Last night in my dream I was a busy courtesan who was scheduled to spend time with some four of my lovers in the same afternoon. All four of them were friends or associates who arrived together, and took their turns with me separately.
The first man seemed to adore me, was amazed I would see him at all I remember mostly how wide his eyes were when he entered the room and how earnestly he spoke with me. He desperately clasped my hands in his -- in old-fashioned courting style and leaned forward as he whispered urgent messages in my ear. He made love to me with his eyes squeezed shut and held me so tightly, as if he felt I were some phantom that would disappear into a cloud of smoke if he were to let go. (Strangely, he looked just like Aaron, one of my art history group members ...) I knew he was in love with me when he left.
The second man shared a memory he had of me that I had no recollection of. He said he remembered watching me in a Paris street, coolly observing a performance artist slither under a cage-like contraption that kept him restrained and belly-down on the pavement. As he described the environment, I could see things as he said I had seen them, through my eyes. I was halfway convinced it might be true but realized it wasnt, despite how much I wanted it to be. He thrilled at this image of me so much though that I couldnt muster the courage to tell him I didnt think I had actually ever been there. I wondered when he would take his turn to fuck me, but he ran out of time and the third man took his place.
The third man was actually more of a boy. But he seemed worldlier than his age would allow -- he was one of the art crowd intellectuals. He came in with praise on his lips, affirming that my spiritual beliefs were well founded and proclaimed deep appreciation for one particular drawing I had done of a woman dressed in a black Greek-style dress, covered by a purple cloak. Although I had done the drawing, I was surprised that he was able to garner so much meaning from it, as I had not intended it to express any significant theology I ascribed to. He really wanted to know the identity of the woman in purple, and I couldn't bring myself to say that I didn't know. As with the second man, he was so enthusiastic about the ideas he thought I had generated for him that I could not tell him I had nothing to do with it. As he was so young I was thinking to myself whether it would be difficult or not to let myself be fucked by him, but luckily he too ran out of time.
I woke up before the fourth man could enter the room. I dont know what he looks like or who he might have been, but I do wonder.
The first man seemed to adore me, was amazed I would see him at all I remember mostly how wide his eyes were when he entered the room and how earnestly he spoke with me. He desperately clasped my hands in his -- in old-fashioned courting style and leaned forward as he whispered urgent messages in my ear. He made love to me with his eyes squeezed shut and held me so tightly, as if he felt I were some phantom that would disappear into a cloud of smoke if he were to let go. (Strangely, he looked just like Aaron, one of my art history group members ...) I knew he was in love with me when he left.
The second man shared a memory he had of me that I had no recollection of. He said he remembered watching me in a Paris street, coolly observing a performance artist slither under a cage-like contraption that kept him restrained and belly-down on the pavement. As he described the environment, I could see things as he said I had seen them, through my eyes. I was halfway convinced it might be true but realized it wasnt, despite how much I wanted it to be. He thrilled at this image of me so much though that I couldnt muster the courage to tell him I didnt think I had actually ever been there. I wondered when he would take his turn to fuck me, but he ran out of time and the third man took his place.
The third man was actually more of a boy. But he seemed worldlier than his age would allow -- he was one of the art crowd intellectuals. He came in with praise on his lips, affirming that my spiritual beliefs were well founded and proclaimed deep appreciation for one particular drawing I had done of a woman dressed in a black Greek-style dress, covered by a purple cloak. Although I had done the drawing, I was surprised that he was able to garner so much meaning from it, as I had not intended it to express any significant theology I ascribed to. He really wanted to know the identity of the woman in purple, and I couldn't bring myself to say that I didn't know. As with the second man, he was so enthusiastic about the ideas he thought I had generated for him that I could not tell him I had nothing to do with it. As he was so young I was thinking to myself whether it would be difficult or not to let myself be fucked by him, but luckily he too ran out of time.
I woke up before the fourth man could enter the room. I dont know what he looks like or who he might have been, but I do wonder.
VIEW 27 of 27 COMMENTS
kalidoom:
I like reading your journals..even if I dont' always comment.
obsidity:
I understand how that is. Thank god you posted though. Because I've been out for 4 hours and I come back to one new comment here and nothing else anywhere else.Not on LJ, not on RvB, not in my mailbox. What the hell.
