My Magical Glass Closet (Part II): Inspiring Repression

     When I find someone attractive, If you aren't paying attention to my briefly diverted attention, you'd miss me.  I steal a glance.  I download what I'm seeing into my photographic memory.  Proportions... Dimensions... Gait...  Quirks...  It feels like tasting a sample of something new.

"What would I do to you?"

"What do you look like naked?"

Simulations of sensations and sounds swirl in my imagination.

     There's so many pretty people out there.  There's so little outlets.  Remaining quiet, my brain constructs a grandiose daydream starring my latest specimen.  By the time I lay down for bed, I have a full-length feature to masterbate to. 

I pray to God, we'll never meet...I'd hate to be disappointed.

     Lately, I've been experiencing a change in scenes where I can be more open about my sexuality.  I have the liberty to say aloud what's on my mind.  Having conversations regarding the sexy man or woman that just walked into the room, I've noticed that it stops there.  No snowballing brainstorms.  No deep-penetrating daydreams.  That's that.  Nothing more.

I am convinced,

a great source of my inspiration comes from my repression.

Think about it...

Repression is the mother of monstrosities.

     On the sexual level, I've learned to limit how much I ejaculate.  For myself, ejaculation (note: I didn't say orgasm) exhausts my creative libido.  So, I like to wait until I have a truly great occasion to spill my seed.  Denial gives me the hunger to devour thoroughly.  Waiting also gives me the patience to compose elaborate sexual scenes. 

The stuff interesting posts are made of.

   

    

The above art is from Zack Gold's "Milk"

It captures the passion and frustration

that ultimately fuels me...

Why would I want to leave this to dry on a rag?

Is his chest and neck worthy of my pearl ambition?

Text, Sex & Brainstorming

     I don't know what's slower; my reply or my M.P.H.  It occurred to me why legislation decided to make texting while driving an illegal practice; it turns your grammar into shit.  Stopping at a red light, I text to my friend, "I have a bad case of writer's block."
     The sky's a ticking time bomb and I need to get in and out of the laundromat before the storm hits.  Trying to remember whether the 24 hour wash was on Broadway or Franklin, bells and whistles goes off from my lap.  Carefully checking my phone, I read his message, "R U genuinely out of ideas or R U stuck thinking of ways 2 make your non-sexual thoughts erotic 4 your blog?"  What an asshole!
     It's quite challenging, pressing my key pad in a sequence of words and numbers while keeping my eyes on the road.  Suddenly, I hear a car horn blare from behind me as the Honda Accord swerves around my black Mustang.  Deep down, I worry if everyone thinks this way, "That's what U think of my creative process? LMAO!"  Between the lengthening time of my latest blog and a very important deadline approaching, I think I have a spot of performance anxiety.  My creative assembly is down for repairs.
     Quickly, he texts, "Relax.  Whip your cock out, go knuckle deep into your bum & don't stop until UR brilliant again."  Instanly, my very visual imagination began to project what it'll look like to see him masturbate.  He has a hot little body and a nice tool to match.  Making a mental note, I add, "Watch-him-masturbate-while-dressed" to my 'when we meet' list.  Sure, it'll take some Grey Goose and convincing, but I think he'll be up for it.
     Replying at the speed of molasses, I fumble with my phone, "It's hard enough 2 text N drive...I'll crash! LOL"
     "Stop being a pussy and pull that big, black dick out! LMGAO!"
     Conversing with him, I was feeling more clever, "My 1st car WAS a stick shift!"  He always says the weird shit I need to hear to stoke my creativity.  That's why writers need to stick together.
    By the grace of God, I made it to the laundromat in one piece.  Mulling over a few things in my mind, every idea was so mediocre.  Stuffing my comforter and sheets into the machine, his ringtone goes off in my pocket, "WELL?" 
     Confused, I text, "???"
     "Did U whip it out?"
     "LOL I'm in the laundromat now."
     I could almost here his voice scream as I read, "That's Hot!"  Instantly my head began to fill with crazy images...Bums looking aghast...The two middle-aged hookers whispering to each other and giggling...The twelve-year-old girl crying as her father yells, "Somebody do something!"  I never masturbated with  laundry detergent before, I wonder if it burns?  I'm sure it does.  "LOL I'm such an instigator.  Now do it."
    "I only jerk off in front of attractive audiences"
    "LIAR! I read UR blog!"
    "Just my luck, I'd bust right as the police haul me outta here...wait a minute...That IS kinda hot! LMAO!"
     All night, via text, we entertained ourselves with crazy, rhetorical foolishness.  He became Gay Hitler, supreme dictator of his naked mandingo army.  I read his latest post and imagined being a millionare master with sexual bondservants.  If anyone ever comes down with a case of writer's block, give Cogent Ascending a call!  (Warning: you may experience accidental public masturbation and pesky car accidents.)

Open to Interpretation

    When I write fiction, I make sure to exclude as many details as possible.  Obscurity breeds the opportunity for the reader's imagination to roam.  You may know the character's name.  I may release the information that he or she is considered to be attractive.  But who am I to define what's beautiful?  Speaking for myself, I prefer to paint my own personal picture.

Have you ever watched a movie based off a book you've read?  

Only to be grossed out by the actor playing your favorite character?

     Furthermore, when writing erotica; I try not to elaborate too far on the action.  Who am I to describe the indescribable neural signals that results from sex?  When that warm, wet sensation envelopes; who can fully depict the sparks shooting up our spines?  When it comes to sex and sensuality; it is truly "different strokes for different folks".  Why write about their eye contact during oral, when some people hate that?  Why go on and on about his fist full of blonde hair, when some people prefer brunettes or Afros?

In my book, the best art is open to interpretation.

Intelsexualism: Creative Arousal

Have you ever read a book and fell in love with the unknown author?

Surveyed beautiful art and developed a crush on its creator?

Read the erotic thoughts of a blogger and wanted to help fulfill his/her fantasies?

     Lately, I've been feeling so charged by the creative endeavors of others.  Invisible jazz musicians, enigmatic writers and reclusive artists are stealing my heart left and right.  Is it healthy to feel so strongly towards people you've never seen?

     The interesting aspect of this form of excitement is that my intellectual arousal is reciprocating into creative inspiration.  For example, I fall in love with a blogger.  I become so enchanted with the point of view and interesting points that I start to feel some sexual tension.  Unable to contact the blogger in mind (the way I desire) my subconscious starts to lace my future posts with the sexy things I've read from my new crush.

     In another capacity, I've felt this way before.  As a musician, I've collaborated with other creative giants.  Speaking for myself, the intimacy and intuition involved with working artistically with others creates this chemistry.  Imagine becoming so in tune with someone, your improvisations becomes perfectly in synch with each other.  Then you remember, they're just playing their respective instruments; it isn't as flirtatious as it feels...or is it?  Sitting at the keyboards, some jam sessions gave me severe hard-ons!  To keep my secret, I had to stay seated until the chemistry wore off.

     I guess what I'm trying to say: don't stop.  Let's continue to fuel each other passions just by exercising our gifts.  Open up wider and give me deeper access.  Keep churning out jewel after jewel.  I'll gobble up every last pearl and, as a result, create something beautiful. 

This, my friends, is sex at a higher frequency.