Hagiography

Entering the kitchen, I saw Karen pushing a long, thin needle into the flesh between left thumb and forefinger. She apologised, and put the needle into a wooden pencil case.

She said: "A long time ago, before you knew me, I worked as a human pincushion."

Karen was hired for a billionaire's party, the fee enough to set her up for life. She still had to work, but never had to worry about rent.

Rich people are always looking more interesting experiences than other people can afford. The spots of blood on the Karen's bandages had turned to rust the next day.

She said: "Last night, I found a page of porn videos about pins and needles. It made me think about those days."

Karen thought that everyone must look for obscure categories of porn, hunting for images that didn't look like they've been looked at too much. I told her that I didn't.

I couldn't stop myself after that. It took more work to be turned on, but it was a very different experience. Tree climbing. Antlers. Extreme Floristry. Ekphrasis. The video titles had the same savagery as any others, but I guess that's how you get people's attention.

The billionaire had insisted there was some trick to it. Karen said there was, because she didn't want to explain herself to him. And, of course, the man offered even more money for the secret, so Sarah made something up.

Lillypads. Operatic Arias. Free diving. Moss. Land Art. Launch Coasters. The categories open up, but I've yet to find any human pincushions.

Background

I usually end up writing two stories for the prompts from my regular workshop. One I wrestle with, spending hours on it. While I focus on that, something else creeps past, fully formed.

This was written for the prompt 'Hair of the Dog', and the idea emerged at Flo Hutchinson's poetry workshop. The workshop was looking at form and pushed me to write things I normally wouldn't. I should do more poetry workshops.

It's been a very long time since I've looked at pornography on the internet, and the video sites are a mystery to me. I imagine something grimly Borgesian, but I suspect my notions are more interesting than the sites themselves. (It's also possible that this story seems ridiculous to the readers who also actually know about these things; but half the fun of writing stories, for me, is inventing plausible lies).

It feels weird that so many people consume pornography, but it is rarely discussed. It's a form of social dark matter. Polly Barton's Porn: An Oral History contains transcripts of in-person interviews about the topic. It's a fascinating read, particularly when discussing the clash between people's fantasies and the reality of their relationships.

I actually wrote three stories for this prompt. The first one is something that will need thousands of words, so I'll pick that up again in the future. I deleted the one about a zombie Sylvia Plath.