Somewhere I got off the map. My proclivities are becoming more than tastes. Obessions, perhaps is a better word. Deep deep deeper. I’m circulating in spaces I never wanted to inhabit. Jobs I don’t want. Relationships I long for yet can’t find. Kids I wish to support but cannot reach. I dive deep into my own desires, needs, and physical ecstasy.
It’s more than peak moments. More like thrills. Edge case explorations. Dark hallways in New York seedy districts. Apps for immediate release. Service me now.
I know this is not the way. This is a blip. Perhaps more of a dangerous detour. I don’t want to end up here. Even passing through the neighborhood is frightening. The pull of ecstasy is like an opioid of a different variety. Pulse. Palm. Touch. No kissing. The rough sandpaper face against my hand, I understand a vector I began exploring back in high school.
There is nothing that is out of bounds. Nothing that is not purchasable. No fantasy that can’t be brought to life with enough money and the suppression of shame. My own horror show formed a core crack in my love-emotion-family DNA. Flexible, is how I would describe my sexuality. I can’t even admit that here in my fiction. I won’t. If you ask I’ll deny ever having written this sentence.
Don’t ask.
I won’t tell you any more, at this moment. There are too many snares and arrows pointed at me. I can’t sustain this effort for much longer. I need a break. I need the Universe to give a little. Time for my next reset.
How did I get here? How did I go so wrong and lose touch with gravity? The gravity of three generations of Texans. My son and daughter forming the fourth generation.
I can’t go much further without risk.
Austereity is a nice vibe for now. Self-actualization. Birth. Release.
The next woman is still out of frame. I sense the moment. She calls the entire thing off.
What is the potential of separating major human desires and fulfilling my emotional and physical needs with more than one person? The concept is not new. We are not supposed to wrap our entire future up with one partner, well, maybe we are, but things change. We may need to reconfigure. Reestablish boundaries and norms. What we want verses what we need.
I need touch. I need release. I need companionship. I need love.
These may not all be filled by one magical woman. Of course, my hope is that I will find her, the one, the next, the LTR. But, there’s a rising possiblity that my needs are different than this model. I skate along the edges of my own known limits. There’s always an opportunity for bungie jumping into someone or something completely different. Moving to a new city, for example, when things are rocketing forward for me here in this very moment.
As my confidence grows, my options continue to be limited. So, I learn to focus on myself and what I can control. The things I love to do alone. Write. Create music. Draw. Paint. Sing. Mainly things I don’t do with a partner. It’s when the partner becomes a liablity, a resistance. A barrier to my own expansion.
In this Year Zero I’m alone and using that efficiency to hone my desires, my craft, and my creative thrust all at once. It feels like something is happening right now. Like the writing, the AI explorations, even the music in my life, appears to be pointing to my eventual breakthrough. I wish it would come. I am also aware that this quiet period is also precious. I’m getting all the audiobook chapters done and published. I’m indulging my whims.
Mostly, however, I’m learning to love my body in the same way I’d love a partner if she were here. A massage becomes an act of self-love. Not sexual, but physical healing via touch. I am a physical animal. Without touch and love, I will wither and die. BUT, does that touch, love, and appreciation have to come from ONE SINGLE PERSON? Is that even possible?
Slip into something more comfortable. Find what ticks my tickle. Navigate the competing needs of time, money, sleep, and sex.
