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On Friday, Cave Dwelling Eyes and I went to an art opening. Afterwards, we hung out at my place, chatting about the (IMHO) rather low-quality art at the exhibition. In many ways, CDE is becoming a kind of replacement for Designated Anime Date, with her freely offered physical expressions of affection. I crave this sort of human contact, but at the same time find that I've grown very uncomfortable with it.
At one point, CDE suddenly sprung at me with this weird grasping motion, tucking one arm around my waist, as the other wrapped around my head, pushing it up against her neck (that most holy of holies, for me). The effect was quite overwhelming. Suddenly, my libido was running on all six cylinders, and my heart was racing so fast, I thought it(my heart) would leap out of my throat, tear off all her clothes, and service her directly without need for intervening organs.
When she finally let go, I was moaning with pleasure a little. Gasping to catch my breath, I whimpered incredulously, "Are you sure your husband is okay with you touching other men like that?"
The look in her eyes was confusion mixed with pure, undiluted pity. "Amul, that was a hug."
I flopped onto my back, exhausted and strangely terrified of a world where such potency could exist without the edge-defining finish line that was the male orgasm. Sometimes, I love being an artist. Love having friends who explore with practiced ease the whole wide range of possible connections with others. Love being able to admire someone's physique without the sexual implications. Love being able to finally understand how to express affection without needing to worry that it comes off like I'm hitting on her.
As Jah Wobble sings, for five minutes I love everybody. And then, Unpaintable Canvas called a few days later.
( repercussions )
At one point, CDE suddenly sprung at me with this weird grasping motion, tucking one arm around my waist, as the other wrapped around my head, pushing it up against her neck (that most holy of holies, for me). The effect was quite overwhelming. Suddenly, my libido was running on all six cylinders, and my heart was racing so fast, I thought it(my heart) would leap out of my throat, tear off all her clothes, and service her directly without need for intervening organs.
When she finally let go, I was moaning with pleasure a little. Gasping to catch my breath, I whimpered incredulously, "Are you sure your husband is okay with you touching other men like that?"
The look in her eyes was confusion mixed with pure, undiluted pity. "Amul, that was a hug."
I flopped onto my back, exhausted and strangely terrified of a world where such potency could exist without the edge-defining finish line that was the male orgasm. Sometimes, I love being an artist. Love having friends who explore with practiced ease the whole wide range of possible connections with others. Love being able to admire someone's physique without the sexual implications. Love being able to finally understand how to express affection without needing to worry that it comes off like I'm hitting on her.
As Jah Wobble sings, for five minutes I love everybody. And then, Unpaintable Canvas called a few days later.
( repercussions )
