Metaphysics

I had a moment of metaphysical vertigo last night, lying on my back in the garden gazing up at the stars. 

So many stars, all wheeling round the zodiac; billions upon trillions, with countless millions of little rocky planets, all asking questions... not spiritual, but more earthy. What the hell is all this? What is matter made from? Why does it all exist? Where is existence located? 

Somewhere above me, on one of the spinning worlds an alien woman surely lay on her back in her garden, gazing back at me, and wondering the same things. 

'Penny for your thoughts,' you say, standing above me, upside down from my perspective. I smile up at you, with my eyes at least, and wish I could tell you what I've just been thinking. I know the words will spill out of my ears when I stand up, and the moment will be lost. 

I want you inside me, right now; you understand me that much. Arms and legs stretched out and bound tightly to the four posts hammered deep into the cool grass, I can only wait. Mouth packed full with fat clumps of rubber foam, and taped firmly over with silver tape, I have to wait silently. 

You kneel between my splayed legs, and with effort push a cushion under my hips, raising me up just a few inches but enough that my limbs are pulled out to extremity. I can't take it for long, but it's so good while I can... I keep my eyes open as you enter me, gazing up at the clear night sky. I feel like matter and energy are separating within me as orgasm sweeps through me, and I blend with the stars above. I swear I can see my alien counterpart free herself of her bonds, reach down and touch me. 

Today, I am a chair. Yesterday, I was a woman, a flesh and blood person. Today, a chair. Living with you is an existential challenge. 

You began by clothing me in one-piece lycra, then bound my arms behind me, each hand holdings its opposite elbow. You then sat me on a stool, and made me lie back till I was horizontal and there was something pressing against my back, supporting me. You strap me to it, with more care and contraptions than you've ever used before. I sense this will not be over soon. 

You strap my legs together at several points down their length, then raise them so I bend at the hip and my knees come up to my chin. You then strap my thighs to my body so I remain in that foetal position, balanced on whatever it is beneath me. A lot of work then goes on, which I can't observe exactly - only the results are clear. My head is encased in plastic. My toes are made to point to the ceiling, then my legs strapped to some kind of vertical pole to keep them in place. My whole body is lifted a foot higher in the air, by the hydraulic lever on the contraption that supports me. It's reminiscent of the base of an office chair: six spokes radiating from the central column, a wheel at the end of each. 

With my bum and the backs of my thighs forming the seat, and my calves and feet forming the back, I realise what I have been turned into. 

You never do things by halves. You tie contoured foam around me in strategic places, and cover it with red leather. Arms are attached to either side of me. My feet, wrapped up so tightly I cannot move them, form a headrest. My head, arms and the rest of my body is hidden beneath the chair, boxed away behind a solid plastic casing that matches the base beneath me. From the outside, no sign of human form remains. 

Of course, you've seen to my basic needs: air, water, and so on. Strange chair that needs things like that. 

I hear you clear everything away, and then you wheel me into your study. I can't see, but I guess that must be where we are. Tentatively, then with your full weight, you sit down. Your body is padded from mine by the foam and leather that makes me more aesthetically pleasing in this form, but still the action is electric. I moan into the sound-deadening material round my head as you lean back again the back of the chair - my lower legs - and rest your head against my encased feet. 

Either you have lots of work to do, or you just like sitting on me. You work for hours, sometimes getting up, sometimes spinning around to reach books and papers. Then you turn off your computer and leave. I hear the car starting in the distance. 

Waiting for you to come back, I realise chairs don't wait. They just are. I just am. I struggle with the idea at first, and struggle with the physics as well, but I'm too well bound to escape. The chair sits there, immutable. I am along for the ride. 

You won't be coming back till you need to do some more work. My mind tips my body into orgasm, and for a while the chair has a subtle vibrate function as I shudder with climax. 

It isn't every day we play so inventively. Normally, we live normal lives, whatever that might be. But every now and then, you turn me inside out. 

I have a feeling you have left me alone entirely, away on a business trip or something. But I can't tell, because I can't see, hear, or touch anything. All I can taste and smell is rubber. 

My head is encased completely in rubber. You secured the hood round my head swiftly and calmly, as if it wasn't cutting me off from everything. There are no eye holes, and the ears are padded to cut out all sound coming in. Tubes run through the nostril holes to bring me air. The gag is massive. 

You bound me in a ball, arms behind me and knees pulled up to my chin. My fingers and toes are taped round wooden balls and sticks to prevent me from twitching them. Every inch of skin is covered with a thin rubber suit. 

You mastered plumbing a long time ago. From what I could feel you doing between my legs, I don't think I'll need to be released to go to the bathroom. There's a dildo and a plug sitting fatly inside me, but they don't seem to do anything interesting. They just sit there. 

When you had me immobilised, you lifted me into one of the cupboards in our living room, securing me in place inside. Then you use something new. Even though my air is coming through the tubes from outside the cupboard, I catch a whiff of the fumes. It's some kind of hardening substance, a foam I find out later, that you squirt in around me using a gun. It sets hard as rock. I am locked inside, invisible, immobile. You shave away the hardened foam that protrudes beyond the doorframe, and shut the cupboard door on the faceless expanse of yellow that fills it. I feel the thuds of the nails as you seal the door shut. 

I have no sense of time. Sometimes I think I sleep, sometimes I know I scream and try to thrash around to ease the cramps in my body. It's as if I don't exist beyond the boundaries of a single atom, my world is so condensed. 

When you release me, whenever it will be, I know I'll feel more alive than ever - each touch will sing down my nerves and thrill my soul. For now - that protracted moment of now that goes on for ever - I just exist. 

The invaders inside me don't vibrate, but eventually I realised they don't need to. How long has it been? It could have been days for all I can tell. But I am suffused with a dim sensation that fills me entirely. I drift into it, thinking of you. 

These are the moments I long for - when you grasp my soul in your hands and twist it so deliciously. Once a month, perhaps, something like this will happen. In between, we love and live contentedly.
 

18.03.05