~|Her soft, warm and moist finger running down my heaving shoulders and chest, covered in sweat, shining in the dim light of the nightshade; our deep breaths seem to echo, the curtains seem to be feeling awkward and embarrassed, just hanging over the window letting in shafts of the morning Sun.| ~
There it is – a snapshot from one of my fantasies. I am not talking about monsters and dragons – they would feature under the category called “Creatures”. We are all some or the other kind of creature when we are bare-naked. I am talking about the more personal fantasies we cherish. Of course the former fantasies with dragons and mythical flying nymphs can also be personal for a lot of people, but I am in the mood for the latter; Sex.
If you haven’t already felt a sweetly agonal twinge in your breast, then I must warn you. You have a condition, and you should do something about it. I prescribe Sex. We all fantasize, you should too. You should also make the fantasies come true. You will gasp and churn in wonder at yourself, all your energy, and at how much good you can do to yourself and someone else. I said “breast” there. That does not mean I intend only to speak to women. This is a dialogue; one that is Reader-Gender Irrespective. Men have a breast too.
“The breast is the upper ventral region of the torso of a primate, in left and right sides, containing the mammary gland which in a female can secrete milk used to feed infants.
Both men and women develop breasts from the same embryological tissues. However, at puberty, female sex hormones, mainly estrogen, promote breast development which does not occur in men due to the higher amount of testosterone. As a result, women’s breasts become far more prominent than those of men.”– Wikipedia
I mean “Breast” as in – “His breast heaves with deep breaths of satisfaction and attainment…”
It is Poetic.
Sex is poetry, as a matter of fact.
Haven’t you noticed the insatiable urge for rhyming, the surge after surge of verse in words of the strong whispering winds dancing with the storm inside – whirls of anticipation, rolling thunder in the stomach and heart in powerful rhythm, vibrations all over, felt in every joint of your body, every root of hair – everywhere, followed by beads of sweat and calls to the heavens. All of which brings heavy rainfall, which of course happens if the storm is weathered right. Also, did I mention flawless rhyming?
Sex is an adventure. I implore you to look deeper. It is a journey through terrain that can be new every time you rip off the cage of custom and explore all kinds of surfaces, vegetation, reservoirs of ecstasy and remarkable erections available. Some natural forms in fact, are particularly desirable. However, I contest Sex does not care about form; it cares about how much rapture can be taken and shared to make more for everyone. Sex appreciates every form.
In this experience you will see rivers, waterfalls and heavy weather conditions with precipitation often coming to life spontaneously, from various places.
Yes, places. Remember, I said “Terrain”?
One of my favourite such places, is the eyes. My fondest memories come from the days when some of the beautiful women I have been with, had tears in their eyes – kohl running down and all. I do not take that as a sign of how much talent I may have in this area of life. I am in fact, in all honesty, enamoured with the knowledge itself, that my touch can make a woman cry out of joy in discovery. I believe we all have the power of irresistible touch. We just need to train it and temper it for maximum ecstasy and devotion, to attain self-actualization. I suggest an Epicurean approach to this subject. The more you want to love something, the more pleasurable it becomes, especially Sex.
Speaking of Epicurean, I must remind you that –
“Epicurus [341–270 BC] was an ancient Greek philosopher as well as the founder of the school of philosophy called Epicureanism. Only a few fragments and letters of Epicurus’s three hundred written works remain. Much of what is known about Epicurean philosophy derives from later followers and commentators.
For Epicurus, the purpose of philosophy was to attain the happy, tranquil life, characterized by Ataraxia—peace and freedom from fear—and Aponia—the absence of pain—and by living a self-sufficient life surrounded by friends. He taught that pleasure and pain are the measures of what is good and evil; death is the end of both body and soul and should therefore not be feared; the gods neither reward nor punish humans; the universe is infinite and eternal; and events in the world are ultimately based on the motions and interactions of atoms moving in empty space.” – Wikipedia
There is lot that can be said about Sex in philosophy. I will try to keep it as concise as possible.
Sex gives way to the birth of death, through life. It is the blooming lotus in the centre of our universe. All there is and can be, has happened and is happening because of this union of sentient beings; where flesh seems to cross the borders of skin, turning them into a rolling Sun of energy – the energy of life.
We die little deaths, when we collide with ambitions and find ourselves as well as each other; in the final moment of fruition, of a new fire of lust, or love, or maybe even life. In French they say, La Petite Mort for “Orgasm” – it means “The Little Death”.
However, if I had to draw an analogy, I would choose the one of Prometheus.
“In Greek mythology, Prometheus is a Titan, a culture hero, and a trickster figure who is credited with the creation of man from clay, and who defies the gods and gives fire to humanity…” – Wikipedia
That fire is Sex.
It was only a privilege for the Gods to relish but Prometheus gave it to us, and was cast out for betrayal. Truly, it is the betrayal of all other pains by the sweetest one. He gave us the taste of this fire – bestowed it upon us, as if kneading the doughy clay of human flesh in the choicest of herbs.
They say Sex in the kitchen is great. I agree with them. With all the fingers and palms involved, clutching and kneading, and holding things, and holding on to things, the recipe is sure to turn out “Umm savoureux” – perfect textures, perfect blending, taste that lingers with just the right amount of cooking.
In the beauty of Sex, you will find the vestige of Imperfection; the immaculate thread that holds all of us together, and protects us by keeping that fire alive, one which is most important for life – the basic fire of life itself – Sex.
I don’t know if it’s me, or if it is psychological, but I strongly feel, think and believe the word “SEX” itself, sounds like Sex. Think about it, “S” brings in the sizzle, “E” brings in the Enigma and “X” holds the intersection in place. In fact if you say “Sex” many times in succession, at whatever speed you feel comfortable, it even sounds like a sizzle. As if there were flames somewhere but no smoke – and the most desirable feast of life is turning behind the walls; one that satiates and in-satiates at once; is the seamless unification of pleasure and pain, both equally sweet.
They lay there in bed, after making love for nearly three hours. She was exhausted and close to him with her head on his heaving, sweating chest, beneath which clearly, a strong heart had just awakened from a long slumber.
She said: How long has it been…? (Softly looking up at him and sitting)
He was quiet. All that could be heard in the room was the sound of him breathing heavily, still a sigh beneath his breath, in his throat; a beating heart beating so hard it could almost be heard outside. He stayed still; breathing.
He said: I don’t know, five or six years maybe… (Eyes gazing into the ceiling, lost in quiet space)
She didn’t expect that. She was a little startled, and then overcome with love for him; with moist eyes, she said…
He: I am here.
Look at me…
With this, she pulled him over to her and held his head to her breast, lying back, soft and comfortable, and warm and tender. She whispered into his ear and said…
Now you have me. We will make up for lost time… (Followed with an innocent “Teehee”)
That’s a cut! Splendid job guys, very well done.
Let’s pack up here and unpack somewhere else.
Because we all must get tainted in the poetry of flesh –
Siddharth Pathak | 28th March 2014