I am only interested in it when it is fun. At the moment sex seems so difficult. There is always so much thought to be put into it, where to situate it, what lense to use, when really? It should just be take your gear off and leap in. I need to re-find my sponteneity. Theorists have taken my genitals and held them hostage. It was all fun and games till it stopped being fun.
Yesterday I stumbled on a pornographic website. You couldn't get in without emailing them for a password. My interest was piqued. When I gained access it was all dark horror and although I was not aroused (have not been aroused for days) I was still responding to the idea that this material was too dangerous to access without the key. I wondered if it would be terrible, what, exactly I would see. It was stylish, and interesting and yes, a little icky at some points. There was violence which I realised is something you very rarely see in pornography. The response to the violence was well performed and therefore looked like real fear at times. I am glad I saw it but I do not know exactly how I respond to the material.
I am numb. I have lost my desire and yet I can still orgasm, masturbate often. It is my head that has shut off from it. My head has detatched from my body and is thinking of other things even as my body experiences ecstacy. I blame the theorists, the sex books, the texts. I might give myself a break from it all this weekend.
We will see
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Not funny
Black, sure, but not a black comedy. I tried to mould it, shape it, and I am sure it could be done. I could make it fit into something that could be vaguely funny, but perhaps it is fine as it is. Not funny. Not at all funny. There is longing and disgust and violence and sorrow and for some reason I just can't find the funny side of any of it. It might just be my mood. Sex is usually a riot.
maybe when I start the next story, the one about the corpse, maybe I will start from a moment of comedy, how to get a flaccid penis inside you. How to make his arm hug you tight. There must be a funny side to all this and sometimes I wonder if it is inherently funny, this running after a dog. Maybe this kind of desire is funny in and of itself despite how I am responding to it right now. Maybe it is just my mood, finding the dark side of everything. I sit through a comic movie and I nod. I understand it is amusing. I know where it is clever and where it has heart and yet I do not crack a smile, not even once.
I wonder what is wrong with me. But of course I know. I won't sink too low because I recognise it when it hits, but still, I am not sure if it is funny.
maybe when I start the next story, the one about the corpse, maybe I will start from a moment of comedy, how to get a flaccid penis inside you. How to make his arm hug you tight. There must be a funny side to all this and sometimes I wonder if it is inherently funny, this running after a dog. Maybe this kind of desire is funny in and of itself despite how I am responding to it right now. Maybe it is just my mood, finding the dark side of everything. I sit through a comic movie and I nod. I understand it is amusing. I know where it is clever and where it has heart and yet I do not crack a smile, not even once.
I wonder what is wrong with me. But of course I know. I won't sink too low because I recognise it when it hits, but still, I am not sure if it is funny.
small light
I can't pretend that this level is bouyant. It is not. I can see the waterline somewhere above me and know I am half drowned. Still I smile and laugh at things and converse. I beg for sex, and feel like dog when I am thrown a bone. I know I am being placated. Still I rise to the surface for long enough to take a breath. But now I am falling. Next weekend there may be more sex. A little light at the end of this tunnel.
In books I read about how sex is central to our humanity. I find that different sexualities can be equally valued, at least in theory, if not when I look up from my book to the real world. Gay marriage is recognised in New York. I smile and celebrate by clinking glasses with someone I vaguely know. I download three books each one tackling sex in a different way, each one recognising, celebrating difference.
He reads 8 pages of the book and tells me that it isn't funny at all but that perhaps that doesn't matter. He says he likes it, but it is about sex so he will probably not read all of it. He doesn't like reading about sex.
I feel like a freak. I have always felt like a freak.
I write in the blog knowing they won't read it anyway. I promised myself I would document this strange journey into the center of the world. Now I am on the path I wonder why I am here at all.
I have a tooth ache. I imagine I have cancer for no good reason. As soon as I have recovered from one orgasm I feel sad that I have to wait till I have another. Just for that moment I was happy, or not happy, but clean. There is no other way to describe it, scrubbed clean of myself, weightless and blinded by a small light shining right in my eyes.
I should not write in the blog while I am at the bottom of things, but then if I did that as a rule I would not have written Affection at all. So I will hit 'publish post' now, before I have a chance to take it back. This is me naked. Here. I will not link to it on twitter or on facebook and maybe, posted early, tomorrow's post will slip by unnoticed and I will begin to feel buoyant once more.
In books I read about how sex is central to our humanity. I find that different sexualities can be equally valued, at least in theory, if not when I look up from my book to the real world. Gay marriage is recognised in New York. I smile and celebrate by clinking glasses with someone I vaguely know. I download three books each one tackling sex in a different way, each one recognising, celebrating difference.
He reads 8 pages of the book and tells me that it isn't funny at all but that perhaps that doesn't matter. He says he likes it, but it is about sex so he will probably not read all of it. He doesn't like reading about sex.
I feel like a freak. I have always felt like a freak.
I write in the blog knowing they won't read it anyway. I promised myself I would document this strange journey into the center of the world. Now I am on the path I wonder why I am here at all.
I have a tooth ache. I imagine I have cancer for no good reason. As soon as I have recovered from one orgasm I feel sad that I have to wait till I have another. Just for that moment I was happy, or not happy, but clean. There is no other way to describe it, scrubbed clean of myself, weightless and blinded by a small light shining right in my eyes.
I should not write in the blog while I am at the bottom of things, but then if I did that as a rule I would not have written Affection at all. So I will hit 'publish post' now, before I have a chance to take it back. This is me naked. Here. I will not link to it on twitter or on facebook and maybe, posted early, tomorrow's post will slip by unnoticed and I will begin to feel buoyant once more.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Animal dreams.
You would think that the animals would haunt my dreams.
I read that a dog just keeps coming and coming, gushing sperm to lubricate the act of coitus. I don't know how reliable my source is. He says he is a zoophile but so could anyone. There are no pictures. The book it is in is not a peer reviewed source. I find this difficult to believe when I have seen bestial porn and the dog seems to come quickly, once, and then jump off and move on.
This is the kind of thing that bothers me now. I see a Labrador tied to a post and she is beautiful and I think, how could you not love a Labrador? Why did my editor make me change it to an Alsatian? Labs of this age and fitness are a perfect choice for a sexual partner. But of course I notice that I am now sexualising every dog I see.
I love animals. I feel almost maternal towards them, and you would think that this constant sexualisation would lead to an unhealthy outlook. I would see it in my nightmares, which are constant and violent. But no. I dream of the end of the world and there are no animals in it. My interest is purely for my research and my writing. It seems that it is impossible to change your sexual orientation so easily. After watching bestial porn I am tired and in need of a break and, without even thinking, I click onto some porn. Even this human and human does nothing for me and so I go out searching for something to arouse me. I find it in a series of photographs, a woman with large breasts swimming underwater. How vanilla. Breasts. No genitals. Sometimes I am disturbed by how ordinary my fantasies can be. There are no dogs in my dreams, no big horse penises. Sometimes there are fish or octopus but I suspect this is just symbolic.
Still I continue on with my study and wait to see if there are any animal dreams.
I read that a dog just keeps coming and coming, gushing sperm to lubricate the act of coitus. I don't know how reliable my source is. He says he is a zoophile but so could anyone. There are no pictures. The book it is in is not a peer reviewed source. I find this difficult to believe when I have seen bestial porn and the dog seems to come quickly, once, and then jump off and move on.
This is the kind of thing that bothers me now. I see a Labrador tied to a post and she is beautiful and I think, how could you not love a Labrador? Why did my editor make me change it to an Alsatian? Labs of this age and fitness are a perfect choice for a sexual partner. But of course I notice that I am now sexualising every dog I see.
I love animals. I feel almost maternal towards them, and you would think that this constant sexualisation would lead to an unhealthy outlook. I would see it in my nightmares, which are constant and violent. But no. I dream of the end of the world and there are no animals in it. My interest is purely for my research and my writing. It seems that it is impossible to change your sexual orientation so easily. After watching bestial porn I am tired and in need of a break and, without even thinking, I click onto some porn. Even this human and human does nothing for me and so I go out searching for something to arouse me. I find it in a series of photographs, a woman with large breasts swimming underwater. How vanilla. Breasts. No genitals. Sometimes I am disturbed by how ordinary my fantasies can be. There are no dogs in my dreams, no big horse penises. Sometimes there are fish or octopus but I suspect this is just symbolic.
Still I continue on with my study and wait to see if there are any animal dreams.
too late
Maybe it is too late to take back what has been between them. It is not the words so much but how they were interpreted. And all the times in bed and out of it, when their timing was off. His reluctance for sex, her over-zealousness for it. His wilting penis, her dry vagina. They know too much about how they do not fit together. They know each others secrets, lack of energy, stretch marks, insecurities about weight and looks and performance. Each of them has held something up to taunt the other. Neither of them play fair.
They will miss the sex. She more than him. But still, some times, he will miss it.
She will miss the kissing.
He will miss being touched.
They would be happier if they did not part, but it is too late now.
He has made her feel like she is just someone to pass time with. She has made him feel like he is clumsy and inattentive in bed.
She shrugs. They never had enough sex anyway.
He shrugs. It's not like they were ever in a relationship.
They move on without knowing that this was the best they would ever be, this tug-o-war with such a sweet place in the middle where they found balance for a while. They walk away and it is all behind them, their best times gone.
But she is not to know. She wonders, briefly why she feels so hollowed out, but doesn't stop to contemplate it, there are things she should be doing and she does them with a strange empty echo in her chest.
They will miss the sex. She more than him. But still, some times, he will miss it.
She will miss the kissing.
He will miss being touched.
They would be happier if they did not part, but it is too late now.
He has made her feel like she is just someone to pass time with. She has made him feel like he is clumsy and inattentive in bed.
She shrugs. They never had enough sex anyway.
He shrugs. It's not like they were ever in a relationship.
They move on without knowing that this was the best they would ever be, this tug-o-war with such a sweet place in the middle where they found balance for a while. They walk away and it is all behind them, their best times gone.
But she is not to know. She wonders, briefly why she feels so hollowed out, but doesn't stop to contemplate it, there are things she should be doing and she does them with a strange empty echo in her chest.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
plumbing
THey come to fix the plumbing and they are two men. They have tools, a big bag of them. One is cute in the way girls like, charming, compact, muscular. The other has more potential. I am reading 5 different types of porn when they arrive. Nicholson Baker (literary) Suzie Bright (annecdotal) Alan McKee (academic) The Horseman (bestial) and Grosz (queer). The bulk of their maleness fills the room. It is odd how my friends do not command the space like plumbers in uniform with tool bags.
I am not attracted to them, and yet it is impossible when you have five windows of writing about porn open on your laptop not to imagine the machinations. That is indeed a very fine shifting spanner you have there. Do you want the smallest one? asks the partner. Small, not smallest as the French say - he answers and that would be a sexual reference right there.
I am not a fan of men in uniform. I am not a fan of men in particular. Not this kind of man full of testosterone and a faint whiff of excrement. I prefer men and women who spend their lives reading and thinking. That is just the way I bend I suppose.
Still, there are plenty of double entendres that could be made with a dictionary of plumbing. Perhaps I will venture there next time there is a blockage in my pipes.
I am not attracted to them, and yet it is impossible when you have five windows of writing about porn open on your laptop not to imagine the machinations. That is indeed a very fine shifting spanner you have there. Do you want the smallest one? asks the partner. Small, not smallest as the French say - he answers and that would be a sexual reference right there.
I am not a fan of men in uniform. I am not a fan of men in particular. Not this kind of man full of testosterone and a faint whiff of excrement. I prefer men and women who spend their lives reading and thinking. That is just the way I bend I suppose.
Still, there are plenty of double entendres that could be made with a dictionary of plumbing. Perhaps I will venture there next time there is a blockage in my pipes.
Oral sex
He enjoys her down on her knees between his legs but he is conflicted. He rarely reciprocates. That once, and that was good. She always goes on about it, replaying the scene, his eyes staring up at her from his place between her legs. His fingers inside her. The way she came, convulsing on his hand, juicing up around it, making him hard to feel so powerfully in charge of her orgasm. That once, and another time but only for a second. One or two licks before moving on to other things.
To tell you the truth he prefers her down between his knees sucking him. She has learned how to use her tongue more effectively. He hopes he has taught her this, but perhaps it was just her overcoming her shyness. At first it was barely passable, a tentative nothing blowjob. But now there is a rhythm to it and when her mouth is on him he can barely contain himself. Does not contain himself. He comes and she swallows. All these things are like a gift to him.
He has grown to expect these gifts over time. Not to take them for granted, because he is always surprised and grateful. He never asks for the gifts, but he accepts them knowing he will never reciprocate. Girls don't expect that kind of thing, although when he does it they are often overwhelmingly happy. He would. If there was time. He would if they didn't slip into the habits they have gouged out for themselves. He would if it wasn't so damp down there, if it didn't smell of wet earth and mushrooms, if he were less meticulous about hygiene.
So she is down on her knees and he comes in her mouth and she swallows it and he is grateful. Maybe if he loved her he would find the time to reciprocate. Maybe if they were a couple. This is a casual thing, has been for years now, on and off. She is sexy and he likes her and when he leaves he feels a slight twinge of guilt but he leaves her anyway.
That is just how it is between them. That, he thinks, is how it will always be.
To tell you the truth he prefers her down between his knees sucking him. She has learned how to use her tongue more effectively. He hopes he has taught her this, but perhaps it was just her overcoming her shyness. At first it was barely passable, a tentative nothing blowjob. But now there is a rhythm to it and when her mouth is on him he can barely contain himself. Does not contain himself. He comes and she swallows. All these things are like a gift to him.
He has grown to expect these gifts over time. Not to take them for granted, because he is always surprised and grateful. He never asks for the gifts, but he accepts them knowing he will never reciprocate. Girls don't expect that kind of thing, although when he does it they are often overwhelmingly happy. He would. If there was time. He would if they didn't slip into the habits they have gouged out for themselves. He would if it wasn't so damp down there, if it didn't smell of wet earth and mushrooms, if he were less meticulous about hygiene.
So she is down on her knees and he comes in her mouth and she swallows it and he is grateful. Maybe if he loved her he would find the time to reciprocate. Maybe if they were a couple. This is a casual thing, has been for years now, on and off. She is sexy and he likes her and when he leaves he feels a slight twinge of guilt but he leaves her anyway.
That is just how it is between them. That, he thinks, is how it will always be.
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