Another body leaves the room, the ceremony completed. The dances have been performed & either rejected or accepted. Practice makes perfect & I am master. Sometimes I change the steps just to see what happens; before long you know who likes which steps & how, & then they like you enough to pretend to allow you, what they wanted all along anyway. I sit back, as though nothing has even happened aside from all it is to me, the primal need satisfied. I resume what I was doing before she arrived, as though it was as formulaic as getting up to make a cup of tea. The boundaries of long ago simply no longer exist. It is not that they are blurred or I have lost track of where they should be – they are long gone. It’s simply a process.
Anything will lose it’s allure when the journey to obtain it becomes so well known, that is no longer stimulates. The end of stimulation is the beginning of stagnation, & satisfaction is the death of desire. We exist to experience & take the road to what seems unobtainable, but providing we have within us enough to persevere, we will always achieve at least some success. There may be consequences or failure along the way, but stay the path & you can experience all that you want. And once there, we indulge. And then we assimilate & it all becomes normal, before we no longer feel what we expected it to be.
A beautiful girl, totally captivated with me, a body made as though it were sculpted, giving me free license to do as I wish. Recklessly throwing caution to the window, attempting to accost me in unsuitable locations where word to her husband could easily get back to him. The moral implications, nothing to me. I think not of any duty to people I don’t know. While it’s true only the innate decency of most people prevents the world totally collapsing into anarchy, I care not for those who should be able to look after themselves. The men whose wives want it all, are not my concern. She is married. She has license from him to roam. The criteria is women only. She has endless volunteers, a plethora to choose from. She mentions another man’s name, in an attempt to instigate a spark of jealously within me.
I care not. I’ve been here many, many times before. It means nothing to me because ultimately, neither does she. It’s all part of the dance. She has his name tattooed on his back. I see his name in huge letters as I penetrate her from behind. After I’ve finished, I’m politely going through the motions so I can keep her as an option to see again, once the fire again burns too furiously within me. I secretly yearn for her to leave. As I have her lie on my chest in an empty display of affection from me, she tells me how they haven’t slept together for a year & how he has slept on the sofa for that same year, even after she offered him an open relationship . It’s clear he’s depressed, but by death do us part, does she spend too much time to fix him. She was ripe for the picking all along & once something caught her eye, she was ready to go. The prospect of her family back home seemingly does not even enter her thoughts.
I understand now why people start to lie to themselves. If you’re unfortunate to be in a string of bad situations or susceptible enough to sabotage yourself by surrounding yourself with people who are not good for you, once you get a shred of happiness you hold onto it very tightly because it’s one of the few cracks of light you may have seen in the otherwise unyielding darkness. No one wants to be unhappy but life is very tough, either tangibly or psychologically or some, both. Accepting the indiscretions, so those few beautiful moments will still come along from time to time. It’s understandable but is the very nature of self flagellation & must be broken.
I know. I’ve been there.