Beautiful, depraved

Intimacy. Debauchery. Irreverence.

Monday, January 10, 2011

the year of living almost celibately

it's been a strange year.

for someone who advises people to have plenty of sex and plenty of wild sex, i've had little of late. I'm like a reverse-christian. they tell people not to have sex, but have it. i tell people to have sex, but don't.

i've made lots of new friends this year. i think all of them are in open relationships. i didn't set out to meet them. it's not like i went to swingers' clubs and could say, "oh, how strange, all my friends are into group sex." it just happened. well, it happens when i'm open about loving sex (the sex i'm not having). when i open up about that, other people open up and suddenly it's a room full of people who are open and everything is on the table.

i like the freedom in these people. they're open and they don't have judgment. the lack of judgment carries over into other parts of their lives. not all of them, i guess. i'm making a blanket statement here. but the ones i'm close to.

there have been some interesting men. men i did have sex with. but none of them were at the orgies. i was a voyeur at the orgies when i'm usually the exhibitionist.

one was a retired psychiatrist. jewish, brilliant and funny.

but i think my favorite was the filmmaker. this is how it went.

he didn't say much at first. there were a few questions back and forth and short, halted answers. i didn't get him, didn't recognize him until he asked me about the modigliani. i have a modigliani print on the wall. it's a nude; modigliani does the best nudes. they're tasteful and erotic.

he asked "is that you in the modigliani?"

I smiled because he asked the question with my answer already in it. people often don't know who modigliani was/is. and, if you aren't into art, you may not either. modigliani lived at the turn of the century. he painted sensual and beautiful nudes. in those days, you could paint a woman full frontal naked so long as you didn't paint her pubic hair. that was considered obscene. he painted women's pubic hair. he went to jail for obscenity.

the pathway to me is guarded by intricate tests like this one and i watch in amusement as people mostly stumble over them.

the answer i usually give people when they ask if it's me in the painting, is that it was me one-hundred years ago. they look puzzled and i leave it at that.

what a beautiful question he asked.

it was that question and the fact that his fingers lingered around my outer labia. a woman's outer labia are so much ignored that i had almost forgotten mine existed. but his fingers spoke to them and it was because of these two significant gestures that i decided to let my guard down.

i kissed him right away. i was in the middle of my period. i think i've had some of the best sex of my life when i've been bleeding. it's the man's acceptance of me--for all of me--and the animalistic feeling of blood everywhere.

i came violently with him, sobbing all over his shoulders. i explained, like i've gotten used to doing, that the crying is good. but he knew. "i've dated a cryer before," he said, smiling. i must have known intuitively that he could take it because i let it all go.

he was relentless. i'm very rarely matched, in fact, i don't know if i ever have been matched in bed. how does that not sound egotistical? it means that i want depth and authenticity and sexual skill and intelligence and an interest in spirit and the heart of an artist. altogether in one man. if you say that sex is just sex and all these other things don't matter in bed, oh, but you're wrong. give me the man in bed and i'll tell you all about the man in his life. it's all there.

so there he was, with his wide swathe of references, his relentless, thick cock that had no need for ejaculation. and his voice. he called me an elegant woman with a hot cunt. i liked that he could appreciate the dichotomy.

i just found this that modigliani wrote to a friend: "(hold sacred all) which can exalt and excite your intelligence... (and) ... seek to provoke ... and to perpetuate ... these fertile stimuli, because they can push the intelligence to its maximum creative power."

(it was on wikipedia. i wanted to make sure i got the obscenity story right. i don't think i did. an exhibit was closed, but i can't find mention of him being arrested. correct me if i'm wrong).

i guess that's what i'm trying to say in this post: "hold sacred all which can exalt and excite our intelligence... because they can push the intelligence to its maximum creative power."

oh, and i later found out he was/is an award-winning filmmaker and he's worked with some of my heroes. of which there are only a handful--okay, maybe two handfuls--on the planet. i rest my case--read the sexuality and you read the person.