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Click hereAngela was a sculptor who had wonderfully lean arms and biceps like wire rope from hammering out bronze sheets and chiseling stone. As a spreadsheet jockey, limited time on the Nautilus left my own arms flabby by comparison. No way would I ever arm wrestle her for anything.
That's what doomed the relationship, finally—my fascination with her arms. I wanted to stroke them, lick them, rub my cock over that corded muscle. She'd get angry and say, "My pussy's down here, Jed. Between my legs, remember?"
Oh, I remembered, all right.Terra toocognita. What I wanted wasUnknown.
This was one of the more interesting pieces of the day because of the clarity of the images, the evocative narrative and the controversy of the subject, at least to this reader. For me, the poem draws very clearly the difference between a woman as the object of her lover's desire and a woman who is a partner in lovemaking whose pleasure is sought. An object cannot have pleasure and is rather resented when it speaks up. It was interesting to read this. It definitely gave me a strong emotional response.