You’re so vain, you probably think this post is about you.
It didn’t help that Michelle was fucking everyone at the office. Not all at the same time, but systematically. She’d go after a co-worker, male or female, obsess over them, sleep with them once, then want nothing more to do with them. In the eleven months she was with Bill, Michelle estimates that she screwed around with at least a dozen people. It wasn’t about the sex; it was about the power and the attention, having people want her, need her.
When Bill figured out that the rumors of his wife’s behavior were true, he hopped on his motorcycle and hit the road. Somewhere between Fort Morgan and Brush, he steered his bike into an oncoming semi. A few days later, Michelle got his suicide note in the mail, blaming her.
Bill had purchased that motorcycle from Dennis Ormond and was still paying it off. After a missed payment, Dennis got in touch with Michelle. She told him that Bill was dead and offered to pay for the rest of the bike, but Dennis told her that it was Bill’s debt, and they would just call it even. Then he introduced her to his wife, Barbara.
Bill died in August 1992. By late October of that year, Michelle had moved in with Dennis and Barbara and was sleeping with both of them. By July of the following year, Barbara was out of the picture and Dennis and Michelle were wed.
Link to rest of a very long, but incredibly captivating story on Westword (via The New Shelton Wet/Dry)
Future societies are going to look at our [in]ability to understand sexuality and will warn their kids about the “dark ages” of sexual scholarship. Sure, we have Dan Savage, Dr Drew, the Sex Grandma, HBOs Real Sex, Jung, and a literal assload of self help books — but we don’t seem to truly “get it.” What drives our carnal desires? What minutiae from our early development propels us towards a preferred method of sexual satisfaction? How deep do the roots go and how can we tug at them? Why does Michelle Ormond catapult through life sucking blood, escaping from escapes, and collecting scalps?
Our marketplace (as well as science) is incredibly in tune with the what of these proclivities. We have every form of electric electronic possible to stimulate our erogenous zones, pornography has reached the postmodern, literature has supersceded collective thought, and I have to believe that we have reached a new peak in our actual ability to fuck each other (internet, what?) — but the how come of sexual arrousal still largely eludes even the most advanced PHD candidates. I, personally, look forward to a future that spends its evenings, with the lights on, understanding the how…. instead of merely participating in the what.
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