I eat all kinds of crap when I’m in love: juicy fruity stuff, indulge in high-quality chocolate, preferably with my lover. I dine out and I indulge. I probably overeat all the savory, salty, fatty, sweet stuff I usually limit. I linger over the end of dinner with coffee or tea. I linger in bed with a latte and some cut pieces of fruit. I think of food as I think of sex.
I think of sex as if it was food: reassuring sustenance for my very life. Now, that does not mean that I eat perfectly healthy and slim and slender with no indulgences when I’m not in love, when I’m not having sex.
I can have sex and not be in love and be in love without having sex, even though that last one is rare.
That’s funny. Oh it feels so good to write again, to move the across the page, let the thought pour onto the paper and just allow it to flow. Feel like I’ve been starved from this, one of my favorite forms of expression. I feel my soul draw in a deep breath ah – writing – ah – breathing – ah moves the pen across the page, as when I feel a lover’s fingers start touching my toes and sliding under the arch of my foot up around the ankle and slowly up the inside of my calf to come to a short rest behind the soft skin on the back of my knee, the soft skin with the visible veins through the paper-thin skin. I feel myself to be self-conscious of those veins as “are they blue? Are they visible?”
Oh my–did I remember to shave back there, or is there stubble enough to file my lover’s nails? Hopefully not. He moves his hand up my inner thigh and I feel my clit waking up and stretching herself out of her recent two-week slumber.
What do I eat when I’m not in love? I eat lean, mean, healthy. I eat boneless skinless chicken. I eat fish. I eat salad. I eat raw: raw veggies, raw nuts, raw fruit, raw fish. I eat raw and I feel strong, fit, healthy.
When related, I indulge and I feel tender, sometimes skinless, raw and vulnerable. …Never saw that parallel before…
Curious; food as shield, food as protection, food as comfort, food as sensuality, food as love, food as an instrument that does far more than just nourish my body, food as emotional enhancement, as an emotional dryer: it shrinks everything.
And sex: sex as crutch, sex as avoiding feelings, sex as intimacy enhancer, sex as intimacy killer, sex as connection, sex as separator, sex as weapon, sex as income, sex as security, sex as sleep medication, sex as fun, adventure and journey to other things. Sex as vehicle for enhanced life, enhanced love, enhanced intimacy, sex as exercise, fitness, movement, acrobatics.
I had a girlfriend who dated this guy and she tried to describe the sex to me. Apparently he liked a whole lot of action. Up against the wall, now in this position, now in that. Banged her head on the radiator–not hurtful, just clumsy acrobatics. She said it felt more like a gym class than love-making. I remember laughing and thinking he sounded like fun, but clearly he was not totally her cup of tea.
He lifted her up, sat her across his lap, and as she said, “Just as I was getting into that groove, he promptly picked me up and put me in on all fours as he spanked my butt playfully and drove into me from behind. As soon as that started to feel nice, he pulled out and tackled me, wrestling-style, onto my back and drove in again, pulled right back out and performed cunnilingus for three minutes, tops, shoved his dick in my mouth for another three minutes, and plopped on top of me for some missionary action, when he came.
She stopped talking, and I couldn’t tell if she was going to laugh or cry by the expression on her face.
She thought for a moment and took a breath, and said, “ Sex as complete intimacy killer,” and then she started laughing so hard the tears started rolling down her cheeks.
Then I started laughing too, and I couldn’t help thinking I might really enjoy fucking this guy.
Maybe if she dumps him…