PSYCHOPHILIA: A Disturbing Psychological Thriller Read Free

prepares it very well.” 
This is his answer, proffered whilst he splits a croissant and heaps it with
jam.  The jam oozes out of the sides as he turns it around on his plate for
inspection and it reminds me of obscene things.  Especially the way his fingers
are poking at it.  Regarding the fish, I’m not sure if he is joking, if he
wants to wind me up, or if he is just stupid.  I believe it may be a
combination of all of these things. 
    “I’m not sure that raw fish is a good
menu choice.  I would prefer venison.”  He bites his croissant and the jam
oozes into the corners of his mouth and I get the same sick thought about my
own body.  I have become obsessed by such thoughts of late and I am reminded
that I am a woman by the simplest of things.  Today is a croissant filled with
jam.  Yesterday was the neighbour’s cat who lounged on my front lawn licking at
herself.  I am disgusted by these thoughts and wonder if they will pass in due
course.  I hope so.  I have begun to offend myself.
    “Quite right,” he offers me.  Nothing
more.  I guess we will be eating venison this evening.
    I saw a documentary once about a man
who weighed so much that he could no longer leave his house.  He was bed bound
essentially, although he was able to move between shower and settee.  He was fat
like a walrus, disgustingly so without shape or proportion to his form so that
you could no longer make out where his body ended or where his limbs began.  As
he showered he was mandated to pay particular attention to each fold and flap
of skin because the obscenity that was his body was under constant threat of
fungal infection.  Afterwards I vowed to diet, and for a while I watched the
crevices which encircled my less than average body diminish and I was
satisfied, but recently they have returned.  My body is a little plumper than
it was before, and so my cheeks and facial dimples are also more noticeable and
defined.
    As repulsed as I was at his size, the
fat man from the television had a wife who adored him.  She cooked food for him
each day.  It required an inhuman effort to feed a man of that size to the
point of contentedness, swollen like a milk-drunk baby.  She smiled at the
cameras, her pride evident in the grin that bore several rotten teeth and it
was clear that all her attention was directed at him.  She had created him.  It
was her doing.  Every kilo was a kilo of love and attention.  She slathered him
with cream, washed him, tended to his innumerable sores, and even wiped the
shit covered arse that he couldn’t reach.  I found it an abhorrent sight, but I
also knew that I would give in to that sort of attention.  I would get that fat
for somebody who cared for my every need, who nursed me until I became
something loveable.  I imagine I would thrive in such symbiosis.  Gregory did
try this once but he didn’t have the stamina.  Maybe if he had persevered I
would have become addicted to being loved so much. 
    After breakfast ended and I finished dressing
I walked down the stairs to find them both stood in the hallway.  They look
like two people who were deep in conversation only moments ago, his face
thoughtful and tight like a punch-ready fist, but they are aware of my presence
and they have stopped talking.  At the top of the stairs I could hear hushed
voices but nothing distinguishable that I might have understood the topic of
conversation.   When he sees me he straightens his shoulders and lifts his
chin, a cue for Ishiko to complete her duties.  I ridicule myself by wondering
if they were planning something nice for later which I was not supposed to hear
about.  Some sort of surprise, perhaps.  But I doubt it.  She places the scarf
around his neck.  She crosses one end over the other in quite simple fashion. 
It is basically a knot, but she makes it seem intricate and delicate.  She
creates Zen in his scarf, a fact I find both impressive and heartbreaking.  We
are very lucky to have