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Comments by The Satyr

I spoke with an old lover a while back and, told her that I barely remember any of the actual lovemaking that went on, but remember with great detail the other times we spent together. I meant this but I am not sure that I was telling the complete truth. There were some times that we made love so often that I do not remember all the details of what happened, when. There are times, though, that we were so passionate together that I will never forget a single detail. This is true of many of the people that I have been with. 

I remember one time, after a petty squabble, the two of us awoke and fucked silently but savagely on the couch before I had to go to work. Another time I shared with someone else the hot fast quickie upstairs in my parentís house before she had to leave to go shopping with my sister. Another time, again a quickie, was in the bathroom of my parents house when we were visiting for the holidays. Still another afternoon was spent lying in bed and lounging around fucking when we felt like it, sleeping when we felt like it and laughing and giggling about it all. 

There are so many more memories I have of actually having sex but really need not be categorized here. So why havenít I been more bold to share stories like this in my column? It never occurred to me until tonight but there is something inside me that says that it is to private a moment to share. Or more precisely that I could never express the emotion that was behind the scenes pulling the strings that made it so wonderful. Because in the end itís not really about who put what where. 

Itís not about whether she was focused upon me, herself, or someone else that might have been there, or some other fantasy that she was whispering in my ear as I ground slowly into her. The moment that holds our thoughts, that holds power over our minds, is not the actual physical act but the emotions that are involved as well. The beauty of the whole scene that reminds us of how human we are. Too often, in this age of full disclosure, we lose sight of the fact that sex is above all a beautiful moment. This moment can be shared by strangers or lovers of long standing. It really doesnít matter. It is a moment of beauty that stands still in the history of our mind. 

Who really remembers that precisely after he bit into her nipple and then licked it for two minutes that he then plunged inside of her and pumped for fifty-five strokes before he exhausted himself inside of her? Those are for the magazines; for the writers trying to titillate their readers. Theirsí is the story to excite. No real memory comes with emotions tied to those facts. The facts themselves of exactly what happened lose themselves to the whirlwind of emotions that surrounds the event itself. 

The morning after, on the couch, it was savage and delicate at the same time. It was born out of a longing to be connected to each other again. A longing to be united and not divided as we had the night before. It is that tender aggressive play that I am reminded of and the way I was made to feel very connected to her that I remember. Not that I lasted this long and made her come several times before it was over. That is the physical act being recorded. The memory is the voice-over the act, which drowns out the action and replaces it with emotion and meaning. 

And the quickies. What emotion did they hold? Simply the quick fired passion that we held for each other at the time. It was present not only in the sex but in the life surrounding us. In the way that we reacted to each other outside of the bedroom. This one moment brings it to the forefront of the mind not because it was about incredible passionate sex but because it symbolized us in that time. It brought out the freshness that we still had at that moment. Life is ever changing and with that so are memories. We often change them to fit our moods at the time. What doesnít change though, is the wealth of material there to enact that change. 

If it were simply a clinical memory of the act then there would be nothing for us to grasp a hold of except the amount of orgasms that occurred that moment. But, no, there is so much more. There is pathos that is planted before us ripe for the picking. So perhaps that is why I am reluctant to talk about the actual details of my varied women and our sexual acts. Those details are for me to savor the beauty from, not a springing board from which to tell a new story. 

Stories are always there and I could make a many of them up if I wanted to just titillate my readers. But while the titillation is nice, what act of love making can you honestly bring up that hasnít held you captivated for some other reason besides the fact that she let you take her up the ass? It is not just the taboo of a ďdifferentĒ sexual act that makes it so special but the person and the reason why that act happened when it did. So while I did not lie to my old lover, for I truly did remember the other facets of our relationship more, I was not quite honest when I said that I barely remember our acts of love. I merely meant that I did not remember them all precisely the way they occurred. But then does anyone remember an event exactly as it occurred? 

I am reminded of a quote from ďLost Highway,Ē in which a character downplays the role of the camera. He basically says that he likes to remember things, not necessarily how they happened, but how he remembered them in his head. It was a great line indicative to mankind. So if I seem a little reluctant to share all the juicy details, know that it is not out of spite but out of a shared respect for beauty. Some things are better left for the mind to dwell on and appreciate rather than dragging them into the light for everyone to see and criticize and ridicule. 

Besides, when was sex ever really only about sex? Never that I can tell. There is always some other motive lurking in the shadows by the bed. And that is what I prefer to focus on. Not the sweaty bodies and how nature makes them wet in order to ease the penetration but how the mind swells and merges with forces unknown to create a moment of beauty that will be remembered by the participants forever. Sometimes when itís all good itís better to keep it to yourself. 


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