Cataract

 

 

 

 

 

The compartmentalization of our sensual sensations and experiences.

 

The unbridgeable gaps between our means of expression, which are so tightly linked to the channels, the out-and-in-lets to the "world ".

 

How narrow are these compartments? How well are they insulated from each other? Is any real diffusion possible between them?

 

What’s out there in these gaps which exist between them? What exists in those unreachable territories?

 

Let me use an example. The example of my choice might seem strange. It might be regarded as intentionally, premeditatedly and probably also unnecessarily outrageous (or even obscene?).

 

But I choose it for different reasons and different intentions, as I might succeed to describe, or even better, convince, later.

 

How can I ever succeed to fully cover, to fully  describe (in words, obviously) this rich sensation, this unique feeling (but one in which in a seeming contradiction I find myself not rarely - but quite often, actually - something for which I am so grateful - to who I don't really know - and something which causes me to feel extremely "lucky") , this multi-facetted - bodily, tactile, psychological and emotional situation and environment - the one I am immersed in while having sex. With another man.

 

The extraordinary, fabulous, exhilarating (in so many ways, even spiritual ones) feelings and sensations I get when we kiss. When I slide my hands in between his body and his trousers, and his underwear. I have done this hundreds of times, perhaps thousands. With so many different men. It still doesn't excite my whole being in a lesser manner. Yes, there are differences. Is he a stranger? Have we already had sex before? If so, have we already established some mutual but private routine? In any case, how does his skin feel, how are his lips and tongue to my mouth?

 

What are my fingers reporting back to headquarters? Is there sweat in the crease of his ass? Is the ass firm and responding, or is it simply hard with tension and concentration. Anticipation. Or is it maybe fear?

 

Is he hairy?  Is his pubic hair rough to my touch (or, sadly, is he shaved down there?)? Does he have a distinct body odor? Breath odor? How does his penis feel between my fingers? Is it already hard, or does it ask-need some fondling. Does it feel friendly and collaborative? Is it big? Is it too thick (in addition to the possibility of my fingers finding a cock ring - this significant no no, a real downer for me) is it cut? Is it moist with pre-cum elixir?

 

How do we go about the "business" of undressing? Is it fast? Is it clumsy? Is it an integral part of the arousal or an artificially imposed pause. Are we maybe already so much into the passion that it doesn't really matter, and we won't even remember how we got to the stage of complete nakedness? Can all this entanglement be broken or structured into "stages"?

 

His legs spread open wide. I duck my head and put his dick into my mouth. I suck it lick it back and forth. I dip my tongue into the lips of his cunt-ass. I moisten it. Put my nose into it. Lick it lick lick it.

 

He holds my cock, his fingers embrace it in a natural bossy sort of way. My finger slides into his ass, patiently opening his hole, relaxing his tubular muscles. I look into his wanting-fearing eyes.

 

My tongue enters his mouth as I slide my cock into his catacombs. Bliss. Back and forth. Back and forth. He will soon do the same to / for me. Slowly at first, shallowly. And deeper and faster till we lose control. We shoot our cum, hopefully simultaneously. The tension recedes. Bliss.

 

 

 

It is so tragic. The realization that I can't describe; can’t really recreate all this for you, my devoted reader.

 

But maybe the graver and more tragic reality stems from the fact that I can't successfully do so even for myself. That the ONLY way to reconstruct this significant, not so rare experience; to revive it in my mind - is to engage in it again. In sex.

 

…or, maybe, this isn't tragic at all, but a most fortunate aspect of life.