Have you ever masturbated to the pornography playing in your head? Beyond anything you've ever seen, you begin to use your imagination to knit together newly constructed arrangements and participants. Before you know it, you've become accustomed to visuals that the pornography industry cannot support. Ultimately, the outside world becomes bland in comparison. This is the darkside of the intelsexual: delving deep into every possible dimension, it becomes hard to settle for only three.
Recently, I have come into contact with several other intelsexuals, people that get off from the psychology and machanics of sexuality. Exchanging our different perspectives on the driving forces of arousal, I started to realize that we are often torn between two paradigms. With the blessing and curse of an analytical nature, I noticed that while the intellectual can see the appeal in everything, nothing actually appeals to him. Through an universal sense of sympathy, the intelsexual can sensually tap into a given sexual scenario, however, in the context of reality, these people are understimulated. The mind seperates from the flesh. Touch becomes trivial. Sensations are dulled.
There is a lighter side to this dichotomy. From my personal experiences, I have realized that simple things like word usage, sweaty palms and preference begin to bear much more meaning. What turns one's temperature up while cooling another's down? What's hiding behind that particular sexual hang up? What will it take to convince you to betray your own code of conduct? When the world reduces to grey matter, there is a signature burst of color within each individual's passions and fears. That becomes an intelsexual's primary source of erotica.
When the flexibilty of flesh has been tested to its limits...Every position and angle has been analyzed and documented...When sex has been intermixed with every concievable emotion; something happens. Several of my peers have expressed an appreciation of the natural randomization of creation. Fingerprints become sexy. Breathing becomes intriguing. I've gotten lost in the pores of my lover's skin.
Beginning to find arousal in everything: does that make you a pervert or born again?
