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Message-ID: <36217asstr$1019445004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: markersparker@hotmail.com (private)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 21 Apr 2002 14:40:52 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Please comment: Profound Thoughts on a dream sexuality love in free prose
Date: Sun, 21 Apr 2002 23:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

I am lonely. Why? Because I do not connect with the person inside me.
Am I lonely? Or am I just alone and in denial? Am I in denial of my
individuality?

Am I waiting for myself to arrive on the last train?

Am I waiting for my toes to go cold and my skin to yellow?

Am I wanting to erase the sentence that I just erased because I feel
it was a bad sentence?

Do I look at and use and masturbate (caress the soft hard hurting hurt
and smooth feeling (penis) mood of my self-pity, self-induced guilt,
self-blaming that I blame myself and feel guilty?) to other peoples
shame (their nudity stolen from them without their knowledge or
against their will or were they manipulated into posing in their skin
only by threats or drugs or money or hate or love?

Were they being watched by an arsehole through the lens and a power
freak who hated his parents and watched them having sex in his head?
Were they being watched through the window of a dirty, old underwear
smelling room by all the people that passed them by? In all the years
of their life, the ones they were close to and loved, the hated ones
they hid from? The lov?s of their need and dependence - the lovers who
loved to love their love?) Were they hiding in the dirty room that
smelt so sickening like someone else's sex?

Were they hiding on a bed naked with the camera crew working them over
like the butcher cutting his steaks on a bloody board? Was their lover
crouching outside the naked room, hiding in underpants he was left in
after being thrown out of the studio? Was he as hurt as I was at being
rejected by someone he hated? Was the girl or the woman on the
butchers board aware that her multiple rape was being observed by
millions over the internet? Did she know that her conscience and her
dignity were hiding naked outside on the landing? Did she know how
much I hated being there when I had wanted to be there?

Was I aware that I was being watched by the millions of eyes? Was I
the person being raped and the person outside crying inside like a
desperate afraid child? I was the woman on the bed and the girl being
raped by millions of butchers, and her lover outside, rejected by the
producer because he only wanted to shoot women, naked in the crouching
hide on the landing? I was the rejection in the eyes of millions of
men and the vice-black pressure in my shameful guilty fear.

I was the nonsense in the pain. I was the pain that she suffered when
she was coldly told to get naked and lay with her legs apart while a
girl parted her lips with a moist tongue and licked and sucked her
vaginal swollen walls. I was the shame in her confusion as she felt
pleasure and mortal pain in the same moment, in the swelling of her
clit and deep in her crying heart. I was the hard uncaring penis that
filled with red blood and became a (seemingly in that moment of
penetration) omnipotent force between her lubricated lips.

Where am I? Why is the knowledge of my responsibility not enough to
make me stop, or is it? Why can't I take a pill and stop the sexual
urge (although I could if I really wanted to? Why do I hate the sexual
urge when I feel lonely, but love the sex when I get affirmed?

Why do I hate the porn so much yet sometimes feel that there is no
other path to pleasure, affirmation - sexual release? Why are naked
people so damn attractive that men and some women are driven to
continuous and damaging distraction by looking at their naked bodies?

Why is nudity only exciting when I feel healthy? Gastric `flu takes
away libido better than any anti-depressants or synthetic drugs used
in mental health institutions. Why is sex regaled by the media and
shoved down our throats as the most important and most disgusting and
most pleasurable human function? Why is the brain controlled by
hormones which control your every thought and feeling?

Why is a slap in the face not enough to make someone stop? How can you
keep abusing yourself? How can anyone ever stop abusing themselves?
Self-abuse is maybe like masturbation when you lie on your bed alone,
tired and disillusioned; spit in your hand, because you were too tired
to bother with Vaseline or with anyone else; hold your erect penis and
rub, rub it around your fingers as hard as you can; spit again when it
is too dry into your tired hand and rub the tip; you squeeze the shaft
and feel the pulsing blood and hard lumpy-ribbed tissues; the deep,
wide artery you can close with pressure from a finger, trapping the
blood; stroke with the tip of your dry finger the soft, shiny skin of
the shaft and spit again into your curled fingers, but your mouth is
too dry.

You push harder on the less moist roughened head of your desperate
penis and feel disappointment surging through your groin into your
life. Your penis deflates and you stop, look at your dry hand and
berate yourself for everything you don't like about yourself. Don't
you wish you weren't a slave to sexuality?

I would be happy if there a way that I could always call up someone I
love, who loves me, and talk to them, whenever I wanted. I would love
to ask them over, or to meet them, to hold them, kiss them; they would
love to be with me and we would be naked together, relaxed and
sensual. We would touch each other to find the pain and the pleasure,
we would taste all the bitter and salty tastes of our bodies. We would
have sex for ages; I would be able to make you feel pleasure when I
licked your breasts, between and under them; you would feel no shame
when I joyously joined my lips to your dry, hairy lips or your dry,
hard and rough head; I would love to taste all the flavours of your
orgasm without you worrying that I was bored or tired.

Why do you have to be the same person every time we are together? Can
we be with a different person when we need to? Can we be naked and
smell each other together if you and I are not the same person we were
with the time before? Can I love myself if I depend on your love, yet
I have meaningful sex with other people? Can those other people love
me and be loved by me if we all have meaningful, caring,
non-lasting-forever relationships?

Is there a way out of the human sex-driven mind that lets you be
yourself without fear, secure in the knowledge that you are loved and
cared for by those you love and care for?

You see someone you find attractive and your sex decides to seek
possession of them. You think you are falling in love. You think it is
romantic. You think you are being carried along on a happy emotion.
The other person notices you, they didn't find you attractive when
they first saw you. You charm them, a real friendship (what?) develops
and soon you are consuming their bodily fluids hungrily.

Stop. Think. Stay alive. What is going on here? The person you love
was a person with a life of their own before you met them. They lived
with other people, strangers to you, strangers loved them, taught them
to think, pushed them to think for themselves. They come to you with
an other lifetime of their own treasures; their treasures are nothing
to you. How could they be? You were not there when your new lover was
experiencing the love of others and being shaped by a life far removed
from yours.

So you want me all to yourself? You want me to feel treasured and
possessed? You expect me to perform the impossible, feeling needed by
you, feeling that I need you, and still loving you  for who you are?
How could I ever love you for who you are? The you I was attracted to
was who you were trying to be when we met.

I never knew the you for who you are. When we met, you became the you
who you were after you met me. Every single interaction between us has
been to seek approval or avoid rejection. Every action controlled by
the sex hormones; we have felt close and far apart; we have been
comfortable and relaxed together, and we have fought. We have had sex,
played games, socialised, competed, tried to change each other, tried
to build each other up or put each other down. There have been
pleasant, good times and insanely bad times.

Isn't that all that the human bonding instinct is? The drive to find a
suitable mate,  attract their attention, ensure that they remain
attracted by subtle pleasant manipulations (romance? - all that
manipulate means is to control something with your hands - which
covers just about every human activity) and copulate? The female has
to control her mate if she wants a father for her children. The male
has to control himself (remain `faithful' and `committed') if he wants
to be affirmed by society, his lover, his family. Is this `right'? Is
it `moral'? Is it necessary to human happiness?

Thomas de Mello said that love is unconditional and the opposite of
fear (book: Awareness). So did Jesus. Why is this concept of love so
completely contrary to the reality of most intimate relationships? Why
is it so impossible for me to feel unafraid of rejection, betrayal,
being ignored, being alone? Why is communication between lovers so
damaged by assumptions, expectations, fears, hopes, regrets, desires
and avoidance that you can not even discuss simple issues without
risking a fight? Why are people so damn difficult to live with the
closer you are to them? Why is it so hard to live with yourself.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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