Dear Ms. Violet –
I think I’ve got it. It’s the pleasure principle, the drive for life. The basic drives are sex and aggression, says Freud, and the leeches in the glass bowl in the dungeon show this with satisfying clarity. They swim about, or sucker on and hang off the side of the glass, or roll about all over each other at the bottom. Their days and nights are spent being languid science exhibits.
To feed, the inside goes out and into another inside. Penetration takes many forms, as I continually discover.
We watched as one of them clamped onto a juicy vein and suckled, pulsing writhing ecstatically. It fed quickly, sleek and fat with blood, and once satisfied it rolled away. The baby suckles the nipple, the life force, and a human infant has an ego too distant to expand awareness past the breast. That leech knew nothing outside the throbbing vein on our victim’s cock. I watch the leeches swimming in the sun, able to live a year without feeding but they’re always hunting. Babies can at least cry, kick and scream to beat away the bad feelings of the absence of milk. Do the leeches live in frustration until they bite into living flesh?
Our weird biology experiment sits on the windowsill, our horde of pleasure-seekers holding court over the space where we poke and prick and piss and pervert, and they wait for their moment to drink life.
There were two that refused to sink into human skin. Are they gay? Not into male blood Hermaphroditic symbiosis – an unfed one curled around the bloated body of one who’d eaten, pressed its mouth against the body, and bit down. They tumbled around in the murky water and eventually the fat one squirmed free. A definite indent from where the queer one had used it as a nipple. What a brute!
Sex and aggression are so satisfyingly displayed in leech behaviour. The prick and the sting of it latching on, the engorged heaven of feeding, and the wet wound that flows thick and red.
Amphibious fanged mouths.
Our oral-sadistic pets.