shall talk about him later in another post.

I am a wild spirit, no one can tame me ( except him perhaps, and even then, I am not so sure), and nothing can stop me. I may have a bit of a dual personality  because to many people I look sweet and innocent. But I don’t feel bad about deceiving them and my private life is only of concern to me.

My real lfe belongs to the dark. I love the night with passion. I love men of all shapes and sizes, and above all, I love Dieter. I would do anything for him.

I am lying in my bed, giving myself pleasure. The moonbeams are entering my window. A glowing red moon is illuminating the sky. I close my eyes, savouring the moment… I am so happy to be alive. But I need more. I need them, my kindred spirits. Dieter taught me pleasure and pain. I can handle it. I am a strong and powerful woman, proud of her body. He will come to me tonight, and take me to another spot, a place where people with similar desires meet and have fun together.

I moan gently and eagerly await his coming. He has never let me down before.




Je suis triste et préoccupée en dépit de tout. Trop de nuages. Trop de problèmes matériels s’accumulent dans ma vie et j’essaie de sourire et d’être gaie car j’ai une réelle aptitude au bonheur. Mais en ce moment tout est trop difficile et je n’ai plus la force de lutter. Je me dis que c’est de ma faute, que je n’ai pas l’esprit assez pratique mais je ne veux pas, et je ne peux plus, rejoindre la rat race à nouveau. Les personnes honnêtes sont pénalisées, humiliées, vivent dans la crainte et la précarité. Beaucoup d’exclus et un monde de plus en plus dur…et encore on n’est pas en Ukraine ou en Syrie.. Parfois je perds l’espoir et le courage… J’apprends à vivre dans le moment et à apprécier les petite choses de la vie, le doux ronron de ma chatte, ma relation avec ma famille, mon fils, le simple fait d’être en vie, qui est un grand cadeau. Mais parfois l’angoisse et les difficultés matérielles viennent ruiner cet équilibre fragile.

J’espère, malgré tout, que ce n’est qu’un mauvais moment à passer. Et puis la nature est belle…

Lettre à Antonio ( errance amoureuse 9 )

Ton amour m’emplissait toute entière et plus rien d’autre sur terre n’avait d’importance. Rien que toi et le tango. Je voulais progresser comme danseuse pour que tu m’admires, être la plus belle, la plus brillante, la plus lumineuse à tes yeux. En amour, tu aimais dominer, tu étais le maître, le maestro. Et je me soumettais car tu étais le seul homme pour qui j’éprouvais vraiment de l’admiration. Eric, mon mari, était gentil, il cherchait à combler mes désirs, mais il ne me comprenait pas. Pourtant il m’offrait tout le confort matériel dont je rêvais, et ce confort j’en avais besoin. Pour toi cependant, il me semble que j’aurais tout sacrifié. Et puis la bataille était inégale. Eric, c’était le quotidien, les pantoufles, le whisky servi le soir, les dîners d’affaires avec ses invités, les repas de famille avec les beaux parents… Et les fausses couches, les tentatives impossibles pour avoir un enfant, les espoirs sans cesse déçus.

Et toi Antonio le bel Argentin qui m’avait conquise avec tes dents blanches, ton accent chantant, ton sourire un peu triste, tes yeux sombres qui contenaient tout le charme porteño… Tu étais l’exotisme, l’aventure… Larguer les amarres pour ne plus revenir. Et dès le début, je fus jalouse, maladivement jalouse. Je savais que par ta profession tu rencontrais beaucoup d’autres femmes, aussi sensibles que je l’étais à ton charme. Mais cette maudite jalousie ne faisait qu’augmenter ma fièvre. Toi aussi, tu affectais d’être jaloux, mais je sentais bien que c’était plus une pose qu’autre chose. Tu savais qu’au fond je t’appartenais corps et âme. J’étais pleine de toi, de nous. Eric ne comptait plus. Personne ne comptait plus.

Qui pourrait me jeter la pierre? La passion n’a pas besoin de morale ni de justification. Antonio mon beau danseur, tu as su illuminer une vie qui paraissait terne et sans saveur. Oui, j’aurais peut-être dû mieux apprécier mon bonheur quotidien mais j’en étais bien incapable et encore aujourd’hui je ne regrette rien. Qui oserait me reprocher mon amour…même s’il n’était qu’une illusion? Les illusions sont parfois beaucoup plus belles que la réalité.



Branksome Dene Chine

Not so safe in Branksome Dene Chine, beware of strangers lurking around the woods, beware of the dashing young aviator with the clear blue eyes, beware of the handsome gentleman, the wolf in sheep’s clothing. And beware of the ghosts that haunt the woods and cliffs as you take a leisurely stroll there with your lover or have your wedding picture taken. For blood has been shed in Branksone Dene Chine.

White sandy beaches, tea shops, hotels, magnificient seaviews, old ladies having scones and cream tea, Tory Party conferences. This is where Tess murdered Sir Alec, the lovable rogue…

Beware of smooth talkers… The Universe does not always reward virtue and innocence. Violence and fickleness can hide under a gentle appearance. Light can conceal darkness…in Branksome Dene Chine or anywhere.

Blood calls out for blood. But the world goes on regardless.

Oh we do like to be beside the seaside… Oh we do like to be beside the sea…

Her Phantom Prince

He wants her and doesn’t want her. He needs her as a shoulder to cry on when is is scared of his demons and has no one else to confide into. He is ashamed of his dark desires but at times his secrets are too much of a burden for him to bear. His irresistible impulses, his unholy drives… She is the only one who can help him keep his delusion of sanity. Sometimes he fears he might hurt her. She is so frail, so fragile, so innocent… She really has no clue. But he thirsts for blood, fresh blood, and the Night is his natural habitat. He does not feel too much remorse after his actions, mainly a sense of relief as his lust has been satiated. He may feel some regret after each kill, panic and fear of getting caught. At times he believes himself to be godlike and invincible, at other times  he just feels a sense of terror and unreality. Then he needs to phone her even in the middle of the night, just to her her soothing voice, grounding him back to a normal life if only for a little while. He is an old Presbyterian at heart and believes himself cursed. There can be no mercy, no forgiveness for him, no pardon for his sins, no unburdening of the heart. Only she can offer him some temporary solace. She holds him against her chest, they kiss and cry together. She asks him where he has been during his increasingly frequent absences, he says he cannot tell her or makes up some more lies. What else could he do? He cannot bear the thought of losing her even though he is lost to himself.

His craving for blood is stronger than anything. He will prowl the streets at night, waiting for the next available prey, a young woman with long dark hair, full of life, full of hopes and expectations. He knows he holds the power of life and death over her. That is the main thrill. Mastery of other people’s lives is his only form of control.

He cannot tell how much she suspects. She will cry herself to sleep waiting for his return. She is sick with worry and anxiety. She has more doubts than he could possibly imagine, even in his most paranoid moments. She could not handle the truth. Although deep down doesn’t she know the truth already?