Avoiding the Alpha

II. The Redemption of Harris

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The only God I see before me is Myself. I am my own ultimate deity. My hands, the instruments of Lord, My Cock the flower to the "She", my mind the diamond of all the earth, my seed the Pearl without Prize. Still, in my contemplations of other peoples fuck-ups and occasional successes, I've come to realize that my bright worship of My Own Holiness is a relative phenomenon and that by and large, with the exceptions of saints, messiahs, and fools, most people around have egos equally as large and hypertrophied as mine. However, I've had the foresight to be a prick about it, and the dismal history of my first subject Harris is a primal case in point.

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Harris' self-conception was a conceit. He imagined himself a dashy, stream-lined sort of cocksure "regular guy". Nothing could be further from the truth of what Harris' in reality was. Fat, effeminate, guttural. Stuffed with phlegm and vile interior juices. A simpering fat pocket whale with hairy carbuncles growing pendulous hairs from the wrong places. He had a small pubis of small humour, a puny mind and a faulty ethical system. Ol' Fat Ass Harris. The Dream Harris was a mighty fucker of women, a stud-bull, the Vast Impregnator, the smooth man with the smooth phermonal scent that drew women to his web for the great debasing. Baby Arm Harris.

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Harris was a painfully obsessive masturbater. Upon waking, after first shower, after lunch, upon getting home from work, during prime-time, and always that last forced nocturnal emission precisely at midnight,his dick wept, and was rashed and sore from over-use. Harris was an experimentally abusive masturbator, with odd predilections and cravings. Harris savaged himself. Let us discuss Harris' Masturbation. Precisely how did Harris masturbate Before My Intervention and After? Two Paths diverge in the wood, one Base and Callow (Worldly), the other a Potent God-Theory (My Worldly) forged by Holic wisdom. I'll let the reader decide which Path he wants to follow...

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BEFORE MY INTERVENTION: Harris jerked off by looping his fore-finger and thumb around the head and shaft of his penis and then pumped away. He may or may not have used a lubricant, such as Vaseline, KY, Baby Oil, or spittle. He climaxed and then wiped himself clean with a Kleenex. He may have excused himself from appointments, work, school, or familial gathering to sequester himself in the restroom to sate himself, or perhaps he only unleashed it when he was home, alone, in the moist and stagnate dinge of the bed nest. At times when desire was waning, he might pump-start the engines of lust with magazine or electronically-delivered pornography. Harris liked fat, celebrity, and ethnic.

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AFTER MY INTERVENTION: Harris practiced the Higher Ecstasies outlined in My Teachings. The Precepts: 1. Masturbation is a Spiritual Practice. 2. The Seed is Holy. 3. Once-a-day only, so as to relieve pressure and bloat, cleanse the urethra, and smooth function of the bowel. 3. Use only Approved methods: the Floor Hump, the Friction Rub, or the Briggs & Stratton Maneuver. 4. Masturbate for Conclusive Result, Not Process!!!

THE REDEMPTION: Harris was a dirty grubbish fuck, much like many of my readers (solitary males only please), and so he pumped away for many a year, that is until I happened upon him when he enrolled in a religious club I belong to that is more commonly known as the Campus Crusade for Christ.

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My chapter was registered under the name "God-Lovers at the U", our intramural softball and wrestling teams known as the "Glueys". My, my we were fine in our starched pink and pin-stripe ball drawers and stirrups. We lost every game and every match, but during the season I came to know Harris well and counseled him after games in my home. We ate mashed potatoes and gravy with ham giblets and discussed our various imaginary love-affairs after showering separately. Harris was infatuated by a young tart that ran the return counter at the local Christian Scientist Reading Room (Open to All) but I knew from my experience wooing her the year prior that Harris' cause was already lost.

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He was not open to the reason that only the unamourous and celibate mind can provide. With tears running down his jowly cheeks, he professed his crush, his bitterness at her seeming uninterest to his subtle passes. It seems Harris was the sort of operator that approached the object of his desire through the Intellectual Route, attempting to impress with his knowledge of Mormon Tantra and the so-called "Amish Pivot" ( a gelding ritual among Amish males of a certain sect secreted deep in the Alleghenies...really just an old-fashioned circle-jerk with some show-biz...knives, candles, chanting, etc.). Our tart would not be wooed by these pedestrian charms, but the true reason she wouldn't give old Harris the time of day was that she was repulsed by him, as were all females and most males.

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With his perennial eyelash crust and stink of convenience store lunch meat, his lumbering mastodon walk, his ape-suit style of dress and his gibbery speech, Harris presented as nothing such much as a retarded baby grown full to manhood, with none of the charm and savior-faire possessed by the truly handicapped. Oh Harris...what was to be done with him? Truly a sorry case much in need of counsel, repair, rehab and finishing school. He was my first case, the first subject of my unique physical culture and mento-training. I made many errors in his conditioning, many miscalculations, foremost being an underestimation of his pathos, his fundamental wretchedness.

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Oh from the dross I carved...well, a half-wit...but a half-wit with a robust interior sexuality and a healthy sperm-count. The Idiot-Masturb, the Great Gimp of My Psychological Basement, St. Harris, the Angel from Below. Nurse, first prescribe a strict and unyielding discipline of Ritualized Masturbation, thrice daily, for three weeks. Administer w/o sedative or lubricant. Thereafter, on the last secretion of the last day of the three week period, enforce an equally strict and unyielding disclipine of Involuntary Abstinence. Restrain the Subject and subject the Subject to S.S.O.T. (Sexual Sensory Orientation Therapy). That is, after the fashion of that scene in A ClockWork Orange, make the poor fuck look at picture nasties from the electronic and print media.

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Let the Bone Rise... Harris lost many pounds, and at the third week of S.S.O.T. was a skeleton of his formerly glutinous self, a stick-man with a boner. It was then, on a bitterly cold January night that I introduced him to the Higher Ecstasies outlined in my Teachings. Harris is now a happy soul and recites the Precepts in between his sessions with my patented comic books and videos. He holds down a job and actually has had a date with the tart from the Christian Scientist Reading Room, although that didn't turn out well as she was a lesbian and just went on a date with him to realize (again) why she was a lesbian. (I knew she was of Sappho's Legions, but withheld this knowledge from Harris for no reason but shits and giggles.)

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He has memorized and taught to new young acolytes the simple Precepts: 1. Masturbation is a Spiritual Practice 2. The Seed is Holy. 3. Once-A-Day Only, to relieve pressure and bloat, cleanse the urethra, and smooth function of bowel. 4. Use Only Approved Methods: the Floor Hump, The Friction Rub, the Briggs& Stratton Maneuver. 5. Masturbate for Conclusive Result, Not Process!!!! Imagine if you will a deep sonorous bellow caressing these words in the manner of a particularly edgy Gregorian monk and you will have some picture of Harris in his little room out by the railroad tracks ascending to the Higher Ecstasies, and behind that bellow you will hear my laughter.

End of Chapter II

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