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I broke into Putin's house again this morning! What is up with my nonconsensual entry into men's homes? Isn't that sort of stalkerish? Sort of? I mean, it helps that they like me, but still!
This time I found his non-work briefcase, which contained a black girdle among photographs, miscellaneous items of clothing and ephemera. I put on the girdle and sashayed off in it with his briefcase. As I was just down the road from his driveway, he was driving in. I pulled myself into a breezy attitude of both unconcern and welcome and kept walking. I turned his head.
I took myself and the briefcase to a city apartment and carefully and respectfully went through each item, putting everything back just as it was, lovingly, knowing that he'd be after me to get it back, and wanting to give it back. Sure enough, soon I saw Medvedev, grinning and bounding up the steps to the apartment, Putin trailing some ten feet behind him. They burst in and Medvedev was full of good humor and saying he would leave Putin alone with me to sort this out.
We talked and stroked each other like longtime lovers. He wasn't formal and dismissive this time. He was tender and unoffended and sweet and firm, and told me he didn't know if they, the authorities, would be gentle with me next time, but he hoped they wouldn't be harsh.
The character of my Putin dreams is happiness and complete respect, even as I am being so abjectly disrespectful as to invade his privacy. It occurs to me at this moment that where I was in a state of barely governable lust for the man with the very old wife yesterday, I was in a completely mild and happy and connected and peaceful state with Putin, here, and that's about right. I prefer the perfection of intimacy, completely apart from sexual excitement, to sexual excitement... by a margin too wide to express in earthly terms.
But I have to think about this break-in thing. It might not be trying to teach me about something bad, or it may be an admonishment for liberties wrongly taken....
23 August 2009
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