amouage INTERLUDE MAN

Every time I click “view video” I get re-directed to a black screen. Maybe the internet is telling me to look up – to take a pause from porn. “There’s nothing you will see that you can’t achieve yourself. With your intelligence and creativity, all you need to do is grab a pair of scissors and a few sheets of paper; you don’t even have to cut – you can origami your way to climax.”

I click the link a few more times just to be sure. It’s not working.

Biological black seems more inviting than technological black. I close my eyes to focus on other types of stimulation. The shower is going upstairs. It’s a strong, loud shower. It’s in a ring fighting; the crowd roars and the shower is still louder, stronger. This shower was born a performance fighter. I build it up to be deadly – killing all that enter it with its razor-sharp drops of water shooting out of its five speed head.

That’s not nice.

That’s never going to get me off.

I take the shower to a different place, to a place that invites warmth, comfort, and nudity.

(Awhile back I was interested in how to keep a monogamous relationship sexually stimulating. I read a lot of books and articles and remember someone urging the reader to seek out sexual stimulation during moments you would typically avoid it. Her example was shifting in your seat when someone sits next to you in a waiting room. When their thigh touches yours, don’t move – stay there – enjoy it. Let your mind wander towards the possibility of touching them or being turned on by them. You don’t need to know what they look like; use your imagination. Maybe look at their pants and imagine what they’re wearing underneath, if anything. Let your mind go there. Apparently doing this regularly will create a more sexually charged you and you’ll come home hungry and ready.)

I sat with my eyes closed and imagined what was happening in that shower.

There’s a woman who hasn’t dated in a while. Her cotton crusty panties are sitting in the sink, crumpled and moist after being sprayed with Shout. The porcelain tub was cold when she stepped in, making her soft and blonde leg hair stand straight up. She mixes things up a bit by shaving before washing her hair. She’s feeling wild.

Every time she shaves she wonders if she’s going to nick her knees or ankles. (She rarely does and she’s always disappointed.) She likes the way blood turns her pale skin pink, how it plinkos its way around her goose bumps, traveling all the way down her foot, until it rests in the cuticle skin around her toenails.

I might need to have smooth legs tomorrow. I’ll get back to this later.

Interlude.

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