Sunday, December 14, 2014


When i emerged from the bedroom i felt soiled, rather than repletion.Because today he tied me up by the hands while fucking me. It wasn't hurtful but it was uncomfortable. I felt the cords of the silken rope indenting my wrists, rasping my palms. I felt ticklish and petulant and found no outlet for either. The sight of his pleasure, palpable, offered scant recompense. Rather it exacerbated my anger. His claim that our lovemaking be more primal, exciting and adventurous bores me to death. Sex bores me. And with these unprepossessing appendages my loathing redoubles.
I had hoped that once our relationship became securer sex would cease to be a determining factor. But his unceasing voracity alarms me. It isn't as if i disdain sex or negate its necessity but for him it seems more like a fulcrum. To me love, regard, companionship are distinguishable from sex because they inhabit a landscape where a certain maturity and sagaciousness is necessitated. An observance to a paradigm of closeness that transcends the physical. But here, with him, i feel as though i am regressing into a primeval realm of corporeality that offsets my more social, relational instincts. More than the crude lovemaking, which i can tolerate somewhat, it is the abrogation of the austerity impulse that distresses me.
I don't boast of a particularly sanguine temperament but decency has always seemed vital to me. When his beard abrades my chin during kissing, when his gropings seem like defilements i wonder how this person whom i love can ,in his physiognomy , be so repugnant. It seems to me that i sever his emotional being from his sexual being. Perhaps he sees them as one and the same.
Presumably what also determines his degree of amiability in my perception of it, is the preponderance of the emotional self. It is there that i discern an authenticity and veracity that pleases me. I do see a hedonism which too is part of his being. But i like to believe that his better impulses supersede his baser nature. Again it is not the baser nature as much as the baseness, the debasement of it that is frightening to behold. He is otherwise salurary and warm, suffused with agreeable appurtenances but when he has sex with me i feel deracinated. A disembodied sensation, of a fundamental split between my body and consciousness occurs and it is vertiginously precipitous though also dizzyingly thrilling, with its chasms hinting at a reversion that is delicious.
What i fear is that my own sense of dissolution becomes apparent when we have sex. I experience a deep desire to submerge, be subsumed. And watchfulness, cognizance of my own baseness is ineluctable. It is my hope that my sublimation will be a springboard to his own apotheosis.

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