In Love
by Jonathan Quince
Saturday, January 24, 2004 07:36:47
Love is sacred. A bond eternal between souls, it is not to be spoken of. But this is not love: I am in love. Intoxicated on Nature’s strongest drug, I am in thrall.
Mercurial is this feeling, and fleeting. It is the high of being drunk, but with a more deleterious effect on clear thought and sound judgment. Cheap and dear, wonderful and sickening, this spell is ecstasy in the form of carnal desire. I fall in love so easily; at the sight of a pretty face, at the scent of a woman in heat, at the glimpse of some curves of flesh, I descend into a delirium of vulgar need. And as my mind drives my desires, illusions woven of murmurings untouched by distance or prudence send my heart spinning and my stomach fluttering in a frenzy of deeply-felt yearning.
A stream of liquid electricity trickles down my spine, between my legs, spilling over into a flood of euphoric vigor. Hot blood pumping, nerves tingling, I feel the first stirrings: The awakenings of arousal, the beginnings of insanity. Tinglings gather from the four corners of my body, coursing through me like rays of liquid light playing off the surface of passion’s pool; they gather on one point, like the rays of the sun focused through a lens, stoking the embers of my perpetual need into a blazing fire.
Inebriated, beyond all hope of rational resistance, I am seduced by this vision of Venus’ own daughter. Enchanted, drugged on life and charmed by the siren’s song, I draw my hand slowly across my chest, southward, ever southward. Brushing my fingers between my aching thighs, I feel the electricity crackle like fluid lightening across the channels of my body. My heart aflutter, my chest wrought with craving, my mind ablaze, I pull deep breaths in sighs of amorous hunger.
I can see her eyes, twin emerald points gathering the light of the sun and the moon. I can feel her hair brush across my shoulders and her skin slide up against mine as she nuzzles against me, now playfully, now seriously, now with the raw energy of an animal in heat. I close my eyes and concentrate, gathering the whispering flames of sensual awakening from every part of my being and focusing them into a roaring wildfire in my cock; I open my eyes and see her looking at me, now confident, now tremulous, now active, now quiescent, always yielding to my leading touch and responding with the lively dance of her own as she writhes in the throes of passion.
Possessed by the essence of her being, I possess her, penetrating her, devouring her, threatening her stroke by stroke with the fear of assimilating her into my madness. Captivated by her wanton sexuality, I enslave her to the pleasure of my flesh; enraptured by the fantasy spun from her sensuous words, I command her to kneel before me and accept the fate of my harem-girl, my plaything, my whore. Dominating my uncontrollable aphrodisia by snapping her into her role as a servant of my pleasures, I play her body like a violin as she moans and screams her own harmonies to my tempo. Overwhelmed by my corporeal drive to grab her bodily and slake my unquenchable lusts, I force myself upon her and ravish her with the primal intensity of a libidinous savage.
And at last, overcome by unbounded euphoria, desire detonates in a starburst of uncontainable ecstasy. Flying by the light of lust’s never-ending fire, I soar, taking her with me on a thrilling flight to the heavens of lascivious fulfillment.
This is the meaning of falling in love. It discriminates by naught but the sly promises of erotic adventure; it holds its spell for long enough only to fulfill its natural ends. I make of it a good habit to fall in love often and ride forth in concurrent and commingling conquests; I enjoy it for all that it is worth, nothing less and nothing more. It is the tangy spice of life, that bittersweet apogee of joyous craving which bodes ill for sensible action but brings luxuriant amusement to those wise or foolish enough to savor it and play its game.
After all, too much is never enough of a good thing.