15. Narcissus Revisited

12 March 2002

Trust Potter to come up with kinky new use of Polyjuice. Trust Harry to still feel horny after having drunk that vile goo. Trust me to trust him, and get turned on too.

Am so predictable.

Never knew I was so – lithe. Excess fat, my arse. And not even there. Dieting definitely off to-do list. Polyjuice kinkiness should be compulsory for those suffering compulsive eating disorder or similar. Really. Puts things in perspective. Pretty perspective. Narcissus, c'est moi.

Certainly made for unusual sex. We were as focused on exploring our own bodies as we were on exploring our own bodies. Strangely inverted intercourse in an infinite infinity loop. Mental masturbation. Physical and emotional attraction criss-crossing, intersecting, and interacting. Passion squared.

Queered?

Am still shaking from the sheer orgasmic shock of it. Dazed but not satiated. Urge to pet hand makes writing difficult, or at least an odd sensation, like so much else tonight.

Harry's coming. Back for more.

((manic scrawls))

4 April 2002

New Polyjuice tastes like juice. An inspired choice. Orange.

Very old juice though, made of stale oranges, but still, less gag-inducing.

Am genius.

Essence of Potter standing by.

Harry very much standing too.

Yummy.

And I don't mean the bloody potion.

Narcissus, c'est encore moi.

5 June 2002

Narcissus laughs in my face. Narcissus laughs in his face. Mad laughter from my wretched soul and his wretched mouth. Insanity: no longer a place I'm heading for, but one I've left behind. Masturbation was never so mental as this.

I speak to myself under the willing delusion that I don't. His voice is nearly gone. The writing is all mine. All alone.

Still I talk, and recite all I can remember, every little thing, every detail of his life.

But the charade must stop. People will suspect eventually. I was never as amiable as he.

I try to find his smile but it seems forever lost. Narcissus leers back at me.

I miss him so.

((indecipherable))

6 June 2002

Bought a boy in Redlace Street. So drugged-out he hardly noticed the Polyjuice. When he looked in the mirror afterwards, he laughed and called me sick.

I am.

Narcissus laughs in my face and his.

Obliviated the boy before I put him back. Wouldn't want Harry remembered as a narcissistic sex maniac. Even though it wouldn't be far from the truth.

Truth is what we make it.

And the unmaking of the lie.

I lie awake at night. My dishonest heart beats against my chest like a damned soul trying to escape its tomb. And I touch myself and him. Stroking, moaning, clawing, crying, scratching, screaming. Locked inside a lecherous, all-consuming lie.

Narcissus howls at me: Give up, and DIE!