Writings by Ataraxia
(What the hell is an epistolary allegory?)
This is a very rough, 1st draft of a novel I have been working on for over two years. It chronicles the journey of a woman in the latter years of her life who discovers her deep self through her fetish. While this is still a work in progress and is actively under construction, it already contains a large amount of content which may be of interest to any Rubberist. (It currently has approx. 150,000 words or about 300 pages.). This draft has many incomplete scenes, copious author notes and numerous redundancies, inconsistencies, and other writing problems that will be gradually addressed in later versions which will posted here every 2-3 weeks or so. If you have any interest in collaborating with me in the development of this, please contact me.
Current draft version: @22.0104
SAMPLE EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 2:
I am flattered that you want to write a novel about my life! I did not realize that you were in the publishing business. And you specialize in stories with kinky themes! Oh, how kool! I’ll start to send you material right away! As you suggested, as it is for a novel, I won’t be afraid to include both fact and fiction. I’m not sure where my life will lead me now, but some interesting things may be brewing!
I guess you don’t know about Frank.
Frank can go right to hell… No, let me rephrase that. Fuck Frank!
After a decade of living together, he ditched me for a “real” woman (his words) about a year ago. I heard later that he had moved abroad somewhere with her. He left me homeless, almost penniless and with no dignity. I was crushed.
Frank and I never married. I told him about my rubber fetish early in our relationship, and I guess that held him back. He had a hard time dealing with even the mere thought that I was not “normal” (his words, again) by his conservative standards. We stopped having sex after a while. Even though I tried to keep my fetish secret, things became really heated after his “Christian” family found out about it a few years ago. They stopped speaking to me except to confront me with snarky remarks. They repeatedly called me a pervert to my face! Assholes! Soon the word got out and even my tiny circle of rather superficial friends started to shrink. After that, Frank became increasingly confrontational about my fetish. We had a big blow out when he discovered I was wearing a latex bodysuit equipped with a phallus one day when he came home early from one of his many business trips. That really blew his mind. Not long after that, I could sense he was getting chummy with what’s-her-name at the office. He kicked me out of the house with only the clothes on my back. He made sure I took all of my “nasty latex” with me. Soon after, he sold the condo and my BMW and disappeared from my life.
It really devastated me emotionally, but the hardest part soon became just trying to get by. There was only a thousand dollars or so of my own money in the bank from the modest allowance Frank had given me. It didn't last long. I lived in a homeless shelter for a while, but that was quite unbearable. I tried to find work, but I’d had been out of the workforce during my whole time with Frank. He didn’t want me to work — his ego liked the idea of having a “lil’ woman” to take care of him and his house. As a result, my employable skills were really rusty. And, of course, no one wants to hire a senior citizen for any of the good jobs. The only work I could find were entry level in retailing, which, by definition, are always wage-slave shit jobs.
I had to find a “real” job, and do it soon!