By Lisabet Sarai
He’s searching for God. She’s just looking for a fuck. But that’s not quite right. She knows, somehow, that you don’t have to seek God. God’s already there, inside. You just need to figure out how to open yourself and let divinity out.
For her, sex is the way, the consummate opening. When she’s writhing in a lover’s arms, the barriers crumble. For a few glorious moments, she can experience first hand the communion she normally has to take on faith. The bliss and the certainty are as brief and fragile as they are transcendent, She’s left with mere memories that fade the more she tries to clutch at them—scraps of joy, glimmers of magic. She’s learned over the years to let them go, the same way she releases her lovers when it’s time for them to move on. There are always new bodies, new hearts—new truths.
He doesn’t understand, thinks she’s been put there to tempt him him from his path of purity and righteousness. He’s not pure, though. He knows very well he’s not. If he were, he wouldn’t want her so badly.
She loves his youth, his shyness, his awkward innocence, his cleverness with words and with his hands. His intuition astounds her; the depth of his feelings humble her. When they meet for coffee and intricate conversations, she aches to touch him, but he’s armored in self-denial. The most casual brush of her hand makes him flinch away.
A veteran of many couplings, she can read his desire like the books he cherishes. It’s in his darting eyes, his flushed cheeks, the sweat she can smell, even across the cafe table. It’s more than lust. It’s like a prayer.
He stares into his coffee cup to escape her bold stare, even as he speaks of Japanese folk tales or dissects King Lear. In the fragrant and bitter dregs he reads his fate—an instant of forbidden indulgence then a long, hard fall. He vows to be strong, but her magnetism draws his traitor body. His stubborn cock is a pillar of iron between his tensed thighs.
Iron, and salt, the destiny of sinners.
Every Monday they come together to pace out the same steps in this dance of frustration. What can she do? Perfume and decolletage don’t dent his desperate resolve. If only she dared make a first move—but she knows terror and need will send him skittering away. She cares too much to cause him that distress.
She dreams of him, imagines the magic they’d create in connecting. He might be the one to finally set her free. No virgin, still she succumbs to the seductive promise of a soul mate. And if that promise fails, the mystery of opening remains, illusion vanishing like fog in the white-hot flare of pleasure, incandescent truth shining forth for a few seconds before the curtain falls. That’s what he craves, too, or so she believes.
But how to reach him? She ponders the conundrum as she twists and tosses on ocean-scented sheets, her fingers an unsatisfactory substitute for his maleness. His aspirations to holiness make her feel like a whore, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except her need to wrap her legs around his waist and pull him inside her.
Finally, she writes him a story.
Great take on the topic, Lisabet. Seems the story is already written :>)ReplyDelete
On the big picture, however, one thing does puzzle me: Why are we so often attracted to the most damaged people? Is it a phenomenon relating to protection, or "I can fix this."??
It doesn't sound like his 'desperate resolve' here. More like fear.
I think you're too harsh with my character. He's not any more damaged than the next guy. I've known several men like this -- sensitive and questing, worried that their physical desires somehow turned them into beasts. The contrast I'm working on here is with my own personal view (yes, there's a lot of me in her) that sexual connection is one route to spiritual connection. That it's almost always more than "just sex".Delete
Not all my stories have this message. But a lot of them do.
I found it most interesting to read here about what she found sexy about him, his intuition and expressiveness with word's and maybe that he was a little out of reach for her. The things we guys expect women to find sexy in men so often are not what's going on. Always amazing to see how women actually think. Sexy too.ReplyDelete
I can only speak for myself, but I've found nothing is more arousing than intelligence and imagination.
The fact that he's out of reach is not part of the allure, at least not for me. Just frustrating.
On first reading I thought he might be leaning toward priesthood, or a monastery, but he seems old enough that if that were his aim he'd already be there. He doesn't seem so much committed to celibacy as to not enjoying sex too much if he does have it.ReplyDelete
This character is based, roughly, on one of my lovers. We had incredible chemistry as well as a fantastic intellectual connection, but somehow he just couldn't trust his own desire.Delete
I have to admit, too, that there's a dash of the young Garceus in this character as well. Not that I knew you back then, Garce, but I've constructed this conception from reading your posts over the years.
Fascinating pair of characters, Lisabet. Like Sacchi, I thought this man was deeply into some formal religion and was afraid of "falling" from grace through sex. I love what I think of as the Scheherazade move: she decides to seduce him with a story.ReplyDelete
Well, he might be. But fundamentally, people are drawn to particular religious traditions because the beliefs or constraints fit their personal needs.Delete
Personally, I began writing erotica as a mode of seduction. One might argue that's still what I am doing.
Gorgeously poetic, Lisabet. Lovely to read.ReplyDelete
I heard the religious tones, too. I'm not sure if I agree about why people are drawn to certain religious traditions. Maybe that's true of the ones people are drawn to in adulthood. Often, though, there is deep history, personal and family, that holds people to those traditions. I heard that when the piece draws attention to his youth.