Sunday, October 22, 2006

A Con to Remember

I think I expected him to be just a little rough. Maybe not "rough", but strong. Demanding. Insistent. He had that look about him. He looked like he could handle pretty much anything he might encounter. Why I became what he encountered I don't know, although I'd like to find out! What he was wearing did nothing to hide muscles that rippled smoothly under the thin cotton. But that self-assured cocky sort of air he threw into the room has always begged me to pay attention. It's a challenge thrown into the air that I cannot resist meeting - whether to stomp it into oblivion or goad it further with cheeky humour I never know til we're in it - but it lights a spark in my eyes. I have not yet been able to resist that siren's call when it enters my space.

I wasn't wrong. He was strong enough to match me.. meet me.. Stronger. In a frantic fight or flight I'd lose hands down. He could pin me solid without even working very hard at it. Better, there was a light in his eyes and a lilt to his speech that made me think he could pin me just as easily with a thought. And passionate! I know there was music playing: loud, loud music that makes your heart re-beat to its rhythm instead of your own. But I don't remember the music. He had a rhythm all his own that synched with the sound & then turned it into something else. Something that demanded I listen to it. Respond to it. Further it. The back and forth between us was furious and demanding and passionate and skillful... and yet never out of control. Riding an edge at times, perhaps, but never truly out of control. Either one of us could slide into that curve, and if there perhaps was once or twice a seconds' quiver, a waver on the edge of something more - something less.. chosen... it always came back to here & now & what was acceptable.

He rallied to the mood and the situation. If I threw aggression at him, he caught it, returned it, amplified it, then brought it back around to rest in something different. Then turned something different into segue to another round. If I softened, he became support. If I led, he followed, and when I wanted to do nothing but follow his lead, he led. If he blinked more than once, if he hesitated when another joined the dance, I didn't see it. I didn't feel it in his hands or in his body or in the bite he left proof of on my shoulder. I'm not doing justice to those moments, not by a long shot, but they'll have to wait for another pen I think. I didn't feel any hesitation when he said goodbyes either. Wonderful goodbyes! I don't know that I can explain it properly, but goodbye that night felt more like a "hey, I'll see ya tomorrow" from someone I've known for years. None of the clinging wretchedness that might accompany such an encounter. Not the slightest demand that things go further than they had, and yet also no desire to run, to escape, to begin regret before our skin had even cooled. We both seemed perfectly content - at least for that evening - with exactly what we had. Riding high, adrenalin pumping, neither sated yet still in perfect grace. How often does that happen?

What surprized me most were the moments when I found his lips not demanding, but sweet. Soft. Kind. A moment's press of sweet innocence standing out in glaring relief. A beacon of something gentle surprizing me quietly amid the cacaphony all around: loud music, darkness, lights strobing randomly in bright irrhythmic pulses, bodies gyrating wildly in all beats, combinations, degrees of intimacy. Pianissimo delicately insinuated itself where it could be most quietly heard somewhere in the depths of myself... even if I wasn't listening very closely for the moment. Even when I fail to listen with every part of my brain in the moment, on recall I always hear tiny things I may have failed to fully appreciate earlier. Tiny notes of something out of the ordinary. Eclectic perhaps. Complex. A rare vintage.

I thrill to that particular combination. Strong, hard, gentle, sweet, demanding, ruthless, intimate, daring, vulnerable, intimidating, kind, giving, innocent, knowing. Saved & damned all at the same time. S pulled out a book this week & made me read a paragraph of it. There was a statement in there that read, 'men drive on passion. Denouement.' However, "it is not passion that drives a woman to the edge, but the promise of passion." It is. It is the journey when the journey is worth taking. Knowing one can be completely held at another's mercy, and simultaneously knowing that mercy is there. Ultimately saved even in the midst of a headlong plunge into hedonism. Being held safe by danger itself. Being able to release yourself fully to the machinations of another, knowing control is yours at a breath when you want it. I love everything inbetween & this is no exception. When I say I want it all, it is not an understatement.

My copies are finally done, & I need to pack them up & head home, pick up B, get her to bed, make myself ready for tomorrow's training sessions. So many thought fragments scribbled on paper, & so few that have become something even moderately readable in all these hours! Must do more soon... I need to write them before I live more... before they're lost.

Today I am wiped out. Exhausted. Washed clean of any desire for passion or excitement or intrigue. I feel flat & grey with the aftermath of all the things my mind conceives... all the things after which my body yearns. One can only yearn so much before you must either peak or rest. The house is silent, and the silence wraps itself around me & insulates me from the world. H called this morning & I didn't pick up. For a live person to intrude on this bubble of silence & solitude this day would be grating. Unacceptable. It would pierce this bubble that surrounds me, that muffles the world.

Yet the desire.. the need to spill events & perceptions onto paper churns those moments of perception 'round & 'round inside me. It tells me I cannot feel again - cannot go into another round of what if & wow! until I put something on paper. I am full to the brim with moments, and I cannot experience any more without writing or they will be gone. They will spill over the edge of me & be lost to a yesterday I can no longer remember. There is no more room for storage.

So I escape. I have copies to make for this week's training, and B is still safely ensconced @ J&S's, so it's into STL to the office to hide amid row upon row of grey cubicles. I'll jog back & forth across the entire floor (or floors, if necessary), making the copy machines work on what should be their day of rest. The building, designed to house hundreds of people, will be eerily silent, mostly dark. Empty except for the security guards and a stray odd person or two that will appear as startled as I should we run into one another. I might... just might... have time & silence enough to write. To pull enough of a single thought into coherence and empty it onto paper. Might.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Distance - 10/15/2006

Distance is only an illusion
In an electronic age

how true

that person sitting next to you
there! on that couch
on the bus
lying a breath away in that bed
might be as far away inside
as these bodies of ours are
right now
each separated by an unknown
infinite span of far too much

is as much an illusion
close up
as it is when things
are far away

come closer?
court danger... if you dare

I would be most interested

to learn
if your thoughts are
as intriguing
as your lips


Anonymous said...
Lemmings, bad - Individuals good...You and your friends need a Sagittarius in your life...We are just about everywhere.
Saturday, October 14, 2006 5:31:36 PM
Anonymous said...
Alas, Gemini -- Sagittarius
Saturday, October 14, 2006 8:48:16 PM

I'm sure a Sagittarius in our lives would be most welcome! Of course... most interesting people that come along are welcome in this crowd. Interesting individuals are always made welcome in one way or another... (lemmings are interviewed on a case by case basis).

I was told very recently that to a Sagittarius, Gemini's are like crack. Like candy. Invigorating & addictive is how I heard that. Umm... & maybe that they taste good, too? heh. One can only hope!

Unfortunately, the Sagittarius that said that lives far enough away that this particular addictive Gemini shouldn't cause them any real dietary issues... did I say "unfortunately"?

Anyway... I have discriminating tastes for a Gemini. Just any old Sagittarius won't necessarily do. Who is this one? Identify yourself, rogue!