This is a growing collection of my stories. I appear to favour writing about sex and death, not always together. I'm also writing two books. Some days it feels like most other people inhabit a world where you can aimlessly wander into vendor-created wonderlands and purchase things you never knew you needed - for entertainment. The mind boggles. I believe it's because I wasn't allowed to watch television as a child. I just don't get some things. I'm ok with that

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Eggs Florentine

Its amazing.
Everything is.
After a good orgasm I find myself
contemplating the intensely self-indulgent nature of everything.

Well it is.

But I decided that as long as you are only developing simple enjoyment – taking simple self indulgent pleasures based on an indulgent nature; then this can’t be harmful. Watching ants can’t be harmful to anyone.
But bugger-me-dead it’s fun and we all ought to do it.

Reminds me about
the
stuff we forget. If you know what I mean. You know what I mean?
I don’t know why I’m asking that.
Perhaps that is because we are that lucky generation that will inherit the unfortunate ability to be misunderstood.

The seven minutes that follow sex are non refundable moments in life. Like when you find out the cat is dead, or the sewage system your house will now need will be more than 6000 dollars..
wondering if you’re pregnant,
double checking a scratchie because things are looking good…

It’s the sort of religious experience with yourself that makes you understand how Paris could have felt having slept with Helen of Troy despite the ensuing war.
A heroic, silly moment.
This is a feeling; like the others I mentioned
that doesn’t have a name.

I‘ve put it down to seven minutes as a matter of scientifically researched phenomenon. The euphoria that goes with it accompanies any strenuous physical accomplishment, is well…euphoria because by god- it’s got a name. In my opinion the rest of it doesn’t.

How relaxing to smell someone so close,
that dipped-in-honey feeling deep in your breast.

The nameless moment when you don't know whether he might love you or not and
whether that strange warmth is beating out of his body too.
Of course it doesn’t always.
Even then I’ll still greedily take the moment,
like a satin-sheeted bed and enjoy the feel of it,
it’s intensity,
even though he might not have cut his toe-nails in more than three weeks and it’s catching on the fine threads in the satin sheets.

Orgasm’s help remind us that the world is an amazing place.

My SBS moment lives on.
It’s incredible brevity is probably part of its charm.

My mother says ‘everything passes, everything pales everything palls’.

Succinct
accurate
the way we like our Sale of the Century contestants (or should I say Temptation)

These are amongst life’s simply pleasures.
For once in my life I know what I mean and I

I don’t divulge anything in these 7 minutes. Not always…because I could be next to a man I barely know
or a lover
I don’t want him to find out too much

I’m not one to talk about relationships.

Life is amazing for a lot more than just this one reason but I would at least put cumming in the top ten.

And
there is such a fine line between being self aware and self-conscious.

It’s sexy to be aware, for example of the fine hairs on my arms and in Melbourne I notice the wind more than in Perth and it caresses my bare arms. I notice it.
I feel like I have come to a point in my understanding of my sexuality love of life can be orgasmic and that’s sexy too,

so I can feel the world through my sex, at times too. I can feel my body and it’s feminine responses. Just as I am careful not to look for responses in people at me, or look for my reflection too often in passing windows. I want to ooze happiness, not vanity.

I roll over to him and I can smell his smooth skin and my sex. It hangs in the heavy bedroom air with a spice rack of other odours, his hair. Our sweat. ..

I wish he was alive. I wish I hadn’t shot him as I came.

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