Jeune Homme Nu Assis au Bord de la Mer- Jean-Hippolyte Flandrin
At night,in the moments before sleep, I let my half-formed erotic thoughts unwind in my brain. I am limited by nothing but my imagination, which is vast and innovative in its more complex fantasies, but at these quiet moments, I can not seem to help but turn my mind to the same form, a certain body that I can never seem to entirely get out of my head. It’s impossible for me to say why this body, of all the ones I have touched or seen or held is the one my hands most want to grasp and my mouth most wants to taste.
There is no way to account for that electric jolt that one body gives another. I could attempt to determine the virtues of its form, but in the end I would just fall back on description without explanation. There is no particularl reason why this or that arrangement of skin upon muscle upon bone should be more exiciting then any other. It is just that that grotesque parasite Desire and its mate Obsession have latched onto to my brain. If you don’t share my affliction, I could not infect you if I tried, mores the pity. Because this body, this body- I am diseased, and one of my symptoms is that I can not imagine not appreciating it. Or him, if I am to avoid objectififying that obscure object. His body is pink and pale. It is soft, but the softness is deceptive. It is soft, but it does not yield. I am torn between my love for his skin and its senous pleasures- to smell, to taste, to touch- and my frustration at is maddening opacity. Skin is a barrier, a covering after all, but that does make where it opens to let out or in all that much more delicious. And there is the exquisite span of his shoulders. And the line of his back, tapering down to the waist, more elegant than any hourglass. And the swell of his ass- my favorite part, if one could ever be picked. It is a body I want to do things to. To touch and probe and possess and contain and consume. In the times (still not nearly enough- oh, I am greedy…) I have been granted the physical contact I crave, I have yet to find an activity that will truly satisfy my desire. There is always something else I can do. If I wrap my own body around it, I still can not touch every part at once. I can taste it only a piece at a time and I can only enter it with such a small part of myself. This longing seems to be without an endpoint, without a goal- not anyone’s orgasm, not some advanced spiritual state. Everything I could do would just beget more desire and so on. If Desire and Obsession could have their way, our two bodies would be reduced to some endlessly gyrating, sweaty tangle of flesh. But I have little choice to reign in these demons entirely. I have little choice but to let them play their games with my thoughts as I lay in bed, until my limbs nearly ache with want, and heavily, suddenly, I can fall into sleep at last.
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