(This post is part of the longer story Infidelity at the top of the home page.)
“The erotic has often been misnamed by men and used against women. It has been made into the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, and plasticized sensation. For this reason, we have turned away from the exploration and consideration of the erotic as a source of power and information…” Audre Lorde
“As often as not, it seems to be assumed that man has his being independently of his passions. I affirm, on the other hand, that we must never imagine existence except in terms of these passions…” Georges Bataille
Oh, Jen, your breasts are talking to my cock. Make them shoosh for a while, I have to do stuff.
I desire your breasts so much. My mouth and my hands yearn for them.
I woke up picturing holding your breast on the palm of my hand and feeling its weight.
I love that we can express any desire at all and know that the other will share it. So extraordinary.
Oh, love. We are so in tune with one another.
There are so many things I’ve only done or talked about doing with you…it all adds to the richness of us, to have so many firsts. My love.
She wants to feel the weight of him on her. She wants him to hold her down with his body on hers. I will be too heavy, he tells her, but she doesn’t think so, what she thinks is that for years she has been waiting for the body that will hold her in place and it is his. Finally, he lays himself naked the length of her, propped on his elbows to spare her his weight. She says no, all of you, all of you on all of me, and he gently lowers himself, his chest against her breasts, his belly on hers, his cock hard against her mound. Keep your legs closed, he tells her, don’t let me in yet. His thighs rest on her thighs. She raises her arms and lays them either side of her head. She lifts her pelvis to his. He grabs her wrists and holds them. He breathes softly into her open mouth his face so near his features are indistinguishable, his eyes holding hers in their close gaze. Don’t come, he whispers into her mouth. You mustn’t come. His gentle breath in her mouth is almost too much, she feels desire overwhelm her and struggles to keep it in check. Then she feels the tip of his tongue stroke hers. Hold still, he breathes. Don’t move.
Sex is a deep search to uncover everything that is hidden. She shows him what he wants to see. She takes him where he wants to go. She lies on their bed, her legs slightly bent and open. She takes the outer folds of her sex in her fingers and holds open her secret place. He gazes upon her. Then he looks at her face. His gaze travels between her cunt and her face. He shakes his head in amazement and disbelief. You doing this, he says, it feels like the most natural thing in the world that you should lie here like this and show her to me, how can it seem so natural? I don’t know, she tells him. They are now sharing the intense gaze they’ve perfected. I don’t know how I am doing this. I only know I want to. Do you like her? Oh, god, he groans. Oh god, she is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen! She is pink, and glistening, and plump, oh god, she is everything I imagined she would be.
They don’t touch. They call it their fierceness, this desire they have to be in one another, this desire that transcends the physical, this desire of which physical expression is only one small part. He calls it their “psychic sex,” a merging of energies that doesn’t require his cock in her cunt, but is at its strongest when their tongues meet, and their eyes. They discovered it by accident, in a situation where fucking was impossible, and it is their favourite thing, the thing that binds them irrevocably, that is particularly theirs, that they can have even when separated by thousands of kilometres.
She learns how to feel his absent hips nestled between her thighs; she learns how to move her cunt as if around him, and when he takes out his cock it is her hand that holds him, even though a vast distance physically separates them. Once, after they have been interrupted by some domestic matter in his household, he writes: this psychic sex is so strong that my cocked twitched for ages and my balls ached, just as if we had been physically interrupted. What is this love we’ve made together?
I don’t know, she tells him. I don’t know.
Neither of them knows where the fierceness might take them when they are physically together. He writes of how he wants her to use him, to take everything she wants from him, he won’t stop her and when he’s exhausted, she must take even more. They agree that in no other parts of their lives do they desire fierceness, only in this mutual intimacy do they want to break through their learned limitations, the abstract restrictions of taboo, the pointless inhibitions life has instilled in both of them.
Your nipples are beautifully designed for my mouth. And somehow my cock seems to have been made for your cunt. Am desperate for your body. Every part of it. Every part. Does that frighten you?
Yes, she tells him. But being afraid doesn’t stop me. With you, I will go anywhere.
Aaaaaaah. I will tell you what to do? You will obey me?
Yes, she says. I will.
“The very word erotic comes from the Greek word eros, the personification of love in all its aspects – born of Chaos, and personifying creative power and harmony. When I speak of the erotic, then, I speak of it as an assertion of the lifeforce of women… Our erotic knowledge empowers us, becomes a lens through which we scrutinize all aspects of our existence, forcing us to evaluate those aspects honestly in terms of their relative meaning within our lives. And this is a grave responsibility, projected from within each of us, not to settle for the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected, nor the merely safe.” Audre Lorde