How many people were doing what I was doing today?
Standing in a cool shaded forest, with sunlight filtering through the foliage, doing my movement training in the still, cool morning air.
It was then I noticed her. She swayed to an invisible music, the energy moving her to & fro, and then side to side, gyrating in still perfection.
I felt the forest speak through her, as if she were a conduit of emotions & feelings, empathic telepathy with the surroundings.
In the swing of her hips I saw the stream snaking its way through the forest. Her sharp inhale sent tingles of icy warmth down my spine.
It reminded me at once of the chill of the cold winter night as well as the warm glow of the welcome campfire stroking my palms & cheeks.
Her fingers created mudras that stirred ancient memories, a ghostly familiarity that I could not shake.
I stood there, transfixed, & time stood still with me, unwilling to let the glorious spectacle end. I think I found the perfect word to describe her.
She flows all over the place.
She’s hard to pin down. Rebutting every advance of mine. Expertly dodging & weaving, almost at hand but just out of reach. I’m her plaything, & she knows it.
And she is mine too. I stubbornly hold my ground, refusing to be swayed by her charms. She gets frustrated when she can’t get me to do as she wants, but I notice the sly smile she tries so hard to hide, but which occasionally escapes as she glances my way.
The spark intensifies. And the attraction kindles into a fire. We both dance around each other, entranced, gyrating in unison, as if guided by an invisible music silently nudging us ever closer.
She is fluid.
She is liquid.
Women are strange creatures.
There are times when they rejoice in pain, and others when even the most beautiful advances are unwelcome.
They flow with the tide of their own emotions, like liquid phases of the moon.
Their diurnal rhythm takes them through an incredible spectrum of emotions, feelings & moods. I wish I could experience but a sliver of that spectrum of whimsy. But as I am only a man I cannot flow in spontaneity like the feminine.
I can only hold my centre, still as an anchor stone, to which the feminine may come home to rest.
I cannot hold her restricted, nor can she sway me from my place. Immovable object meeting unstoppable force, a whirlwind of ecstacy rears up, until at last our furies die down. Weak. Spent. Vulnerable. Entwined.
This polarity of feminine & masculine is what creates this spark, the friction of incompatibility. Without it there would be nothing. Only boredom.
Like unfamiliar wild animals circling each other, sniffing, feeling each other out, probing, we circle each other, curious about what makes the other so different from ourselves.
What is sex really supposed to be like?
Skinned knees, bruises, atleast one busted digit, scratches & a a marked inability of the female to walk afterwards.
Primal. Animalistic. Raging. Urgent. Violent.
Wrists rubbed raw, hair pulled hard.
Noisy. Frantic. Thrashing. Submissive. Overpowered.
Lofty dreams rooted to base desires, longing for, lusting after release, & then another. And another, until there is nothing left of you to give.
Spent. Weary. Weak. Shaky.
Your fragrance on the pillow. Crumpled sheets. Clothes lying ransacked.
Glowing. Flushed. Entwined. Free.
Little Rat, trapped in the maze,
Little Rat, what will you do?
The paths all look the same.
Nothings changed since the last time you came.
Running out of hope, energy and faith,
Maybe there’s a door, that closes just a little late.
Morsels you find here and there,
But never the way out.
You gather up your strength, but all in spite
There’s no respite.
Hope drains away,
As does your life.
The clocks ever ticking
Day and night.
Little Rat, trapped in the maze,
Will you ever escape the chase?
Little Rat, why don’t you just lie down?
Fall into a sleep, you need never get up from.