Oxy Junkie…

“I’ll stop the world and melt with you” ~~ Modern English

In an indistinguishable Shanghai lòngtáng; I still have not memorized the address, my lover naps with her head on my chest. We rest peacefully for now; neither of us came for recuperative sleep however. A long night of blending bodies is expected by both of us. The sheets are slightly damp from sweat; not uncomfortably so, enough to make one smile uncontrollably since there is only one glorious activity that creates this unusual state. Let’s call it the side effects of a rolling boil. As the ceiling fan spins making a soothing rhythm, my mind starts to wander. When did grown adults give up screwing with as much physicality as they could muster? It is as if one claims themselves clinically comatose ad infinitum. If a relationship is lackluster, dying or dead long term in the bedroom, move on I say. There is no sacrifice worth losing touch with such a divine aspect of the human experience.

For all its noble reasons, after a multi-year hiatus in lovemaking, the catch up period with a new sleep buddy as an acquaintance called it recently, is proving to be overwhelming in its ferocity. As my partner’s breath spreads over me, it dawns on me I am an addict. Similar to the opium smokers in the secret dens around the city a hundred years ago, I too need a fix often these days. This want supercedes food, drink and other personal & professional needs. Unwittingly, she is both my dealer and paraphenalia. She won me over with a smile and gorgeous curves; staring into my eyes and laying her hand on mine more quickly and unexpectedly than I ever imagined a woman would. A modern day Medusa cast her spell although I am not stone but putty in her grasp. Yes, I am hopelessly hooked. Only my drug of choice is oxytocin, often called “the cuddle drug”.

When we are embracing, undulating, quivering, in control, then out, no wasted effort, close, far, cycle upon cycle of coordinated movement, there is no pretense. This is not a marriage bed nor a place where long term plans will be formulated. This is pure in-the-moment base desire. We owe each other nothing but to explore, bring joy and appreciate. There is no coyness either which will delay us getting to our synchronized crescendoes. No thoughts go in to our motions, this is all heart and soul, the best a person has to offer another and receive in-kind. Good lovemaking incorporates a level of inquisitiveness as if one is seeing the human form for the first time. While slow and varied in nature, our movements contain an energy which will only be dissipated over hours. A single peak will not be enough, we have a mountain range of movements+emotions+feelings to traverse together.

The Arabs have a saying, “ If you wait long enough, even your neighbor’s body will pass across your doorway”. Like most women, it took a few rendezvous; one more marvelous than the next, when the inevitable moment surfaced — she felt compelled to tell me what she did not like about her body. The fairer sex are self-critical to a fault and it is disheartening to hear of such perceived flaws. If any exist at all is debatable and even then they are miniscule vs. the delicious totality.

She points to her middle, the place where a miracle came from. I am one of those rare men for neither she nor any woman can convince me that an imperceptably soft belly, created by bearing a child, is damaged, unsightly or flawed. As for this dream like creature besides me, although not in love, we are lovers and all I see is perfection. When she presents herself to me with nothing to hide, raw, bare, devoid of everything that obscures, I relish the gift. There is nothing that needs changing — everything deserves attention by my lips and exploration by my hands.

Through my life, I have attempted to nurture and extend loving relationships as long as possible. This time, however, the seeds of the death of our relationship are apparent. I don’t know the expiration date yet. We are from totally different worlds, countries, career paths, aspirations, languages, social strata. A laundry list of B.S. variables that keep potential lovers apart in the first place. Despite our incompatabilities, it works for now because we stripped the relationship to its most pure and welcomed what surfaced moment by moment. At all times speaking caringly and truthfully without further expectations for the future nor need to control the other.

This is supposed to be a relationship of convenience; we fuck when we hunger, otherwise we live our separate lives. I am not wired for this arrangement; being an empath is a tiring way to live especially in casual poly relationships. I worry about her, I wish for her wellbeing everyday, I wonder if she is happy, I hope she is treated with kindness and warmth by the other men in her life. How can we not care for the beautiful souls who have deemed us worthy to share their most intimate selves? No matter how or when our paths diverge, she has a face, a name, a heart, a history with me. And for the moment, I can not get enough.

Loosely inspired by personal experiences and Marguerite Duras’ stirring novel, “The Lover” which needs to be re-read.

First image by John. Second one gratuitously stolen from Jeff Field’s post, The Last Shot.


To explore some of my epiphanies and challenges in young(ish) widowhood, love and life itself, please see the stories below. If you like what you just read, please ‘Recommend’ it and ‘Share’ it with others by any social media you favor. To see all of my posts, follow this link: https://medium.com/@vfulco

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