Bevrijding

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Tussen twee ijzeren tangen,
tussen zon en maan.
Mijn schaapjes zijn te klein om alleen te gaan.

Tussen hamer en aambeeld,
tussen twee boekensteunen.
Durf ik op niets en niemand meer te steunen

Omgeven door idioten,
sprekend giftig als slangen,
gedreven door malloten,
zonder kans dat het heelt.

Maar dat kán zo niet langer!
Dus ik breek deze keten,
die mijzelf heeft gevangen.
En ‘k vergeet mijn geweten.

Dit is het afsluitende gedicht in het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin – bestel het hier.

#Fourteen – epilogue

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Kung magkakaisa lahat ng sapot ng gagamba tiyak leon ay mapapatumba.

Filipino proverb (Tagalog)

<Skipped the beginning>

As the climax dissipated and she relaxed, my dick was still hard. I gently climbed on top of her, and slowly penetrated her warm and wet cavity. Her eyes widened as I quickly realised she was actually really tight. This pussy had not been penetrated often, if at all. She just laid there, moaning in the right way, but leaving all the movement to me. She was so small, she disappeared under me but for her spindly limbs. To the ceiling I must have looked like a large spider – four arms, four legs and one body. How apt.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

I am here, I am everywhere

Fiddler’s Green

#Thirteen

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I want you bad

The Offspring

I still am a spider, though I don’t feel so dangerous right now. I scaled the north-east pillar of the highway bridge built next to the train bridge described by Nijhoff in 1934. I’m hiding here, sharing my story with you, before, if worst comes to worst, I bleed out. Once I thought the flies on my shoulder would be a memory of the flies I killed; a memory that would last forever. But it turns out, tattoos go when the wearer passes. Not straight away, but they will turn to unrecognisable dust. And the flies I swatted deserve more than that. So I decided, a little while ago, to write these confessions. Just in case my wounds can’t be healed.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

Now I’m not one to talk, ’cause I know I have my faults,
But even I know you can’t evolve by building up your walls.

Sum 41

#Twelve

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Spinnerin am Morgen
bringt Kummer und Sorgen.
Spinnerin am Abend
bringt Glück und Gaben.

German poem

<Skipped the beginning>

By morning, reality caught up with me, and this spinster turned into a sour partner. She picked up her phone, scrolled through her Instagram account. When she showed me the screen, I knew I had fucked up. I was looking at myself, back in Bosnia. And it was the last picture her friend had posted.

I got up from the bed, went into the bathroom to take a leak, and I silently underwent the questions she fired at me. I pulled the hair dryer from the wall and went back into the bedroom. That is when she asked me if I was the perp from the news from Szczecin.

As I pulled the electric wire tight around her neck, I told her the truth. I told her that she would be turned into a fly tattoo on my arm. Because I am a spider, and I kill flies. Especially the ones that are a nuisance; those buzzing around my head with annoying questions.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Eleven

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Dwa pająki się spotkali, puzzle sobie ukladali
jeden mówi do drugiego, pospisz się kolego.

Polish poem

I am a spider. I kill flies. I hide, like every clever spider, in plain sight. Fully dressed, I look like any ordinary human being; you won’t notice the tattoos. I’ve put myself – a red-back spider – on one shoulder, and all the swatted flies on the other side.

Do yourself a favour: if I talk to you, and you’re starting to think I’m nice, run. Or I will bring you to heights you’ve yet to see, only to tear you apart a little while later.

A month after poisoning the couple in Bosnia, I hadn’t found a place to settle down just yet. I was still living in hotels – at this time a rather nice one in Sczcecin – when I was invited to the pool by a man. Knowing me, I’m sure you are wondering what the relevance is, here. But it is relevant, trust me; I’ve never been this honest. Once we were in the pool, I realised I was not alone: on his shoulder there was a tattoo of a rather large spider climbing up towards his neck. It wasn’t a red-back, but it looked fierce enough. Even though there were no flies on the other, I was sure I had met a partner in crime. The only difference being, that he was just getting started.

He was nice, we had a similar character, only confirming my suspicion. And then he took the initiative. There were twins sitting by the pool. Dark-blonde, wavey hair, fit, trained bodies, flat stomachs, small and firm breasts covered by cute bikinis. Their smiles were to die for, their voices soft and timid and their emerald eyes shone. At first glance, the only difference between them were their belly buttons: one had a pink button pierced into it, the other a blue one.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Ten

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Ne pravi pauk mrežu za jednu muhu.

Bosnian Proverb

I am a spider. I am a dangerous spider, even though my power is now weakening. Sitting here, perched high above the land I know so well. My mind’s eye replaces the view I see before me, with images from the winter I was at my most dangerous. It was the time I had eight flies and a mosquito on one arm, and the single solitary red-back spider tattooed on my other. I had just feasted in Italy and was hiding out in Šuica… When I get the chance, I hunt. I did back then, perhaps I will again soon. Don’t give me that chance. Run when we meet.

In Blidinje nature park I met her. She arrived in a Porsche 356 – I will never know why she drove that there, other than just because she could. Lush lips, voluptuous bosom, beautiful bubble butt and dark blonde hair made her worth noticing even more than the car. Her eyes, though, dull with boredom, were glued to her phone. So I struck up a conversation.

<Skipped a bit>

After she swallowed my 10cc, I buttoned up and she drove me to her estate – she apparently was satisfied enough, for I didn’t see her use her phone again. There we spent the week fornicating. One morning, as I was making her breakfast, a man walked in and I found out she’d lied to me. The man, who thought I was the new chef, asked me for a specific breakfast with sweet black Americano and went up to her bedroom. I’d just met her husband; the divorce was a lie. And while I now had a good reason to swat this fly, it presented me with quite a dilemma.

Walk away? Never! I am a fucking spider. And I’m good at fucking, too! I am dangerous; I kill. But then, she’d lied to me to get laid; I ‘d never been this irked before. This fly had to die. Today. But what to do about her mate? He had done me little harm, but if I killed her, he surely would hunt me down.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Nine

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Ragno porta guadagno.

Italian proverb

I am a spider. A very dangerous one at that. If you don’t run, I kill, and then I run. And usually, after I run, I lay low for a while; I digest, so to speak. By the time we meet, though, assume I’m hungry.

The intermissions have usually been a time of reflection too. Don’t get me wrong, it was never a time of remorse. Regret is something I refuse to feel – I do what seems a good idea at the time. Reflect I do – how can I get out cleaner the next time? And one thing I figured out was, that I needed more money. For you needn’t fear a spider that brings money, right?

So I buried my spider and flies under a white collar and went into crime. There are two ways to get rich: organise gambling or go into banking. Either way, you need to be morally corrupt to make some real dough. As a spider, a moral conscience was not part of my baggage. What followed was the hatching of a plan, I put my savings together and executed it in the land of the free. I kept to myself, ignored all flies I encountered and was successful. Within five years I was offered three million dollars for one company.

An associate of mine, mr. Andretta, had told me a lot of nice things about his father’s home country, so with my pockets full of cash I returned to the continent I was born in. On the plane over the ocean, I was tempted to go back home, but time taught me I wasn’t ready for that yet. This spider brought his money to Italy, first.

Having had half a decade of work and no play, I’d been a dull boy; but I was done working and ready for a new fly. I was famished. It wasn’t a week later, that I bedded a beautiful yet not brand new Italian woman.

She’d obviously been around, and knew what she expected from her man. She was quick and to the point in telling me where and how to touch her; and what not to do. The first time I felt a little like a puppet on strings, but I quickly realised that this was her thing. She came so loud I was worried about the neighbours, a quarter mile away. Her orgasm came from deep within and the trembling continued for quite some time.

Once her first orgasm had abated, she started working my body. She deep-throated me thoroughly; I got so hard it hurt. Then she rode me showing impressive strength and stamina. It had been so long for me that I came like a pig; I worried I’d filled her up like a balloon!

Once we were done, panting, smiling and enjoying the intensity of the last orgasm, I reached down to take off the condom, put a knot in it and… I realised I’d forgotten to put one on. Making money had made me lose my edge. I’d really enjoyed the sex, and was looking forward to more of this, in a way. But a worry entered the back of my head.

When she confirmed she wasn’t on any contraceptive either, knowing the amount of jizz I’d left in her, I knew it was most likely I’d have to swat this fly soon.

When her hormone balance changed, the next week, and she started throwing up, I took my chance. While she was praying through the shitty telephone, I pushed her head into the bowl and flushed. She had strong legs and tried to use them, but I managed to stay out of reach. I slammed the seat down to the back of her neck so hard it cracked. I flushed again, and then she went still, but I still saw her pulse going in her neck. So I kept pushing down, and flushed as often as I could, for about ten minutes. That’s when I was sure her pulse had stopped.

The second time you carry a cold corpse through the woods, is less memorable than the first. All I remember now, is that, at the time, I thought of the first time, and realised there were few similarities. The only similarity I could think of, was that the next morning, I got myself a fly tattoo.

For I am a spider, and I kill flies. Not every day, not even every year. But I am a cold blooded killer, and while I commit this to paper in the chill of a spring evening, you should consider yourself lucky that we haven’t met. Yet.

#Eight

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A aranha vive do que tece.

Boca fechada não entra mosca.

Brasilian proverbs.

I am a spider, and I kill flies. Or mosquitoes. I usually don’t need to cast a web to be dangerous. It is true though, that a spider lives on what it weaves. When we meet, it is already too late for you. I strike, you die. It’s that simple. The spider tattooed on one shoulder will always be alone. You will join the swarm of flies on my other arm; yes, the swarm is becoming too large for just my shoulder.

I used an emergency exit out of Australia. I had my fill of Asia, so I thought I’d try my luck in South America. And let me tell you: flies live all over the planet. I did visit a few countries in South America. It turns out, I find the women there very attractive – in general. Maybe it’s the variation and the mixes that exist there, due to wave after wave of migration – either by choice or by force. It has led to a multitude of skin tones and body shapes. I started to understand that for me, the beauty of a women is in her shape and smoothness of skin, not in the colour. Had I encountered a mistique South American woman with bright blue skin, I would’ve fancied her.

I have to admit that a large percentage of the women I had a thing for; a lot of potential flies I met, all with one drawback: “I have a boyfriend.” And though I tend to kill flies, it’s my way of setting me free. I’m not in the business of liberating another man. I know the correct answer to “I have a boyfriend” is “I’m not jealous”, but I won’t lie: I don’t share. If I keep my mouth shut, flies won’t get in.

Not until I got to a little rundown port city on the Xingu did I see a girl in a beauty contest who proclaimed to be single. She wore nothing but a zebra coloured bikini with a pink cloth across her breasts and oily reflecting sunglasses. Her chestnut skin smooth as silk. She was two sizes too big for a miss universe contest, but semi-anorexic wasn’t my favourite anyway.

I put her out of my mind at first, for looking like that, being on stage, stating you’re single, is well more effective than a nude picture on Ashley Madison if you are looking for attention. A few hours later, though, things changed.

I saw her. Fully dressed in skin tight jeans and a green blouse, she was being harassed by two men. While two dogs fight over a bitch, the spider swoops in and runs off with her. I hugged her and whispered in her ear: ‘pretend I’m your boyfriend, I’ll get you out of here, and you’ll never have to see me again.” The result was quite unexpected.

She swallowed the hook, lifeline and sinker. I took her out of there, while she said that she’d lied about being single to get votes. And while I remained chivalrous, she fell for me. That same night I opened my mouth to let a fly cum in; her juices flowed as she came before she even touched me. And as I gently penetrated her soft and tender body, she moaned in pleasure, moving to my rhythm. We reached orgasm simultaneously, not ten minutes later.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Seven

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Itsy Bitsy Spider climbed up the water spout.
Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.

Origin unknown

<Skipped the beginning>

I took a shine to her, and she did to me when I asked her to join me for dinner at a local NoMSG Asian restaurant. Fortunately for her they served a decent chicken tikka masala; fortunately for me they also had a very acceptable tom yum kung. We ate, we drank and we talked. We talked about our journies and what they had taught us. We hit it off well, for some of the lessons learnt were recognisable, and it had been quite a while for either of us since we’d been with anyone. So when the restaurant cloesed, we found ourselves kissing in her campervan where, only a little while later, she went itsy bitsy spider, slid down my semen spout.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Six

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ยุงร้ายกว่าเสือ”

Thai proverb

I am a spider. Beware: I am a dangerous spider. Beware, for real, though, I don’t just kill flies. The red-back on my shoulder has enough poison to hurt a human too. So when I strike up a conversation: kill it; run, hide. Don’ t let me find you again. The flies on my other shoulder are testimony to the ones who failed to run.

No, apparently I don’t just kill flies. I kill mosquitoes too. While I am always a little disappointed to see a fly go, I’m quite pleased with myself that I managed to kill a mosquito. Man, they are a pest; a mosquito is more dangerous than a tiger. Trust me; this one was a handful.

Als je de rest wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the rest of this chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Five

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苍蝇不叮无缝的蛋

Chinese proverb

I am a spider. I kill flies. Something about my feromones makes them swarm to me. But remember: I’m a dangerous solitary creature. No matter how much you think you’ve got me eating out of the palm of your hand, I will always walk alone.

<Skipped section>

I was pissed. Not just at myself for falling for this trick. But also at her for selling me bull shit. So I made her suffer. I bought a nail gun, and stuck her to the table. I superglued and ducktaped her mouth shut before I put more nails in her body, one every minute, until she stopped moving. Then I left the mess for someone else to find. Hopefully the men who no longer got any money from her. If it were them, it would buy me time to flee the country.

I’d now really become a spider. No emotional attachment ever again. Solitary life is best. I’d show the world how long I could do without feeding. But when I get hungry: brace yourself. I’m now without remorse. I’m dangerous. Run when you spot my tattoos.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Four

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ஈக்கள் ஒரு புதிய தொட்டியில் திரண்டு வருவதில்லை.

Tamil proverb

I am a spider, and I am dangerous. Yet, for some reason, flies appear in my life. Usually I only have to make a minor effort squashing them.

Once I even had a fly come to at me, and at first I let her go. I had just come off a twenty hour flight – well, with a six hour lay-over in some Arabian desert where even the flies hide in tents. The only thing I wanted was a bed. But first I had to eat and shower. I had flown a long way towards the equator and was once again in a very warm and humid nation. Being in the middle of the ocean didn’t help of course.

Fresh off the cool plane, ten minutes outside made me hot and sweaty in an unappreciative way. Believe me, in the right circumstances, being hot and sweaty is a state I’d aim for instead of avoid. By the time I landed in Colombo I was old and experienced enough to say that I enjoyed getting hot, sweaty and naked with someone.

But not just yet. The waitress in the hotel-restaurant I’d picked, tried to get my attention straight away. She was cute. Chestnut skin, long black hair reaching all the way down her perfectly arched back to where her buttocks were hiding under her white wide but slightly too short skirt. She served me bending over the table, allowing me a good look onto her small and firm breasts – not kept in place by a bra. At the time I had no idea how culturally inappropriate this was; at the time I was even too tired to act upon the hint. I appreciated the view of her dark nipples rubbing her hotel-supplied T-shirt, sure. But I first went to bed.

The next morning she was wearing a plain, bright blue dress. It closed tightly around her neck, fit neatly across her shoulders and female curves to leave no room for doubt about her beauty. From her hips down, the dress widened to fall loosely around her bare legs, carried by simple black pumps. The simplicity of her attire made her more attractive; I remember thinking that with a dress like this, she needn’t take anything off to straddle naked me.

Als je de rest wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the rest of this chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

#Three

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Anlayana sivri sinek saz anlamayana davul zurna az.

Turkisch proverb

I am a spider. I have killed quite a few flies without casting a web. You see, I’m dangerously aggressive, I usually don’t need any intricate representations to get what I want. Therefore: when I talk to you, run, and you may live.

There was this one time, I found myself in Ankara. And yes, after my African stint, I did explore this country quite extensively. I’ve seen Doğubeyazıt, I’d seen İzmir, but nowhere did I encounter the kind of girls I saw in Ankara, and one in particular.

The first time I saw her, she was in a school uniform. White blouse, chequered skirt a few inches above the knee, black leather boots an inch below the knees, raven black wavy hair halfway down her back, bright red lips and runny mascara.

I asked her what was wrong, and she told me her boyfriend had left her after a couple of wild nights. To be sure – the school uniform worried me – I had to ask her age. I was an adult by then, and didn’t want to end up a paedophile in a Turkish dungeon. Eighteen – she was still in school because she had paid more attention to boys than to grades. So I thought I was going to be the rebound boy once again. Her appearance had most certainly given that desire.

We talked for a long time, and even though I tried to buzz like a fly – and she got my message about emotional connection and the need for understanding, I may as well have been screaming my desire through a clarion. She didn’t bite.

She said I was a wise man for my age, kissed me on the cheek and went into her home. I was already going in after her, when she shut the door in my face. I knew then I had to cast a web to catch this fly.

I did. I sweet-talked, presented and flattered her for two days before I first touched her naked body. No, she wasn’t naked; for some reason she insisted on wearing socks.

It didn’t matter. I was only the second man to be with her, so I first kissed her passionately, while I hugged and caressed her ever so gently. I let my hands go through her perfectly groomed shiny hair, I explored her back and gained the first delighted moan when I held her firm buttocks in my hands, my little finger slowly moving towards what matters.

Als je de rest wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the rest of this chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.