I’m going to be a little open and vaunerable here… I have a sexual attaction to women with chainsaws. I’ve had it for years. I masturbate to pics of women with chainsaws. As a Christian I know masturbation is sexual sin, but it’s one fo the few things that makes me happy. I wrote this poem a long time ago to describe how I feel. I’d like you to read it and comment on it if you’d like.
There she was
The woman of my dreams,
The woman of my deepest, darkest secrets,
The woman of my fantasies
Tall, blonde, and sexy
Everything I dreamed about in a woman.
A farmer’s daughter from Wisconsin,
Long, thick brown caulked work boots
Orange chainsaw chaps and a jacket
All the PPE
And a Stihl MS 880 Magnum chainsaw
with a 48 inch bar
She was skilled with the chainsaw
She was practically born with a chainsaw in her hand.
She loved logging
She loved the outdoors
She loved cutting wood
And I was falling in “love” with her
I saw her
We made eye contact
She started looking arousing to me
Teasing me, taunting me in a sense
Building up passion and mixed feelings inside me
Something so wrong yet so right
I was aroused
I was stimulated
When she pulled on that starter cord
And the angry saw roared to life
How could someone so feminine yield so much power?
And why was I so fixated to that?
Was it from my childhood? My mom? My dad?
Was in growing up in a farm town in western New York?
I kept my distance as he hungrily eyed a large dogwood tree.
That would be her kill
Cutting down a tree
The most violent act of nature
Yet so arousing
A mix of emotions
An environmentalist and a consumerist warring on the inside.
Should I be repulsed?
Should I even care?
Why am I so fixated?
Shouldn’t I let her do her work in peace?
Isn’t it dangerous for me to be here
Physically, morally, emotionally, and spiritually?
She cut her first kerf
Took her first bite
Out of that mighty dogwood
So tantalizing yet so wrong
Sawdust, exhaust, sweat
The second cut
The loud noise
The saw idels
“Timber” yells the woman
The tree falls.
Should I be sad? Should I be mad?
Am I really glad?
She cut off the limbs
She bucked the logs
Smiling at me
I am sweaty
My pulse is raging
I want release
She skidded the logs to her portable sawmill
The bandsaw roared to life.
Out of the dogwood log were hewed two timbers
Like railroad ties.
Again I watch
A fantasy and a nightmare come true.
Then a Roman centurion – how anachronistic
Buys the two timbers
What does he need them for?
Why does she look at me while making the sale
With a crooked grin?
Now I am gazing on a hillside
In other horror.
My Creator, My God
The Lover of My Soul
Scorned and taunted.
Then I hear this evil laugh behind me.
It’s that lumberjill
She’s laughing at my Lord
She’s laughing to me.
I have been a fool.
I have fallen into sexual sin
I have gazed lustfully at this lumberjill
When she cut down that tree
And hewed the timber from the logs
Timber that my Lord was crucified on.
But what hurt Him more?
The nails or my sin?
Why do I hurt my Lord,
Why do I crucify Him,
With the lust in my eye,
The lust in my heart,
Over the very things I hate.
Why does this perpetuate?
For years I’ve been in a prison
From which I cannot escape
Carved by wood
Cut by women with chainsaws
Distancing myself from God
From my future wife
From my future kids
From my destiny.
I am bound by a chainsaw fetish
How did I get here?
And can I ever be free?
God Almighty, how can I be set free?