|Newspaper >> The bourgeois >> Macintosh Undercover|
Leper sex is a worrying new social trend among Britain’s underclass. In an apparent search for ever more extreme forms of sexual interplay, sleeping with sufferers of the skin disease leprosy has become the practise of a small but significant minority. Services of lepers are often paid for, in what has become a lucrative source of income for some lepers, a group often unable to find alternative employment.
The quest of discovery was often frustrating. Players in the leper sex ‘scene’ were understandably difficult to contact. Tentative advertisements on the internet were initially fruitless. One day however, there was a breakthrough; a phonecall to my office. A cautious voice at the other end asked if this was the number of Mr. Donal Mackintosh. ‘It is I,’ I replied archly. ‘Oh right, yes. It’s just that, well, I was responding to one of your ads you placed on www.fetishesfornewspapers.org.’ I sat bolt upright in my chair, clutching the phone in one hand, my pen flourished over a notepad in the other. There was a pregnant pause. ‘Well, anyway, I’m a perv. Only I heard you were looking for someone who was into…you know…the leper scene.’ I leaned forward in my chair. ‘That’s right. I hoped perhaps we could meet in some secluded and furtive location to discuss leper sex.’ ‘Oh no, that’s ok,’ the man replied. ‘How about a café somewhere? Furtive seclusion always makes me feel so dirty somehow.’ We arranged to meet that very day.
The trail began in a bustling café where I met Baz*. Baz is in his 40s and works as a milkman* during the day. At night, he is an active member of the shadowy leper sex community. I asked him when his interest in leper sex was first aroused. ‘I must have been 11 or 12 when I first thought of lepers. It was during Bible studies. You know, the bit where Jesus cures, what’s his name, Lazarus? It was very…arousing. The sacred touch, bringing healing. Maybe that’s why I like leper sex. I feel a bit like I’m the Messiah.’ I asked if he thought there was an element of healing in the acts of leper sex. Baz was slightly confused. ‘What, like Marvin Gaye..? Actually, it’s very painful for the lepers. You know, the abrasion, the friction… it doesn’t exactly go with their condition.’ He leaned closer. ‘I think there are some people in the leper sex scene who enjoy that kind of thing. Sometimes, you know….well, bits.. they …fall off. And I think that must be a big thrill for some people. Its well grimy.’
I asked Baz if he would permit me insight into more of his secret world. Baz readily agreed, and I arranged to meet him one evening at a house, where a planned leper sex event would be taking place. I knocked on the door of an ordinary looking suburban house, which was answered by Baz. He ushered me inside excitedly. ‘Daz* is in there at the moment with one,’ he explained. We waited for about half an hour until Daz came out, looking worn and dishevelled. ‘Would you like to see inside?’ Daz asked, pointing to the darkened door that he had just entered from. I agreed, and the three of us made our way inside.
In the centre of the room was a grubby unmade bed. As I looked closer, I could see blood stains on the sheets. The bed was covered with what looked like sourdough crumbs. I broke the silence. ‘Can I ask…where the person with leprosy is?’ Baz looked at Daz. ‘He’s left already hasn’t he?’ Daz looked at us both. ‘Na…the thing is.. this one…disintegrated completely. Its their skin, isn’t it, all that rubbing up and down.’ He looked proud. ‘I was well vigorous.’ I peered at the sheets. ‘But, surely, their bones and things? Their organs? They wouldn’t just disappear?’ Baz demurred. ‘Na, it’s the same all the way through. With extreme cases anyway. They’re like sawdust all the way through. And if something happens to upset that fragile balance…’ Baz shrugged his shoulders, ‘well, this happens.’ ‘But what would motivate a human being to risk such an appalling death?’ I asked them. ‘Partly the money. Where I work, in the fast food industry,* we’d never take on someone in their condition. Not even to work in the kitchens’, Daz told me. Baz turned to me. ‘I like to think its sometimes more than that. I think it’s the thrill of being touched by another human being, after years, maybe decades of isolation.’
I was caught up in the beautiful melancholy of Baz’s thought, when I saw Daz reach down and absent mindedly nibble one of the crumbs on the bed. ‘What are you doing?’ I cried in horror. Daz looked puzzled. ‘Oh…that. Yeah…I’m eating the remains. It makes me well horny.’ At that point my suspicions were aroused, and accused the two of them of inventing the whole scenario of leper sex. Baz looked sullen. ‘No we’re not. Look’, he pulled something from under the bed, ‘Daz has even got a mask. He’s a proper perv.’ ‘That’s a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Mask. Look, its Michelangelo.’ Baz folded his arms menacingly. ‘Fine. Don’t believe us. Don’t believe leper sex.’ He leaned closer, a threatening figure. ‘Don’t have anything to put in your poxy paper to scare the middle classes with on Sunday morning.’ It was then I realised the dreadful danger my story was in. I left that dark house quickly.
My foray into the dark world of leper sex had thankfully ended. What is leper sex? It undoubtedly can be sinister and destructive, exploiting people with leprosy to risk their lives for scant financial reward. Yet, I found in Baz’s search for leper sex, a strange kind of beauty. Perhaps leper sex is a way for the underprivileged in our society to experience fulfilment and love in the only way they can.
*All names have been changed to reinforce the Asbo, Trisha guest stereotype we are trying to create.
*So have the jobs