the return of polly

polly's been a returning, recurring theme, one that i've found to be pretty disturbing to a lot of people. since posting the original story, i've had a number of explanatory conversations with people, to provide some context. no, i'm not obligated to do so, but since polly's hit such a nerve, i thought it worthwhile.

as a comparison piece, here's another version of polly:

---------------------
_proof_

you're tired of talking about it, and i'm tired of wanting it. her spectre, ghostlike and without detail, floats around and between us. it doesn't matter who she is. it doesn't matter what she looks like - i've said it before she arrived and i'll say it again - there will always be a polly.

so one day, in a quiet mood, your fingers slowly grasping tighter and tighter until round red ovals appear on my hips, you slowly tie me with the soft ropes we've come to love. softness and tightness together. it's excrutiating, the time it takes, and i'm hot from the fire you've built, unable to wipe the sweat starting to roll down my skin.

slowly, slowly, and you're not speaking until you've got me placed exactly right, immobilized, your favorite knots in all the places you wanted them, pressuring me in the places you intended. my mouth agape, my eyes glued to you, not as much locked down as held, the ropes extensions of your arms. you watch me, taking small sips of your wine, watching my skin turn pink and my breath come in gasps in the firelight.

there's a knock at the door, and my heart jumps. you watch my reaction, with that look on your face somewhere between lust and fascination, until you answer the door. i hear her voice before i see her, and my panic rises. but i'm remembering your words, that everything will be okay, and i choke back my tears and fate.

she's not talking much, but i can hear her happiness tumbling through the small words she uses. you've got her in a grip, the one i know, the one i can feel even when you're not there. her head down, until she catches sight of me in the corner of her eye, stares, and gasps. there's only silence for moments, only my harsh breathing.

you push her down to her knees, facing me. you strip her clothes from her quickly, grasping and squeezing. she's trying to turn away, trying to not watch me, and her protests land like pebbles on me. eventually you're inside her, and i don't know who's crying first, but i can only hear your words, telling her to look at what it really is, this is the proof.