The voyeur and the exhibitionist.
(postmodern parable, saviour-faire.)
I had a great time in college. Like, really. (yes, i do speak like this. it is weird, i know-- thanks for the mail.) I lived in the the dorms with three beautiful women who could not have been any different from one another, but were just a trip to live near. Up a flight of stairs boyfriend at the time lived (batt), and the one before him was one flight down. :)
So I spent nights and nights in his dormroom that he shared with two other men and their girlfriends at the time, and we hung sheets from the ceiling, strung tiny blue christmas lights around the bed, blared the cure, johnny cash, neil young and morrissey to the chagrin of the EECS living next door and always amped on something, and made love sharing that space... reveling in the shared splendor of massive fuckyous being quiet as rhinos rutting and falling asleep sated at the waterhole.
There's something to be said for being so free with love, and lust, and sexuality. Cal has unisex showers (male & female) and bathrooms and we'd giggle running to the handicapped showerstall with its wooden seat and room for three (!!), making sure we threw the towels over the folding door since the entire floor knew you could make out the occupants thru the 1/4" folding slats, and knew who was making love to whom against those cold tile walls (without any shower shoes) even if you didn't peek. Every other floor had a lounge with couches (evens had the washingmachines), and ours were manhandled to face one another, making a giant, 70s style orange marled monstrosity of a 4-walled, padded bed... we'd bring four or five comforters from our rooms and hoardes of us would pile under, watching movies and not peeking under and being discreet enough not to notice the wandering hands and feet underneath. We stood from that same lounge lobby's patio, and watched as on another building's lounge patio a women knelt and bobbed into a man's lap as he sat on a loungechair, pants on but open. (and yes, a few of us snuck away to our own or onto others to relive watching the open spectacle over in our minds again.)
It was a great time, not because it was probably the first time a good deal of us were actually having fun with our sexuality (opposed to sticky awkward dalliances in borrowed highschool cars and beds), but because we *were* sex there for a while, and we loved laughing about it and acknowledging its light sheen on all of our foreheads. There's a beauty in being so open with love and sex, in girls with bare breasts under tight shirts and in holding hands in public. The delight in it becomes more than sex, more than the positions and digits, and more than the sum of all of our parts-- being big and telling the world of its girth.
But then, you start to realize the quiet delight of silence and stillness with just one person, one to share all that bigness and lock it away from anyone else and just let it strain against the fishbowl walls, catching you and pressing you against the glass in the process. It retreats into becoming less of a display and more of a silent prayer, tripping fingers slowly over their bodies, watching her face though her eyes are closed, listening to his silent sounds and the way his breath feels on the back of your neck, asleep and awake. How resonant his voice is in the dark when its shared by no one but you. How your entire body responds, you can feel your skin straining forth, pulled by a force larger than anything you've ever known. How less-alone it feels in one presence, despite our postmodern bodies trapped in and of themselves; as if you're suddenly able to shatter the boundaries of mind and skin and find solace truly in another being.
"And such a nature is prone to love and ready to return love, always
embracing that which is akin to him. And when one of them meets with
his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of
youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of
love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the
other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people
who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain
what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of
them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's
intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently
desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful
presentiment." Aristophanes, Symposium
Yeah, so. :) One of those nights, one of those fabulous flights... a trip to the moon on gossamer wings, just one of those things.