Bodies of Difference
A Different Body Experiences
A Different Universe		  
Ann Whitehurst
 
Endlessly subject to
          re-interpretation
                re-formation
      
 

 

Seeded

  

 

He spread the soft, not quite liquid, substance over his feet and legs; cold, slimy, almost clear but white swirled it way through.

     
  Was it a treatment, like old fashioned 'poultices' or some modern, 'alternative' remedy? (Why assume it wasn't some orthodox poison, er, treatment?) Perhaps a tanning agent, or wax substance to remove hairs. It looked like neither of these but who am I to tell.    

He used a spatula, well, two. The first, white plastic, broke. The second one too but this, wooden one, split vertically and he resumed plastering with one half - not seeming to bother about the possibility of splinters. Suddenly he swept his hand in front of him along the floor, gathering , or garnering it seemed more like, a packet as he did so. Why hadn't I noticed it before? He pulled at the packet, trying to tear the top but quite cautiously too, probably not wanting it to rip and spill the contents. It opened quite easily without splitting, a surprise to all familiar with modern packaging. He lifted and tilted it so the contents gently spilled out, starting at the top of the extent of his plastering and pasting, which was half way up the left knee and to the thigh on the right.

     
  Before I forget, each foot rested on a separate sheet, about A4 size. One had writing - needed to be closer to read - one was plain.      

Most of the seeds, yes, that's what they were, adhered to his legs rather than dropping on the paper but he took pains to lift a sheet, there were a few, a pile still remaining and, making a fold or partial funnel, he used to deposit those which had escaped in parts where he thought the seeds were a little sparse, I suppose.
  		      
  I wonder if he'll be pricking to thin out, I thought quite inconsequentially. After all, would they sprout at all? What seeds were they? Let alone, why was he doing this? Did there have to be a reason? Why do we look for a reason, no matter how insane, foolish or inadequate we then judge it to be?  

After ensuring, as best he could, that all seeds had a grip, were embedded enough not to fall, he relaxed back, his knees slightly bent, the left more than the right. Perhaps letting the substance dry a little, or contemplating the crop, could even be he didn't think of his seeded legs at all. He's naked from the waist down, I could see this when he lay down, legs splayed slightly apart and falling. His testicles, or balls shall I call them, are shaved pink; marshmallows ready for a soft, delicious bite. Hair is growing in angular twists around the base of his penis. Just the way I prefer this balance of hair and hairlessness.		    

   
       
       
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Bodies of Difference
A Different Body Experiences
A Different Universe

Ann Whitehurst