The chime of my ‘phone alerted me to the arrival of a text. There was nothing unusual in that. Scores arrive daily and this rises to beyond a hundred and more when the glorious seduction has commenced of a fresh, prime target. I looked over with half-interest to my ‘phone and see a name which attracted a greater level of interest. It is from Jane. An ex. One of the many exes. I stopped what I was doing and reached for my ‘phone and opened up the message.
“It would be 2 years today x”
A flame rose inside of me at this sudden provision of fuel. Even better it was unsolicited. Goodness me, would it have been two years? How time flies. The power flowed, generated by this welcome dollop of fuel. Dear Jane, always the one for remembering dates. She sent me a card and a gift to mark 1 month together. She pole-danced for me to commemorate one month since we first had sex (no the pole-dance and the card and gift were on different dates, just in case you were wondering. I am a gentleman after all). She sent a card to remind me that is was three months since our first kiss, a month since I first stayed overnight at her house, six months since we first set eyes on another. I used to call her the Chronicler for her ability to remember the anniversary of certain key moments in our relationship. At first I was suitable impressed by her memory and power of recall but then I realised that she had assistance. On one particular occasion I was having a good look around her house whilst she was out, opening draws, cupboards and so on in order to learn more about this enticing individual who I had seduced and in the process of this trawl I found a diary. At the rear she had a list of key moments in our relationship with the date written next to it. First date, first kiss, first time we had sex, first time pet name was used, first weekend away, first “I love you” and so on. Each milestone, from the trivial to the fundamental had been carefully written in her neat hand-writing (she always wrote with a Mont Blanc fountain pen – something which I liked until I decided to bend the nib one day after she accused me of forgetting her mother’s birthday. I didn’t forget. I deliberately did not remember). Each moment, each occasion had been carefully committed to the rear of this diary and beside it the date inserted as well. I was impressed and as I sat reading it, I felt the fuel of her dedication and admiration pouring over me. She was not there to do it but I knew from reading those neat entries just how much we meant to her, just how important I was and the fuel flowed. I remember sitting on her bed clasping the leather bound diary and realising that Jane was meeting my expectations and that I had such high hopes for her. The reminders and commemorations kept coming. She never forgot anything. Naturally the more traditional anniversaries – birthdays, Christmas and so forth were addressed and not only for me, but close friends, family and even Matrinarc.
Of course this slavish devotion to the recollection of events could not go unused by me. When she fell from grace and her denigration and devaluation began I would always send her a reminder written in black ink (using a superior Mont Blanc fountain pen) on a crisp piece of thick white paper inserted into a stylish small envelope. I would leave these reminders on her pillow, on her car seat, under her windscreen wiper, in her bag, on her laptop and so forth.
– 1 week since I last spoke to you –
– 2 months since our first argument –
– 5 days since I rang you –
– A month since we last made love –
– A week since the last silent treatment –
– Three months since I took you anywhere
I have no idea if the timing was entirely correct with some of them, it was the effects I was after. Sometimes she would telephone me and question why I had done this. If it was during a silent treatment I said nothing but listened, allowing her strained tones to fuel me. Other times I would just stare at her and then snarl an insult, causing her to jump and her fearful look would naturally provide me with further fuel. On other occasions she did not manage to contact me but it did not matter because I knew how she would be responding as I used the very thing she liked to engage as an endearing gesture from her to me in our relationship, against her. We like to take the wonderful and then batter it, rust it, twist it and warp it so it resembles something else entirely and this act of defiling is powerful indeed in its effect.
Soon I accelerated their use at one stage having them delivered through her door on a daily basis.
– One day since I realised I hate you –
– Two days since I realised I hate you –
– Three days since I realised I hate you –
– Four days since I realised I hate you –
– Five days since I realised I hate you
– Six days since I realised I hate you –
– Seven days since I realised I hate you –
– Eight days since I realised I hate you –
– Nine days since I realised I hate you –
– Ten days since I realised I hate you –
– I don’t hate you. I love you –
That last note was a highly effective respite hoover which had her call me straight away and I answered straight away and her sobbed relief poured over me with such potency, marvellous fuel that it was. Once again by using the very tool she deployed in our relationship I was able to bend it and her to my will.
Eventually she was cast aside, the new prospect of Andrea having come into my sights and dear Jane was removed, not even afforded the courtesy of being a memory. That is until that text message arrived.
A foolish move on her part to reach out to me in this way but having received the text, I knew that it was inevitable she would have done it and indeed I know that when it is 3 years, 5 years or 10 years she will keep sending these reminders. Her memory had been conditioned this way. Notwithstanding the pain it will invariably cause her she wanted me to know that she remembered still. The addition of a single ‘x’ was the green light which told me that my follow-up hoover (of course there would be one) will succeed and she would respond to it. Dangerous to apply those kisses. She had entered my sphere of influence. I did not want her back, I was busy with Andrea and that seduction, but this reminder told me that there was fuel just waiting to be collected. All I had to decide was how I was going to go about. There was no need to be malign about it, a benign follow-up hoover would work but in what form and for how long? That was what then occupied my mind as once again I remembered dear Jane and her delicious fuel. So good of her to remind me.