he slumbers in a city far away tonight, Polymnos
is in my bed with me. Although he
cannot see me, he controls me, controls my movements.
Sometimes he directs them, sometimes he restricts
them. Always he motivates them, inspires them.
Makes me ache for release, for confinement, for
his next directive, for the heat of his touch,
for the utterance of his whims and instructions
on how I can satisfy them.
Without meaning to be, I am alert
for his voice, whether it speaks to me through
his lips or from his fingertips. My giving nature
yearns to be at his service and he graciously
accepts, returning just enough of what I crave
to keep me hungry, sometimes ravenous--but always
coming back for more.
Previously repressed desires,
now contained within a safe and firmly nurturing
environment, begin to flower in me, growing wild
and strong while tended with a steady hand that
gently but inexorably guides, subtly shapes and
refines. I am alabaster flesh beneath his fingers.
I am gently flushed marble waiting to be polished.
I am a dream being born in the mind of a watcher.
Not long ago, I attended a party.
Polymnos was poised to enter my life, but had
not yet done so. I was still a wanderer in search
of a direction. One guest created name tags based
on things she knew or suspected about our natures.
The words she wrote for me read, "Everything to
Excess." I had been labeled. Categorized. Tagged.
any less orgiastic to relish a strict
existence of discipline and
from the obvious joys
of life than it is
to succumb to them?"
Does excess include denial--or
only overt hedonism? Can denial be a form of hedonism?
Is it any less orgiastic to relish astrict existence
of discipline and removal from the obvious joys
of life than it is to succumb to them? Is the
Carmelite nun, shunning the ways of the human
world and wrapped in a holy fantasy of silence,
obedience and humility any less self-indulgent
than the worldly slut with her painted lips, voluptuous
curves and frankly languid gaze?
One needn't be a 19th century
English Romantic poet or 20-something local Goth
chick to know that there is deep sensual power
in denial. There is luxurious poignancy in meditating
upon the absent, upon the lost. What bliss for
lovers to read and reread old letters, committing
key phrases to memory and sobbing softly while
rubbing the delicious nettles of separation into
their raw emotions in anticipation of the thrill
"No orgasms until I return," Polymnos
had told me and left. As an early reward for good
behavior on my part or largess on his, come the
sunrise my restrictions are lifted, mere days
after their enforcement. I have been my own willing
jailer. Oddly, while my muscles press against
my skin in urgent appeals for relief, my spirit
is strangely melancholy amidst the rejoicing.
Even a stranger within myself. Unsought experience
has taught me well that the last moments of suffering
can be the sweetest.
Although he slumbers in a city
far away tonight, Polymnos is in my bed with me.
He has cum in the most intimate part of my anatomy;
we are fluid-bonded in the mind, having found
a custom-made entrance beyond my usual barriers.
He has sparked the connection between reptile
and mammal and thus both my human and animal natures
are in his debt at the unification.
Bitten, teased, tormented, pampered,
petted, paddled--ignored or adored--tonight I
bathe my spirit in a sinful decadence of denial,
more lustful than any frenzied orgy of the damned
could ever conceive or come close to matching
for sheer self-indulgent luxury. We live in a
hurried time. To truly relish the lack of something
is to slow, to focus, to internalize, to experience
sensation and generate thought. What a dangerous
evening's activities I have engaged in, this exploration
of the mind/body/spirit connection. Sleepless,
creative, inspired and on the verge of freedom,
how long will I willingly postpone the moment
of reclamation of my natural right to self or
shared pleasure? How long will I roll the bittersweet
fruit of absence and delicious denial on my tongue
before releasing the devils and angels straining
within my skin?