The Baffling Case of Elektra Haze and the Sex Dinosaurs


If you've ever wondered what's at the very heart of your sexuality, all you need to do is answer the following question honestly.

You come home late one night after a hard day at work. Your boss has been riding you all day and you hate them. It's made even worse by the fact they are really, despicably hot. You're grumpy and horny and tired and want to die. You open the door to your shitty flat. Lying there on the table is a sight you never thought you'd see.

It's a tub of cookie dough ice cream, an eight-inch purple dildo and a note with two words on it:

"You're welcome."

What do you do? Some people would curse aloud and toss it in the trash. Others might put it up on Instagram with the caption, 'nice joke guys!' Others, still, might stare at it with one inexplicable thought running behind their panicked eyes, ‘how do they know?’

Then there are those who would simply sigh, grab a spoon and resign themselves to 38 minutes with the mysterious guest placed purposefully in their butt. They may even throw in the spoon out of curiosity.

Those are the kind of people you want at your birthday party. Just don't invite them to your wedding.

Me? Well, I'd probably laugh about it. At least, at first.

Then I'd drop the item quietly in a draw and make a mental note to throw it away. But I'd forget. And it would stay there, watching me. It would watch me when I got dressed for work; when I had a friend over for coffee; when I took a shower. It would sit in its own dark corner of my room, gathering strength.

One day, I'd take it out and stare at it in silence. I'd wonder why I still had it. I would tell myself I could never possibly find a use for it. I wouldn't even know where to begin. But I'd also know, deep in my soul, that I would never, ever throw it away.

I hope you don't think that's weird. It's not a question that's supposed to make anyone feel bad or uncomfortable. Everyone has a different response. None of them are wrong. 

But that's only because that's not the question. The real question is this:

Are you happy with your answer?

*        *        *

"FUCK?!" said Elektra.

This might be the first time you've heard that particular expletive used as a question. If that's the case, you've clearly never spent much time around a pornographic detective.

I wouldn't be surprised. She's the only one I've ever heard of. And Elektra isn't even her real name. I'm not allowed to tell you what it is. I'm not supposed to be telling you this at all. If she found out, I'd probably have to spend a whole weekend with Corporal Parsons and the naughty chair.

        All awkwardness aside, there’s a very real reason why I can’t tell you her name. I’ll get to that later. But first, you need to learn about Elektra.

        She’s swearing right now because I’ve just walked in on her. With Elektra, it’s hard to tell if she’s running yet another experiment to get to the root of a complicated and dangerous criminal case or whether she’s just masturbating. I’ve begun to suspect that they are, in fact, one and the same.

        “Fuck?” she says again.

        “I’m not cleaning it up this time.”

        “You little shit.”