Voyeur
so today I looked on while people made love and played and caressed and massaged and kissed and tickled and lay on and cherished each other. Among them were two women I find smooth and attractive, with soft skin, long legs, and enticing stringy clothes. Among them also was Ashleigh, the girl I felt infatuated with since Monday. This infatuation arose from me not expressing to her the appeal I felt from her, from keeping a secret, a gap between us. That's another context, though.
I observed her and her play partner, as they caressed. As she smiled at him tenderly, and he met her face with a blissful grin and rubbed his legs around her torso. As she lay on top of him and swung her face around his in a playful dance filled with smiles and desire. And what I realized... I feel no jealousy. None? At all? Feeling into me... nope. Desire, perhaps. Would I like to take his place? Yes, that seems fun and playful. Though it doesn't match the connection I have actually longed for. The longer-lasting, regularly playful... hmmm, fuller connection I've felt something inside me yearn. It was not it.
And the desire for her felt somewhat generic. It was the same desire I felt for any of the two girls who slowly removed each others' strings: a desire for honey sweetness and tingling on my skin. It was not for their particular attention. For generic attention, maybe. Not for theirs specifically. As I noticed this, I wondered whether I wanted a life of sporadic playful, blissful loving encounters with a variety of different people. Nomadic, always new, always introductions, new dances to garner trust each time. New bodies, new mysteries, new skins and breasts. New textures. Do I want this?
Nope. Nope nope nope. I see the men and the women here who have taken upon this path, and I feel I do not want their paths. And the question struck me: which path do I want? Which kind, regarding women? Does it have a single woman? Two women? All the women? None of the women? And............. at the core of it, I don't care.
At the layer that assumes I require womanly affection, I desire at least one stable woman/lover/partner/companion/project-pal/movie-pal/cooking-pal/witness/reflection upon which to pour my full expressions of desire, of observation, of truth.
Under that layer, I don't care whether I find a woman who wants to have sex with me. I seek truth. With it, an awareness of fears within me, the willpower and wisdom to dissolve them. Within that truth, I know lies a trust so encompassing that all of Life's desires, pains, and pleasures are like raindrops on my skin. They may hurt, they may please, and they will all wash away. Water and water.
And at the layer where I am, which includes a need to be seen by women, I want a woman to come to me, to be interested in me, to show me that she wants to play with me. That she wants to see my gifts. That she wants to read or listen to what I write. That she wants us to play and experiment together with our bodies while clothed and while naked. And that's craving. Self-replicating, unfulfillable craving. While I have a need for a woman to treat me in a certain way, I am not free. I am a slave to their choices and whims. A ship with its sails of womanly desire loose and uncontrolled.
so today I looked on while people made love and played and caressed and massaged and kissed and tickled and lay on and cherished each other. Among them were two women I find smooth and attractive, with soft skin, long legs, and enticing stringy clothes. Among them also was Ashleigh, the girl I felt infatuated with since Monday. This infatuation arose from me not expressing to her the appeal I felt from her, from keeping a secret, a gap between us. That's another context, though.
I observed her and her play partner, as they caressed. As she smiled at him tenderly, and he met her face with a blissful grin and rubbed his legs around her torso. As she lay on top of him and swung her face around his in a playful dance filled with smiles and desire. And what I realized... I feel no jealousy. None? At all? Feeling into me... nope. Desire, perhaps. Would I like to take his place? Yes, that seems fun and playful. Though it doesn't match the connection I have actually longed for. The longer-lasting, regularly playful... hmmm, fuller connection I've felt something inside me yearn. It was not it.
And the desire for her felt somewhat generic. It was the same desire I felt for any of the two girls who slowly removed each others' strings: a desire for honey sweetness and tingling on my skin. It was not for their particular attention. For generic attention, maybe. Not for theirs specifically. As I noticed this, I wondered whether I wanted a life of sporadic playful, blissful loving encounters with a variety of different people. Nomadic, always new, always introductions, new dances to garner trust each time. New bodies, new mysteries, new skins and breasts. New textures. Do I want this?
Nope. Nope nope nope. I see the men and the women here who have taken upon this path, and I feel I do not want their paths. And the question struck me: which path do I want? Which kind, regarding women? Does it have a single woman? Two women? All the women? None of the women? And............. at the core of it, I don't care.
At the layer that assumes I require womanly affection, I desire at least one stable woman/lover/partner/companion/project-pal/movie-pal/cooking-pal/witness/reflection upon which to pour my full expressions of desire, of observation, of truth.
Under that layer, I don't care whether I find a woman who wants to have sex with me. I seek truth. With it, an awareness of fears within me, the willpower and wisdom to dissolve them. Within that truth, I know lies a trust so encompassing that all of Life's desires, pains, and pleasures are like raindrops on my skin. They may hurt, they may please, and they will all wash away. Water and water.
And at the layer where I am, which includes a need to be seen by women, I want a woman to come to me, to be interested in me, to show me that she wants to play with me. That she wants to see my gifts. That she wants to read or listen to what I write. That she wants us to play and experiment together with our bodies while clothed and while naked. And that's craving. Self-replicating, unfulfillable craving. While I have a need for a woman to treat me in a certain way, I am not free. I am a slave to their choices and whims. A ship with its sails of womanly desire loose and uncontrolled.
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