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Thirty-Fifth Sitting

So whatever. Confessions: there were several different acts on several different occasions. Probably, then, it was not an accident. Her ideal was, in fact, a Man who wanted to give Her one every singly night, so I consistently and eagerly jumped to it without provocation. <<jump>> (See, I'm getting into it now.) It's an addictive practice, but a rewarding one, at least with the right person. I will start Her off again: "If you really want to do X right, you can't just jump into it. You need to really pay attention to the environment; if it's too cold, it can screw things up big time. Plus the lighting has to be set... maybe some soft music. It can help too just to touch for a while first, to get used to it." So you know what X equals now, but it's also pretty obvious what it could equal, and equally obvious that that same alternate X could be the referent of every other comment so far this sitting... making this book that much more marketable. So you go ahead and substitute any X you need to for you to be enthralled... try reading it multiple times using many alternatives (some suggestions: skeet shooting, full body glue-sniffing, making Jell-o(TM), forging alliances between conflicting super-powers, the Zen of breakdancing, art rock lullaby, rituals involving smoking pets and Lysol(TM), ska, nose hair length comparisons, chanting "I hate you" "I hate you more" "I hate you even more" etc., toenail-clipper haircuts, angst-filled howling sessions in which all noises are based on that Scooby Doo questioning "Awwrrru?," and indiscriminate licking).

So whatever. I'm not going to tell you about every session, as your alternate-X metaphors might eventually get a little absurd, plus I don't want to end the next six chapters with "...it felt, God, it felt..." You should already be convinced that we didn't have to set the lighting or put on music because of the good good CHEMISTRY that leaves its by-products in a warm, sticky film coating my every word and gesture. So my psychosomatic reaction wiped out all the pain from my back at her touch even though I was really suffering from actual pulled lower back muscles, which massage shouldn't have been able to alleviate. So when I touched Her legs and worked up to the thighs ("Just tell me where you want me to stop." "I've had complete strangers go much higher than that."), lingering on the whole thing for as long as I could find excuse to drag it out, she said it was "perfect. It couldn't get any better than that." ...despite my lack of previous experience with that particular maneuver. So when We simultaneously focused on each other's faces ("usually simultaneous massage doesn't work, because neither person can get totally relaxed") We just about melted through Her bed into the apartment below. All this is just a natural consequence of what's already been said; It's what we let build up and It means that even though our actions have never gotten actually out of bounds (i.e. He would only have five heart attacks upon reading about them as opposed to the traditional twenty), We are a lot more physically primed than some couples acting unfettered for years. I guess We'll just have to see if the gut-wrenching physical reactions that always (in my experience) come to people who have gone beyond certain physical levels show up when my immanent departure becomes much more immanent.

We were both good at dishing out the stuff, as I've said, but as I also said there was somewhat of a discrepancy in reception, in that I am Ticklish Man. I'm often under the impression that ticklishness is a purely physical property of the skin, but when you consider the simple fact that you can't tickle yourself (unless you're "weird," a scientific term meaning "like X-She"), it seems more like the ticklish bloke is just uptight. So, an amazing application of a much-harped-upon theme to a somewhat narrative account, Her advances upon Me forced a therapeutic confrontation that was, well.. highly therapeutic, and were responsible for much of the preceding prolix (good GRE word) pseudo-philosophical babbling. Blame it on the leg strokes, which at first set me to flinching away and hysterical laughter, and then to paroxysms of lust and hysterical laughter as She moved higher up, then to paroxysms of lust and a wide-eyed session of tension beaming as I tried to pretend my legs were not actually attached to my body, and finally to some sort of relaxation after several minutes of Her just holding Her hand in certain spots without moving, and then moving only very slowly. Yep, gettin' accustomed to the X activity -- gaining a stronger sense of comfort with one's own body -- it sure does change a fellow.

You see (or you will hopefully see once I explain it, if I may be so bold as a front for my basic insecurity), people's habits are generalized. If Buffy gets conditioned that every time She tries to approach a human, Bear will bite Her neck and chase Her around, She learns not only to not approach humans when Bear's around, but to be totally freaky and sheepish. If Buster the useless DOG gets perpetually pissed off by Bear's domination, which he has to live with all the time, He'll start to cope with many other similar-seeming circumstances by being pissed off. So my physical reactions, for whatever reasons I developed them, are somewhat generalizable: My normal reaction when dealing with a problem (or more precisely a persistent condition such as a constant and increasing pain in my back from shoveling, a growing feeling of incompetence and frustration at my lack of control over clay, the constant presence of Him keeping Me from a total glorious experience from which I would hopefully never recover, or a hand on my thigh that just won't go away), is to first act to remove it. If this is not possible or desirable, then I try to get out the hostile energy by some other method like screaming and gritting my teeth. If I'm trying to be more constructive about it, I try to disassociate myself with the hostile energy and be at peace. As this doesn't work, I end up internalizing, which for me is immediately apparent and comes out as angry brooding. None of these reactions involve actual relaxation, the acceptance of the stimulus as something that is not necessarily good but that isn't going away and so isn't to be stressed over. I can hardly even phrase this accurately because my understanding of it isn't really internalized. I'm used to a stronger approach: the attempt to actually come to accept the stimulus, to at least partially like it, to make it very clear that my attitude towards it is not altogether negative but just ambivalent. This, unfortunately, is much harder, and can't really be pulled off at the moment of negative stimulus without self-deception ("Why yes, I like the pain I'm in that you caused in hitting me with that large blunt instrument! Thank you!").

So there's my illustrative anecdote. It told me what I should have done during the pottery session, what I should have done while digging dirt, and what I should be doing in dealing with this whole situation. But it's hard to change reactions like that, and if you're going to be offended by those two little words next to each other, at least as a gut reaction, I will understand. If you think being offended as a gut reaction is just a stupid reaction to anything (as I do), then I encourage you to chant the mantra, perhaps very seldom at first but with increasing frequency, until you are desensitized, until you can relax. See, aren't you glad I got all offensive? ...It's a very good audience-participation ploy... You and I will be together as one Tripely mind yet, just You wait and see.

...But I haven't finished my story. The SEX must climax and I must end up on the couch. The greater physical comfort and familiarity brought about by the massage (and the dancing, and the inevitable brushing-against-each-other that occurs whenever two people cook together in the same kitchen) made the magnet very very powerful, and it became increasingly difficult to be close for a long period of time (e.g. a night sleeping in the same room) without touching each other. She dreamt early on that I slunk up into Her bed... I didn't do anything more in the dream; I just slept in the bed. I of course would never do that unless She asked, which She obviously wasn't allowed to do, so in substitution my makeshift bed got closer and closer to Hers until it became possible for Me to leave a hand up there, or for Hers to dangle down, at first for only some few minutes as we tried to go to sleep, and then for the greater part of some nights. This became even easier when I put all my laundry under the cushion that rested under by back, creating a sort of stair-case arrangement that allowed Me to keep My whole arm or even My head up there for the whole night. Granted, this was wildly uncomfortable and made my back hurt so as to require massage attention, but that wouldn't have stopped Me. The next night She was nice to Me and let Me take Her bed while She took Mine; by 8:00 am Her back hurt so much that She heaved herself (still in My sleeping bag) up next to Me. All this was building a tremendous inertia that would have moved I don't know where if it hadn't been for the intervention of reality, of the Outside, of Him.

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© 1993 Mark A. Linsenmayer [ Contents ]