2004-05-02

I’m starting to feel like a stranger in the valley of love. The valley no longer supports intimate picnics, innocent conversations nor unrealised passions.

Passions must be indulged immediately by the mechanics of physical body parts, pneumatic movements with glazed eyes, looking inwards. Looking inwards to see the ripples of self-satisfaction. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there, under me. I was just thinking about how better to satisfy myself.”

At times, I feel alone in that I think sex comes from enjoying someone immensely, or dare I say it, love. All around me I see and hear about the instant satisfaction for the individual, desire for looking, rubbing and sticking it in yo’ face. It would be good if we were in the good ole days of being able to say “Oh, there is so much sex on telelvision! How WILL it affect our yoof?” Now its way beyond that. Everyone needs porn to get off, unable to deal with whats real and sex on with that. It is only possible to get off with perfection, gloss and actionactionaction.

What’s real? The expanse of skin on your back, curving as I run my hands along from neck nape to butt. Pressure of lying so close to each other. Kissing my neck. Kissing your neck. Studying your fingers for half an hour. Lying at your feet.

How do the crew get off instead? Gynaecological images of women squatting uncomfortably. Watching a butt shake constantly in your face. Masturbating constantly at each other, individual to individual, total division. Wishing we could have success with intricate and increasingly uncomfortable configurations EACH AND EVERY TIME. What is wrong with the occasional ‘keep it simple stupid’ sex, where its quality, not style that will win you friends.

I think there is room for all kinds of stuff, but increasingly there is no room for the kind of stuff that is human and real. Lots of other stuff is so fake, but I keep reading or hearing that the more inventive and full on your sex is, the more connection you will have with your partner or something. To me, it is so fake without love. All that stuff is artifice, protecting us from seeing each other truly. Protecting us from actually having to feel anything other than the penetration of a good fuck. I’m tired of the culture of the sexual individual. Its making me feel incredibly alienated. The more I strike the gyno-centric porno obsessed fuck machine, the more I feel like I’m wrong and stupid and that I am some kind of shy flower. I am none of these things. I think I am braver than many, Cuz I don’t want that fake shit I want it real.

Fuck that and fuck your fuck society where I have to spread my legs in front of a mirror, raise my arse to just the right angle and SHAKE IT to be sexually acceptable. Fuck a society where ten year old girls innocently pelvic thrust in the driveway on a sunny Sunday afternoon, emulating the dance of their new pop heroes. Fuck a place that makes me feel inadequate cuz I won’t go full tilt fake fucking with glazed over eyes thinking of something/someone far cooler than the reality. I think the reality can be sexxxxy. Uh, two people together against the rest is pretty freaking sexy to me.

Take me back to the day where I am judged by my worth, and if I do good things all day I will be rewarded with good steady fuck after dinner. And I am awoken by the same thing. And I am called up during the day and reminded that I am due for a good fuck. There would probably be lots of chocolate involved somehow, and drinking naked. Often, there would be more exciting locations, especially the beach and the bush. Lots of playfulness and silly stuff. I would be given the confidence to be a sexual predator under my own definition (which, by the way is more like that of the 1940s screen siren: sexy, mysterious, worshipped, in control and untouchable. And dressed in satin.). Instead, I feel the pressure of girls who are happy to make their tits spin in 360 degree circles whilst having large objects stuffed up their anus by two dudes being sucked off by additional women, covered in piss and being filmed. That’s what I feel like the world wants from me, and very tells me otherwise.

For now, I will simply feel shame, stupidity and sadness. The three S’s.