Friday, January 28, 2005

An Unusually Handsome Trick

But one day an unusually handsome trick says he'll double my usual fee if only I'll agree to kiss him. That's all he wants. No fucking, no sucking -- just kissing.


"The best sex is forbidden," he answers.

BREAKING THE RULES: That's What T-Girls Do © 2002 by Joy James

The above story is a great 5 minute read, cruelly paraphrased here for the purpose of brevity: the prostitute performs any sex act but forbids kissing, and falls in love with the man who pays her for a kiss. Aside from the extremely clever link from my last-but-one-post, it's a great illustration of one of the hairy threads of love that slips through life like an unravelling scarf on a winter's day. Let me hear you now Pete:

"Ever fallen in love with someone
Ever fallen in love
In love with someone
Ever fallen in love
In love with someone
You shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

Forbidden. For some this is the necessary challenge to provoke desire. I've never been one for torrid illicit affairs or guilty rendezvous with women of low repute. I guess there is still time.

Spring is still a way off but we are more than a month past the Solstice, and the light is starting to creep back noticeably. Testosterone production is stimulated by light, and the onset of Spring fever is about to hit. I always notice it early. I walked along feeling really chipper, on a cold sunny day, observing a fabulous female behind in front of me, still not quite over the Winter break's excess, tightly wrapped in pinstripe a half-size too small, and moving like it meant business. It belonged to a woman with a mediterranean visage who was stomping in heels determinedly along Holborn. Our random tracks had brought us together on a crowded pavement going in the same direction, and I had the glorious benefit of a single minute cruising silently in her wake, while other suited and booted men occasionally noticed and flashed glances at her spilling rear, then at me, envious of my pole position.

I was perfectly respectful (of course) and kept my nose at head level, and I didn't allow any dribble to escape. I walked calmly and happily and gently allowed my fantasies to develop, discretely and in all innocence, and with a detachment and lack of actual lust which made the glorious minute sublime proof of winter's coming end.

She stopped suddenly to avoid someone exiting a shop, and I pulled up short to within a half a foot of her. The walkers behind me shuffled and broke ranks, going around, but we were too close and had to wait for 3 or 4 seconds while a tired mother edged a pram into the street. The bubble. I was in the bubble. I was submerged in her scent, soap, washing powder, coat made wet and dried over a radiator, something leather, and that unescapable hormonal blue note that underpins and announces ovulation.

At that moment, my defenses down, she turned and looked straight into my eyes. Hers were big and brown and serious. I'm sure I looked perfectly civilised, looked just like she did, someone waiting for the obstacle to pass. In fact, in my mind, we were both in the throes of ecstasy, merging passionately in physical and emotional unity, and although she turned back momentarily just to check out what traffic was behind her before reclaiming her place in the moving human cordon, she had a note of natural city suspicion in her face which threw me back to where I was, in a London street on a cold winter's day, waiting for a stranger to get out of the way so I could go home. It was a tremendous collision of fact and fantasy, and I grew hot. She stomped on.

Now I am 100% sure her suspicion was just part of her natural demeanour and was not related to anything I was doing. But it made me think. What if? I had been thinking quite loudly after all. I don't need science to tell me that humans (and the rest of biology) is inter-connected in ways we have yet to understand. What if she (unconsciously) had sensed my wicked imagination flying high on the wings of her pretty derrière? She didn't know or care. What if other people had seen me drawn along like a fish on a line, until I hit the bank? Nobody had. Yet even though I had done nothing which overstepped the bounds of propriety, I knew what I had been thinking, and so I experienced for a few seconds that heady mixture of guilt and longing. It's an adrenalin buzz. I had to have a tonic water and a cucumber sandwich to calm down.

I am certain that my own experiences and expectations shape my all relationships, interactions with other people, and thus my life, and some of my adult "work" has been to untangle and understand how this happens. The way we think, the paths our mind takes, this activity does not just frame our world, it makes it happen. Thought is real. Thinking is action. The mind constructs reality, and although the Anti-Terror Squads do not have the Brain Scanners in place quite yet, I frequently suspect that not everyone is deaf to even our most secret and personal inner workings.

As above, so below; and when head says go, the feet, they follow.

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At 1:51 AM, Blogger transience quoth...

so ironic, really. but it's true. i wish it were true for diets...the best muffins are forbidden. the best sodas are forbidden. yadda yadda, you get it.

i love the story up on there.


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