I say to myself sometimes, "You gotta love an epiphany."
I made a hypothetical comparison and revelation in the past week. In my exhortation for an Eraser, I have since taken the time to muse over a handful of "what-if's."
What if I allowed myself to enter into a situation wherein I would be open to sexual intimacy with someone new? (It feels imminent. I had two dreams in which I was being held in a loving embrace. The word "loving" seemed to hang in the atmosphere.)
And what if the nature of that intimacy proved to be passionate, erotic, and afterward sustained, with easy and affectionate physical intertwining of arms and legs, buttocks and abdomens, breaths in ears, lip prints along the back of necks, the curling of one body around the other after vigorous and sweaty exploits, finally exhausted, naturally accepting the hand that caresses a back, a hip, then finds its way curled against its companion's chest, resting on the sternum, above the slow and steady beat of a heart?
(The Good G might say, "So did he use his mouth?" I could well imagine that. And my response, affirmative.)
Then, after the afterglow, after the return to the hectic quotidian pace of life, what if the forehead-slapping realization hits: A new lover could be different from the last lover?
Night and day different.
The former took so much, and toward the end, I let him use my body ill. Throughout it all, he was not generous with his sex, a stingy lover, and yet it seems to me now that he wanted so much...else.
What if, however, a new lover could give so much, and ask for so little in return (outside of the place and time of passion and intimacy)?
If or when that happens, now or soon, in surprise (or not so) circumstances, how wonderful would that be, even if it was just the one time?
Last night, with two friends, I was laying on my back on a boat dock, staring up at the night sky. We picked out constellations and a planets. The wind kicked up a little. The breeze swept across my face, a whisper, a hint.
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