There are two kinds of sex:
- Hot and Dirty. This is the fun kind, the one that everyone leaves happy or at least unbothered. You enjoy sex for just a physical release. You know the scene, those are the people who go on the hunt to get off. No strings attached, just bumping bushes until it’s over, and then it’s over. Call me maybe? Nah? That’s cool.
- Spiritual Intercourse. Or lovemaking can be a joining of souls. I’m not sure that this variety ever truly releases you. This can lead to obsession.
I’ve been to both rodeos and the first one is definitely more fun. There was this one time at bandcamp…
We met at a club. I was twerking as I do and high as a kite. Then I saw him undressing me with his eyes. I liked it. He came over and we slow-whined all over the place. It was sexy and delicious. His New York accent turned me on, and all I could think was “He could get it”.
A few days later I went to his vacation home. If I felt lit up the night we met, this night I was burned to ashes on the stake. Omg. Everything about us was right. He knew where and how to touch me and I was open all the way for him to excite me.
He left. I went to visit him in NY. Our dates were fun and hot and very necessary. He was deserving of every bit of the good good. I was bent backwards, head on the floor, flipped over, tantalized, held in place, set free, dragged back, loved.
Then one night he annoyed me, and it came after a few incidents of me getting that sneaky feeling he was lying about something. I didn’t care. He was cut off. It was so easy.
Then there was that other case…
I loved him. Even though I had only known him for a few weeks and he didn’t put me high up on list. After two years of scattered and non-committed carnal hedonism with me a hopeless mess cleaving to his ribcage, he even asked me “why can I hurt you so much”. That question cut like a knife rammed deep into my chest bone. But my answer, which I kept to myself, shocked me even more: “I don’t know. You just can.” I hated him.
This spiritual intercourse dominates. Our lovemaking was like a joining of souls. We don’t know why or how we get entangled because it’s a higher level of bonding. There are those times when you are just looking for a physical release. This was not that. This was an endeavor into a uniting beyond body mind or soul, which takes you. Just fucking takes you. Blinds you. Immobilizes you and brings you to your knees. Takes your voice your thought your brain your soul. Enraptures you. So that your physical existence is simply a shell. And you have no answers. Just need. Devastating crushing need. Not that oh I need something hot to hump tonight. More like oh I need that shit or I will die. Stat! Obsession.
I would have done anything for it. I would have let him cheat on me. Ignore me. Own me. As long as he was doing something to me I would have felt whole. While my brain screamed “Girl get a grip!”, my body screamed “Take me now”. I was caught in the middle, sickeningly trapped.
What Remains When Obsession Releases You
A shell. For a while I was a shell of a girl. My brain won while my body went into convulsing shock. Once I released him, I was no better or stronger than an addict on the first day of rehab. Years later I’m good. But sometimes, I can still feel him…