To be the Hero of One’s own Hero is to Steal Fire from the Gods

Ok, we’re more than a decade into the New Millenium, and little has changed since the spectre of AIDS has killed the freespirited “Hey, nice shoes, wanna fuck?” mentality of the Sixties and Seventies, the decade that took twenty years to run its course. If there is ever found a vaccine against the plague that caused us to equate Sex with Death, that Era will make the Sixties look like the Fifties, but until then, What have we learned?

About nine years ago, I tracked down one of my oldest and dearest friends, after more than a decade apart. She had been one of my Muses, and inspired me profoundly, both sexually as well as creatively. When we met again, both our lives had changed dramatically. For reasons I will not explore at this moment, Sex was not in the picture, yet we were both entralled by each other’s company. We have reunited several times since than, whenever possible, as there is a great distance physically between us, and I no longer travel over most of the Western Hemisphere routinely, as I had before.

(More to Come Tonight…)


(Much later)…It suddenly occured to me that there I was, in the presence of a woman I had loved for almost forty years…who has known me a good deal better than several spouses, and on the most intimate of terms, as I felt quite overwhelmed by the depth of the feelings, rushing over me like an epiphany or realization that were devoid of posessiveness, or ego. Or even regrets…our seperate paths were leading us back…to what? I don’t know yet, but I do know that we have somehow managed to still be facinated and intrigued by each others company on a much deeper level than just an old flame. Mutual validation. Unconditional admiration. Vague regrets balanced by no expectations,…and yet, were she to indicate the slightest curiousity, or interest in any matters pertaining to renewed physical familiarity, I would be unable to finds the words or actions to resist impulses as natural as breathing or desire.

Timelessnes can put impermanance on hold, at least for the present moment, as waves of endorphines and polypeptides of Joy and Euphoria sweep us away on tides of Desire impaled upon Satisfaction. For Now. This present moment has no Regrets. My Sufferings are washed away by suds of CumPassion, that are both Euphoric and Analgesic, (as well as Amnesiatic, and Aromatic…) which pretty much equals Guiltless in My Present Moment. Everywhere I look, I see Desire achieve Perfection as it is tranformed into Satisfaction. Sometimes, simply modifying the criteria for at least what constitutes the threshold of some sort of satisfaction allows us to establish mutual culpability with only marginal consessions with Regrets, but no real Suffering, at least for this one Ever-Present Never-Present Present Moment.

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