Gallery Carre
Sizzling Intimacy
Sep 3rd, 2006 by Holiday
The month-long hiatus is over for now, provoked by another substantial change of address. I have taken Bruce Chatwin as a role model too seriously, and my life as a nomad is veering out of control. For the past three summers, I have moved from country-to-country and across entire continents.
Last year I was in Europe, no more than an hour or so from the North Sea. The year before, I was in the Middle East with a swank villa on the Arabian Gulf. Now I’m in the Orient, with the Pacific Ocean at my doorstep.
I’m a long, long way from St. Louis – home of T.S. Eliot, Miles Davis, Chuck Berry and Ted Drewe’s famous ice cream.
Years ago I only meant to leave home long enough to see the Rocky Mountains and work briefly as a hand on a Montana cattle ranch. Somehow life has taken me on an odyssey I never imagined.
Of course on my 11-hour non-stop flight from London to the Far East, I looked for evidence of genuine sexual misbehavior among the passengers – at least one man fiddling with his cock, another fumbling with a newly acquainted female. I do this routinely because I am a degenerate and perhaps I am damaged in some way.
I’m always disappointed by people who shy away from sizzling intimacy – the kind that frees us immediately from the sexual loneliness of our stale, daily roles, an intimacy that is immediate and passionate, mischievous and cerebral, intense and captivating.
Instead, I admire people who strive to find this connection with others, who create the circumstances of gratifying drama, revel in the stark lust, bestow the gift of desirable flesh, and are not afraid to accept the melancholy tenderness after the euphoria dissipates.
Most passengers on my flight wore the generic sleep blinders provided by British Air, and appeared immobilized like victims of a 1960s Japanese horror film.
My thoughts turned instantly to Dior, the woman I am connected to like no other person in the world. I love her profoundly and missed her dreadfully. My flight really should have diverted to another country, on another continent. I belong with her, and only cheat myself of valuable moments and experiences by postponing certain crucial decisions.
Dior does not shy away from dangerous intimacy, and that’s one of her loveable qualities (and there are numerous). Yet she is discriminating in her in choice of liaisons. I know … because she shares all details about her other lovers with me – her sexual infatuations, as I call them. The lucky man, when the intimacy happens, is the beneficiary of her lust – but not her love.
I am immediately aroused by Dior’s sexual adventures. Her faithfulness to me is always emotional, and this defines our relationship.
Before I landed, I knew it was only be a matter of time before Dior indulged herself with another lover – someone to help pass the days until I became settled, again.
Of course I was completely fevered by the idea. It’s the way I’m wired. The details of Dior’s seduction of another man always send me off the charts.
I knew my love would not disappoint me.