Letter Regarding Deepening Lusts

Dec. 21 2004

dear Y.,

I can't help this!!!! I know that my letters of late have been painted all over with the colour of my sexual fantasies, but this seems to be a period that I have entered, like a new house of which I have never seen the inside, yet have been given the chance to explore.

It is driving me crazy now, I believe, this time apart. I find myself living on the most surreal of time scales, where nights and days tend to merge and melt into one another. I am constantly perplexed by the time difference between us: when it is midnight for me, it is midday for you; midnight for me, midday for you. Sometimes I tempt myself to share your daily rhythm, but this only leads me into a reality of living my days at night. My nights then taint my days, and my normal life here. On too many occasions I am sleeping in the daylight hours, not really sleep, but daydreaming. It is these dreams that captivate and take hold; and it is these dreams that make me write now.

It is inexplicable. I do not know where it comes from. At one moment my concern is the mundane routine of everyday life: eating, washing, working, planning for the future travels ahead; and I cannot say that I have much time to consider sex. I do, however, as I have told you before, satisfy my voyeuristic tendencies using the Internet and pornography, but I these images seem only for that moment, contained within one instant and then discarded the next. I have read Freud, and in his analysis one stimulus of dreams are the very things in waking life, whether we are conscious of them or not, but I cannot attest that what I see affects me as deeply as other things I witness around me. However, in my sleep and in my dreams, I am taken suddenly by a seeming lucidity, which is to say that I not only dream, but I can feel my body absorbed into this world that I create, the world I will describe in a moment, and for a second it appears that there is nothing except this alternate world.

It starts quite slowly. The world - the real world - begins to fade slowly in a palpitating rapid ebb and flow, all the sounds and senses become liquefied, and once in this liquid state, bond and permeate one another to make but one total layer of experience. When this happens, I am being lulled, called by the song of a siren who lives inside me, promising with this liquid state a tranquil haven made only for me. My body does not what for my mind to accept the invitation, and so it carries me there under it's own volition. Once inside, there is a background of one colour or rather lack of, for it is a negative black. Upon this canvas are painted then hazy images, outlines, clouded figurines that come towards me and sing for me to come to then. The sound and movement they project has a sonorous tone, so thick and heavy, their mouths and bodies are music itself. Sometimes they are bare fleshed, like angels with soft white skin and flowing hair, such grace in their repose. There is no I, except for my perspective. I have no impulse, no effort, no will; yet I also have no repulsion, no resistance and no temptation.

The whole scene is vague and ephemeral, just as is my daydream, but it is an eternity also. These angels come close, they pull me in, and in doing so we conjoin our flesh, which is a new sensation born unto me, both my having flesh in this dream and touching with another. It feels like two sheets of silk sliding over one another; cold, yet refreshing and enough to sharply awaken the senses.

There is a creamy, rich, sensuous feel about this whole moment, as if this touch then surrounds the whole of and becomes me. I feel as if I am taken into this angel and wrapped inside her, and yet when I look I am in fact still apart from her, except that I have penetrated her and she has taken me this far into her body. She seems to work with that same enveloping sonorous tone: a natural rhythm that works forwards and backwards, sliding smoothly and holding me warmly, her body in total control. I realise I am at once in possession of desire and being possessed by desire itself. This world exists for both of our aims and goals.

Our bodies move together for what seems like forever, yet in fact when I perceive that she is taking me on a path destined for orgiastic pleasure and climax, I realise that no time at all has passed and the moment has grown quite rapidly from tranquillity to a frenzied shrill of activity and sexual action. My angel now seems to turn into a demon, turning red with flame and fire, her eyes looking into mine seem to burn down into my soul, as she now takes me with a more fervent vigour and I feel her passions run with such a heat that I am convinced she will burn us both in this moment. I am clenched in between her legs, nothing but a puppet. She violently shifts her hips forwards and backwards, literally pulling the life out of me, with such a lascivious smile on her face that I am at once gripped by my own lust, but at the same time frozen with a sexual fear.

Just before my orgasm, it feels that her movements are too fast to comprehend and her body is just a machine, oscillating (for this is her movement, round and round upon me, clamped to me like a suction device, pulling, teasing, ripping the essence from inside) at thousands of revolutions per minute. My orgasm is a cataclysm of time, as it all collapses around this world, bending inwards and then outwards, from the infinitesimal to the infinite beyond. It is at this moment that I find myself waking back into reality, in a sweat, with heart racing and with the pangs of my lust, yet for a moment my head is caught in a cloud of which I can both envision the real and the demon turning back to a pure, white innocent state, her back already turned, her movement like a wave in the ocean of space.

Like I have said, I know not from where this comes. My only sexual contact with pornography concerns only girls and breasts and cunts and cocks and sucking and fucking and physical sex; but my dreams are of a feeling within, more of a conjoining of flesh and bone and spirit and soul, than the physical act itself.

I think something special will happen when I see you again, these sirens are keeping things alive inside of me and since no person has made me feel them before, I am starting to suspect that you have infected me, perhaps left a piece of yourself inside me of which I can dream.

love

J.