Between your legs and between your dreams, I’m as lost as I ever was. Between the walls, this summer heat causes us to swim in each other’s sweat but the sense of intimacy it brings outweighs the drawbacks a million times over. Sliding down the length of your body I suckle your breast while slipping in a finger or two. Maybe three, it depends on how relaxed you are. You jokingly tell me it’s gross as I pull out and sniff a finger and growl, but it makes me come alive, so much so that what follows sees no romance only desire and instinct on a level few have the time or ability to recognise. Like the animal I am, I move in and become you, and in return, you invite me to untether myself as much as possible until there are no walls left between us. As one, we kiss and speak words the universe will never know. When I cup your breast and tell you stories concerning my childhood, you let it be known that my childhood holds no interest for you as your absence from it renders it meaningless. Together, we have no history outside of our collision. Together, there is nothing but us. After we shiver and kick and kiss and howl, I lay the duvet down on the floor. Grabbing a few pillows, you fluff them up while I roll us a few smokes, and when I’m done, you place your chin on my raised knee and prop yourself against me. Pressing my nose into your hair and breathing you in, I scratch your back and tell you about a dream I had a few days ago. We were by the coast, but the oceans had evaporated, and as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but an unseen land that spoke to us of secrets and truth and the beauty that can be found where others find only absence. When I’m done explaining my vision that ends with the discovery of what’s left of The Titanic and how we explored the crumbling remnants that remain of it, you lie down on your belly letting sleep get the better of you. Wrapping my arms around your waist, I tell you that you’re my girl and kiss your neck, and then soon enough darkness swallows us up and spits us out someplace far from home.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

12 replies »

      • Just remember you said that! Let’s see if I can articulate this. There is often a dynamic tension in your work where you almost seem to be warning women off from you (you never sugar-coat your flaws and foibles) that while at the same time alluding to a type of love, a primal spiritual/sexual experience that a certain type of woman (who I expect is in the minority) has waited her whole life for. I felt this particularly in this piece. The grit and the intoxication side by side, luring us in, making us want something we will probably never have. Kind of loved it and hated it all at the same time but in some way, this reveals more about the reader than the writer. Not sure I did a good job of articulating what was swirling around in my head . . .

      • I really took a lot from this comment, C. Thank you. You pretty much summed up how I feel in terms of love and sex. Y’know, in terms of being upfront and making no excuses for behaviour, and in wanting a lover to embrace the storm and nothing else. The older I get, the less normality and those who adhere to it impress me, and as such, my writing becomes centred around the ‘outside’. There was a time I wished for acceptance, but now this has no appeal. If I were to be accepted, I’d know I was doing something wrong. The gritty approach I now seek is a way of putting off those who aren’t to be trusted. Truth is a good defence mechanism, I’ve come to find.

      • A fundamental problem is that american women at least, are socialized to believe that a good woman can change a man, rarely taking into account whether he actually wants to change or not. So despite how honest you are. I suspect there are would-be lovers who think they can tame you, change you, civilize you, so to speak.

      • I agree with that. I’ve been with women who have fallen for my strangeness and ‘unique’ character only to then want me to grow up. It’s why I’ve shied away from relationships the past year or so. I’m bored of justifying myself.

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