Have You Seen Diana Naked?

9

John Slade looked across the table at Sigmund Freud, who was about to start interviewing the detained thief. The psychoanalyst opened his notebook, took his pencil out the of pocket and said:

"I usually suggest that my patients lie down on the couch during the interview. We may use your bunk for this purpose, if you like."

"No, doctor," Slade shook his head, "I won't lie down. Wanna see your eyes while talking to you."

"As you wish. Well, Captain Polack says you've been strongly shocked by the incident that happened to you in Madame de Blayac's stateroom."

"Shocked by the incident?" Slade spat on the floor. "I was kicked in the balls, doctor. That's worse than being shocked by any incident. Have you ever been kicked in the balls?"

"Your question is irrelevant to our conversation."

"Have you been kicked in the balls by a naked ballerina?"

"No, I've never been kicked in the balls by a naked ballerina, nor by any other naked girl."

"That's it!" exclaimed Slade. "But I was. She nearly got my balls ruptured. The pain was terrible, unbearable, I was in helpless agony. But it wasn't the worst thing I went through at that time."

"And what was the worst thing?" asked Freud, making some notes in his notebook.

"Her body. Don't get me wrong, her body was perfect. The bad thing was that I saw her naked, perfect body while my balls were killing me. I saw her body towering over me, while I couldn't get up because of my fucking balls. Do you know what I felt then, Doctor?"

"Tell me. That's why I'm here - to know your thoughts and feelings."

John Slade paused for a few seconds, then said:

"I wished I had a body like hers."

"You mean a female body?"

"Yes, I wanted a body like hers, without a dick and balls but with a pussy between my legs. I wanted to be a girl, I wanted to have a pussy."

"Vagina envy," whispered Freud, with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yes, you may call it pussy envy, that's what I'm suffering now from. I hate my male body, I hate my balls, I wish I were a girl, I wish I had a pussy. And what's more - I want to be kicked in the balls again.I want that ballerina to kick me in the balls again."

"But why?"

"I don't know why. I can't explain it to myself. But believe me, Doctor, it's unforgettable. I want her to kick me again in my fucking bslls. All last night I dreamt about that girl kicking me in the balls. Doctor, can you arrange that for me? Can you talk her into kicking me again?"

"I'm afraid that out of my my competence," said Freud, and closed his notebook.

"You can ask Captain to help me," said Slade.

"I don't think Captain has any desire to help you."

"Yes, I know," Slade slapped the table, "I know I'm a thief, I'm a criminal, but I'm nothing but a pawn in somebody else's game. There's a really powerful figure behind all this, and I will tell his name. I'll tell you everything about the man who ordered me to rob that woman's place. I'll do it if you promise to help me and my balls get busted by that ballerina."

"I can't promise such a thing. But if you gave me the name of that criminal mastermind, I would try to talk to Anna Pavlova about you."

"I believe you, doctor. That's why I wanted to look you in the eye. I can see now you're an honest man."

"So, who sent you to steal those jewels?" asked Freud.

"I'll tell you, though this man can kill me any minute, even here, in this guarded cabin."

"Well, what's his name?"

Slade drew his face closer to the psychoanalyst and whispered:

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Who?" exclaimed Freud.

"Sherlock Holmes. 'Twas him who made me commit not only this crime but many others, even more daring ones. He's a really dangerous man, I tell you. But I'm gonna tell you all about him."

"Mrs.Brown, may I have a word with you?" Dr. Watson heard a man's voice behind him, standing at the railing of the promenade deck, enjoying the view of the open sea and the gentle whiff of a warm breeze. When he turned around, he saw Sigmund Freud standing in front of him with a cane in his hands. The next moment he saw the lower end of the cane fly right into his groin.

Watson stood at the railing, not uttering a sound but making painful grimaces with his face, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Stop pretending you're a woman!" cried Freud. "I know you're a man, Dr. Watson!"

"Fuck!" Watson let out a scream of pain, and grabbed his injured balls through the silky fabric of his dress. "Who told you?"

"Your friend Sherlock Holmes," replied Freud.

"Did he? Oh, shit, just can't hold my balls through this fucking dress. What the hell did he tell you about me? He's the one who made me wear women's clothes."

"Your friend is a mentally unstable man, and an evil person to boot, Doctor Watson."

"Is that what you think, Doctor Freud? And why did you hit me in the balls? What evil genius prompted you to do it?"

"Did you know Professor Moriarty?"

"Of course I do. He's the nemesis of Holmes. Damn, will my balls ever feel better?" Watson squatted down and looked up at Freud. "Did Moriarty ask you to club my nuts with your cane?"

"Have you ever see Professor Moriarty?" the psychoanalyst went on asking questions.

"No, I've never seen him."

"Then how do you know he exists?"

"Holmes told me about him. But why? Why are you asking me all this?"

Sigmund Freud poked Watson in the chest от with his cane.

"Because there's no Moriarty at all."

"What do you mean 'no Moriarty'?"

"Professor Moriarty doesn't exist. Holmes and Moriarty, it's Jekyll and Hyde, the same man with a split personality."

"You must be kidding," said Watson, slowly getting up to his feet. "I can't believe it."

"Holmes invented Moriarty to get himself busy. He soon began playing the part of Moriarty, committing all sorts of crime, then solving the cases as Holmes, but never being able to catch his nemesis."

"You're talking some nonsense, Doctor Freud," Watson shook his head in disbelief. "I've known Holmes for many years, I've been through a lot with him."

"I tell you, idiot," Freud shouted nervously, "there's no Professor Moriarty! There's only Sherlock Holmes!"

"Then who is stealing all those paintings with naked girls?" Watson asked, and wrinkled his face in pain. "You motherfucker, Herr Freud, don't you know it's not a decent thing for a gentleman to hit a lady in the balls?"

To be continued...