The plug socket Emeritus

Dies ist eine Übersetzung von Theresa Heyers Die Steckdose Emeritus. Dies ist keine eigenständige literarische Arbeit, auch wenn Heyer das behauptet.

Never when she was young Emeritus wanted to die. But one day the time had come and Emeritus died. Her blonde head, her snub nose, her small spherical breasts and her thin, old legs transfigurated into a brand spanking new power socket in a new housing estate (or: brand spanking new housing estate). There, everything shone and gleamed, just as it befits a Buddhist housing estates. Here, Emeritus was doing just fine. Because in the apartment where she was installed no one was living yet. That was her best time. She could just stick in the wall. She had nothing to do. She didn’t even have to sleep because she wasn’t tired of anything. It was nice to be in this wall, connected to cables that were quiet comrades, in a sunny, empty room. But then the room got crammed full of boxes, and there were lots of people in it. A shaggy, longish dog with mischievous eyes sniffed at her at one time or another. Until the day when Unx, the whiny little boy with tears on his face and mucus on his nose, who now lived in Emeritus’ room, stuck his stubby finger inside her. Not for nothing she’s called a “plug“ socket! All at one stroke she was overcome and filled with an elastic current that she had never felt before, and it really hurt her to be flooded like that, and she was disgusted, but at the same time a bizarre feeling of relaxation entered her and slowly spread through her, a sort of trance that lasted for hours after Unx had died from the electric shock. Emeritus kind of liked that. That mix of pain and lust. And she has been pining for years for the next small sausage finger.