A Hen In the Hand is Worth…

“The hen was not a willing participant in the act. The forcefully clenched hen, wretchedly tried to eke beak sonorous irritations, perhaps shrieking to the chickens guardian angel, though none appeared. The ferocious hands of the man satisfied their misguided lust; the hen might not have had eyes or head, a headless chicken would have done, a legless chicken too, perhaps even a picture of a hen, though the latter seems unlikely. The male was in some kind of a trance, was not even aware that he was doing what he indeed was doing, his stance was that of a man masturbating from the upright, only he had the feathered fowl in an penile analytical probe context, and was sweating unto its feathers, what may have been his innermost desires, wholly perverted in their maximum repressed manifestation. The plucking having been done, the man whimpered into the hay, his eyes rolling in ecstasy that seemed somewhat relegated sooner than not to perdition. His irises must have caught the witnessing by the farmer’s daughter and son, starkly surprised at the incomprehensible witnessing of cross species sexual encounters. The children were only able to say that the hen had not enjoyed anything. In a sense the only one that wasn’t a pervert certainly were not the children watching in amazement, nor the man found in his ravaging sexual masculinity, but the hen, who was clearly raped.”
“B.R.”

The incident had been reported to the authorities, the church had been informed, a general brief was filed by the consulting psychiatrist on the case, B.R., an expert in the field of perversions, his specialty was bestiality. Lauren finished reading the report and was somewhat astounded by the initials. It didn’t take her long to convince her suspicions, “Bill Rosen, Consulting psychiatric ward, Helen Asylum and Recovery Center, Manchester New England.” The patient reference: T.W.

Lauren touched her lips with her fingers, partly trembling partly comprehending that she was certainly on to something. She called up the detective that had been in charge of the bestiality case, Jim Wilson. His words, “It was a pervert priest, shit you hear about priests fucking boys and girls, but chickens, you just can’t get used to that.” Lauren paused for a second, “Did anyone press charges?” “Heck I would have if I could, the wife told me to, but farmer John refused to file, he didn’t want his kids associated with the event, can’t say I blame him the media would a had a flurry, and the major wasn’t keen on making a case; the district attorney whittled at it a bit and concluded he could only make stand up comedy of it. He did force the church to reassign the bestial father out of county and state.” “Thank you Jim.” “No problem Ma’am, not often that I get calls from out of town about my cases, you need any more help you just holler.”

Lauren was not happy with herself, she had originally failed to request a basic backgrounder on Timothy, why it would have hinted at so much more, now she was in the hothouse, the death of Timothy Wellington may have been a natural event but the man was certainly not. She called Dr Rosen.

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I am not here to do you work for you, I am a doctor, I heal people I don’t put them in jail for being human.”

“But you have a social responsibility, besides you told me that you did not want him as a patient, but your specialty is perversions and bestiality at that, so he must have been the ideal patient.”

“Fuck you! What do you think that there aren’t enough perverts out there? Do you think that specialists in perverted behavior can not be picky? Is it in your head detective that what you read is an unusual occurrence? Allow me to warn you that it is only unusual in that it was reported!”

Lauren realized in less than a split second that murder to her was a normal occurrence, putting her hand to her brow, “Dr Rosen, please accept my apology, this is a very frustrating case, I am going up a tree that has an infinite number of branches and I find myself tired and irritated that everything just keep branching, seemingly never ending.”

“Please don’t worry, we encounter a lot of incomprehension from all those that get visited by our world, it is ok, don’t worry about it, why don’t we meet for lunch and see how I can help you?”

They met at a sushi restaurant. Hot spicy sticks with real crab dumplings were being smuggled into their stomachs. Lauren ordered a Martini, the good Doctor ordered a Whiskey. The lunch special, which was still a very expensive special, was a crab, scallop and tuna roll, that was scrumptious; the two hardly noticed it, they did not notice the sushi chef, they were busy trying to get past their original menacing stances. They had broken a relationship barring Gordian knot but now they had to examine how to reproach each other. Lauren noticed that the Doctor was actually sort of attractive, roughhewn, he didn’t have scholarly pretensions, though he was learned and schooled, his language was disarming with sophistication and street talk antics which would disembowel themselves when the listener least expected it. She liked his thick eyebrows, his big hands, underneath she suspected that he was hairy, a bear; part of her coquette self came out, she twinkled her eyes, she acted startled when he told how he decided to become an expert on perversions, “I figured the species couldn’t guarantee its success without fuck roaming.” She exulted his charisma by tightening her lips, or on occasion puckering to one side as if the kiss could not be given but was. Occasionally she pondered if what she was doing was cheating, she decided the good doctor was just cavorting fun.

For his part the doctor had obviously gotten into Lauren and her essence, she was well poised, her natural arrogance and sophistication was a charmer, he momentarily imagined introducing her to his mother, he pictured his wife dying of natural causes, he conceived what it would be like to cum all over her face, he wondered if she liked the symphony; he loved the outdoors but she did not seem near wearing hiking boots, he pondered a solution, none immediately; he couldn’t imagine her doing a barbeque, he wrote that off; he could change, she seemed wealthy, he knew she wasn’t, she was a detective, he thought he would have to have a lot of money to be with her, he watched her fingers, her ears, her temples, he looked for signs of approval, he was cooking inside, he was a boring married male, sushi was way out there. This was his no thrills frill, he knew that, he didn’t want to know it.

He spoke,

“William Blake once said that “those that can resist their desires do so because their desires are weak enough to be resisted.” Perverts just don’t restrain their desires, they act them out, they live them, they enjoy them. That doesn’t mean that they are prepared to pay the consequences, they are not, they don’t think that there should be consequences, further they suspect that it is the world that is perverted for not allowing their perversions or just perversion.”

“Why would Timothy Wellington risk his career, if we can call the priesthood a career, but why would he risk it so by performing such a vile act?”

“Lauren, he could not resist his desires, his desires needed to be expressed and they didn’t take into account the fact that he was in someone else’s barn, accidentally in front of someone else’s children, and bound to service to the church; all that disappeared because he was being strained by his desires which did not take into account a social reality. You see this all the time with your murderers, the blunt expression is in the act, but a murderer is saying a thousand things more, about how he feels about life, about how life affects him, and even bothering to express that action is important, that emotions are important, that there can be nothing held back even if the ramifications are irrevocable and damning for your mother will find out.”

The waiter was standing by and yet being ignored, though he used the moment to listen.

“It makes sense that people would follow their desires if they are not civilized. But fucking a chicken doesn’t seem like an ideal end in itself?”

“It isn’t Lauren, fucking the chicken is just what Timothy does to express something else, how powerless he feels in a church that doesn’t allow sex, sex, SEX! They don’t allow it, it is an unspoken necessity, the church derives much of its energy from celibate priests that instead of acquiring interaction with the female essence are fucked by the church and cannot have another lover. Same with the nuns, they are not authorized to go outside the bounds of the church for satisfaction, the static that is generated is superb, a first rate kinetics-hypothetical orgy, the church is constantly having sex with itself, the energy has to go somewhere, it goes inside of the church as an institution without fear of individual expressions, you are nothing unto yourself, you are everything within the groin and womb of the church.”

“Those are radical statements Doctor, you are turning over the church on the premise that it acquires its energy from the inhibited sexual energy of its congregation. That is a formidable notice.”

“Look Lauren, it is, but I am an authority on the subject, the pervert is the catholic church, the pervert isn’t the individual priest or nun, they are not allowed to be themselves, then, where does the energy get put out? Where! (pounds his finger on the table, dangerously near the crab scallop roll,) the nastiness of it is the foundation, the monster doesn’t know it is a monster, the pope is the head of the church and the head of the church has been dead for many years but still thrives from the energies of unified masturbating seminaries and convents of depravation, congruent in their manual devotions; devotions voided of communality absorbed by their isolation from communal interactions.”

“That seems way too terminal for me, I can’t imagine that people would pervert their desires so they could serve a church.” (Lauren wasn’t finished but the doctor intruded anyway.)

“Sure you don’t see it that way because most people end up going after their more natural desires, to please social norms, to get along with others, to be liked, those desires thrive and dominate but not everyone is betting on being a socially accepting animal, there are those that think outside the herd instinct and feel society forcing us to be certain things, and struggle against their desires to conform and so end up bursting their personalities into perversions.”

“But that sounds as if the social fiber were a straightjacket.”

“You would see it as forced because your job is to be an enforcer and you have the opportunity to observe the disheveled, but the reality is another, “those that resist their desires do so because their desires are weak enough to be resisted.” (Rosen snapping his fingers for accentuation,) “The expression of anything is always the manifestation of the stronger desire. Lauren, people are more given to express their desire to get along and to be apart than not. Whereas the pervert is less concerned with social or mass approval, thus the desires that a pervert surrenders to are different, most people desire to be common and are thus because of their desire to belong, to not be different; being different requires a lot of attention and self examination, most therefore confine themselves to common desires, which are not less desired because they are common.”

“This is all very heady Bill, it seems I have some kind of a murder in my hands, it seems an entire congregation wanted to kill their priest and they did, and I can’t prove it, but what you are saying only helps to confirm it. And I don’t want you to think I am here to judge the man, I am actually trying to find out who murdered him because it is not right.”

“It is not right? What if his desire was to die? What if I were to tell you, in violation of my patient’s rights, that he did not like who he was and that he wanted to go away?”

Lauren instantly recalled Habakkuk’s words, “…neither he nor any one parishioner could have been excluded from the plot or aware of it, intensifying within the calculations of a servant of the lord’s ill will towards those he was to guard and foster, was a self deprecating plot by no doubt a very intelligent archbishop, that had it in him to guide his flock into a mass murder plot…” and she said, “Dr. Rosen of course it could all make sense it just couldn’t make sense any other way but then again no one would believe it, it isn’t provable, there is no way that this rational world is going to solve irrational crimes.”

“Well kiddo I am not the one that has to come up with a formal answer to this Timothy Wellington’s life’s happenstance, you’re the one that gets paid for wrapping things up nicely, me, people just come to me to listen to their own questions.”

“Dr Rosen it truly has been a pleasure to meet with you, and without meaning insult but rather its opposite, you are an unusual man; thank you truly for taking the time.” She started to get up, and the doctor paused her with a touch from his hand, “Would it be possible for us to meet under different circumstances?” “It certainly tickles my fancy doctor but I am a perverted lesbian and in love to boot.”