Hi,
I'm not really good at intoductions. So, please take this as a kind of intoduction. I'll edit my profile later. I'm ( mostly ) male, BTW.
I (occasionally) want to try to write erotica . I want it to be honest and human .
So I would aprreciate any help with style, before posting
When I got to university I naturally gravitated into a female group . At college I had been a part of a similar circle . It seemed as if women could see beyond my outward appearances,and they trusted and took me in. When they did , they began to open up and tell me about boyfriends , their affairs, break-ups and the of managing the complexity of multiple relationships . One girl-friend decided she had never met a man who ticked every box for her. So she continually had four boyfriends : One for her physical needs, the other intellectual, another emotional, and for some reason another , like a personal priest, tending her spiritual needs. I was surrounded by this ever-changing social landscape of semi- permanent relationships, and one night stands .
I quickly became the understanding male confidant in this circle . After a while they talked openly, explicitly around me about their relationships in a way groups of men don't. As you know, women do talk a good deal about their partners . They tend to be more supportive of each other than men .
I got to learn which of their current boyfriends were studs, who came prematurely , who was plain weird, or avoidable in bed. I offered advice and things could get strange sitting in a pub opposite one of my girl-friends temporary, three-week -guy at the table and me knowing all about his sexual technique and my girl- friends collective performance rating of him .
The group seemed like an organic structure designed for testing, comparing, selecting , filtering and ultimately locating what was most desirable in a partner .
My male company came from the university gym. I worked out four sessions a week . I didn’t do intensely heavy weights, more series of lighter reps and a good deal of stretching and floor exercise. There were a aline of punch bags strung up at the other side of the the hall. I bought a pair of bag-gloves and when there were very few people around I built on the kicks and punches I had learnt in a mixed martial arts class. When I was at school my dad instead I learnt self defence, so I did a mixture of kickboxing, kung fu and Jujitsu. Maybe he hoped I was going to become a preofessional a cage fighter instead of a Mixed Media Arts student.
I made conversation with the males in the gym . I have to be very careful in gym-converstion with males because it can be highly competitive , mostly concerning how much they can lift or how hard they are driving to develop themselves, and of course I had to read up on football and other group sports to pass. I had a toned body, a rock hard six pack and and my biceps bulged to the size of apples when compressed. I wasn’t trying to be vain, don’t get me wrong, I like my body to look like and feel like this, but ultimately my physique is a necessary defence I wear and carry like body armour: Males will verbally, and can, physically attack if they sense difference. I ensured I passed well.
Back in the common room girl-friends regularly asked me who I was seeing . I always replied I was currently abstaining asexual,- sex didn’t really interest me at the moment . I had a girlfriend . Things got messy. I didn’t want another one, because I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be with this one. I never offered explanation beyond that .
When I was at college I had a steady girlfriend , Amy. We were both virgins and of course we believed we had discovered sex for the first time on behalf of the human race. She’d never seen another man in the flesh before, and we developed out own techniques. One afternoon, when her parents went shopping, we got undressed and I noticed she was covered in carpet burns on her lower back and knees. Amy was part of this dance school. She told me she’d got them from a routine on a carpeted floor. When we made love, unusually she climbed straight on top of me. I became aware she was using a new technique. No foreplay, tight and dry as possible . She paused at the tip of my glans letting her weight push, and gradually she slipped down letting the -friction grip and then slip a bit more, until she almost painfully enveloped me . It was like when we had first made love. She drew up to the top of my shaft , but slid off the end before quicky guided me back in and repeated this tight descent . Soon she got very wet and we fell back to our normal routine with me on top of her moving in and out with little resistance, pressing in hard getting friction from the underside of her pubic bone.- As usual I pulled out knelt at the side of the bed and began to lick, nuzzle and nibble, pushing my tongue in and out of her, bringing her towards orgasm. Just as she was about to come I put my dick back in her and she squeezed tight . I loved coming inside her like this with the smell and taste of her in my over my face. On this occasion I kept wondering but how do you continually miscalculate the length of your lovers dick ? The answer of course broke my heart.
My pretension towards asexuality was always met with incredulity and derision, and the reply from my one of my girl-friends was “ I don’t know how you manage that, I couldn’t get by without sex for three day., I start getting really stressed. “
No, no you wouldn’t I silently answered.You’d do whatever the female equivalent of jerking off is, every night, until the urge is reduced enough to be able to live with it next day. That’s what I do.
About my not wanting another partner? It simply wasn’t the truth. After I split up with Amy , and with with regard to my survival , I had become an skilled liar. .
Here’s a harsh truth : whatever anyone tells you , the penis has a Caste System all of its own. All the rest is subtle, furtive , kindly deceptions to ensure the sexual- selection process doesn't descend into naked aggression based on a mixture of jealousies, anxieties and anger , with one half of the male population, overnight , murdering the other half and returning us all back to the Stone Age.
I mostly used the gym and showers very early in the morning because few people would ever be in there at this time. Ceratinly not in the showers. Halfway through my shower, the university running team team unexpectedlyarrived and started getting changed to go on a early morning training run. They caught sight of me. Even though I had my back to them waiting for them to leave I got the sense of these guys weighing me up. I kept myself facing the tiled shower wall to them and pretended I was relaxing my shoulders and neck with the water spraying on my hair and face.
I stood there in the shower waiting for them to leave and the ancient university heating system did its finest The water became warm them cold . I reflected If Lucian Freud painted my penis with his artistic honesty , even in warm conditions the world would see an ugly uncircumcised tube of grey skin . When I got cold like this, my nipples become painfully effect, my dick shrivels, retracting to the size of a small rose bud . At this time I didn’t even like my dick. Mostly I considered it as convenience to piss through. To make matters worse one of my testicles never developed fully so my entire ball sack looks deformed. My pubic hair is more triangular than a normal male . If you looked really carefully under my sack, you would find the finest trace of what had begun development as a single labia lip. Its there , like an upswept paint stroke. The skin is more sensitive, smoother less corrugated in texture, - as if the artist changed his or her original intention at the last moment and hurriedly over- painted my sexual organs ‘male’.
Eventually the running team left and I jumped out teeth chattering and shivering and wrapped a towel around myself . I decided to run into the gym and back and shower in my flat. I couldn’t face this again.
To explain: I am somewhere right at the start of the intersex spectrum. I have small breasts with very sensitive nipples . I found I could finger them to their own specific type of orgasm. Even Amy didn't realise. She once bit into one through my T shirt messing about and I nearly came in my pants. That was one reason for doing weights- to keep my small breasts solid. . Beyond small breasts I had no other discernable female organs and definitely I considered myself male . I felt no attraction to men . To the other males in the gym , I was a regular , if quiet guy. To my girl-friends I was a just a screw up in along term relationship, temporally abstaining , at Uni until I sorted myself out.
One evening , the inevitable happened. Carol . One of my closest girl- friends had asked me to go to a local dealer and buy some grass for her. She was off to a party on Friday night. My girl-friends didn’t like going these particular dealers, there were always semi- veiled suggestions of alternative forms of payment. Carol said Nothing strong, Colombian preferably , a nice light mellow smoke. When I came home, I placed a quarter of an ounce of Colombian grass in my drawer covered it with and A4 pad and shut it tight . I tidied up my room and vacuuming the carpet. I changed the duvet cover because it smelt rank with a weeks worth of masturbation and sweat. I even took the precaution of quickly getting into bed and jerking off under the old cover before Carol arrived to reduce any residual sexual urges I might have in her company.
When Carol arrived , she walked into my room, without knocking and sat down my clean bed. I was in my armchair . We talked, and it was like we had this ongoing conversation that picked up wherever we’d previously left off. I pointed to the drawer and she pulled out the bag of grass. I went to make her a cup of tea and when I got back she’d rolled a long spliff and placed in the ashtray I keep for guests on the window ledge. I don’t normally smoke grass , but its not unpleasant. She lit it up inhaled three drags and passed it to me. We spent two hours chattering about nothing and it was suddenly half past ten. I intimated it was perhaps time for her to go home. When I did she rolled back on my bed , put her head on my pillow and stared at the ceiling. It was too dark and dangerous out here. Could she stay here for the night? I said sure. I rolled out my sleeping bag We stayed up talking for anther half hour then I clicked out the light, said goodnight . One of the things Carol told me , which I found surprising , was, she said most of our friends said they rated me fuckable, if shy.
It was still dark, and I woke to feel a hand lightly caressing around my belly button and the top of my pubes. My sleeping bag had been unzipped. Slowly Carol’s hand started to probe down into my boxers. I recoiled in cold terror, Carol is an unashamed cock queen . She knows exactly what she wants in a man , and asks up front.
“ Relax, :Carol whispered, "come on, relax these abs. We’re having a friendly shag , that's all.” She ran her hand over my chest and clipped my nipples with a passing finger nail . They stood up erect and she caught them again on the return sweep. I did my best not to respond. Her hand traced down over my stomach , over my triangle reached into my boxers. She fished around and it seemed like there was a momentary glitch in time. I was not what she was expecting , at all.
If you don’t know already this, when a woman’s holding any man by his penis it's like being trapped in an invisible force field preventing further movement. I was splayed out on my floor immobilised. Carol must have reasoned it would be embarrassing for me if she stopped at this point . She momentarily considered things, and then asked me, in her conversational voice, if maybe I would like blow job. She crawled over me , rested weight on my stomach and my boxers were parted. I pulled her around and lifted her T -Shirt over her buttocks and got the most beautiful earthy ,sweet aroma of woman. I traced the outline of her pussy with my tongue. It was wet, and larger than Amy’s . I gently sucked the area between her pussy and her asshole. Her lips gaped at me when I touched it with my finger. She said “Please. Don’t get me worked up if you can’t make me come. I won’t be able to sleep.” I promised to do my best, and explained As I could make Amy come, all things being equal there shouldn’t be a problem.
I rolled Carol on her back and for the next twenty minutes or so I went through my entire knowledge of pussy licking and finger-sex. ( Which I don’t think she found too experienced) Eventually she came with four of my fingers and my knuckles jammed inside her .(Any more than two would have hurt Amy, but Carol had pushed my other fingers in and beagn fucking my hand from the start) My tongue ached from licking and pushing into her when I took my hand out.
She went back to what I think she had originally intended . My nose and mouth was full of her pussy- scent drying on my face , and I had the sensation of her warm lips pushing down on my erect little shaft. A set of teeth gently passed over, grazing my glans. Then the suction started and of course I didn’t last more than a minute . As I was about to come, Carol pulled away and said “please don’t come in my hair” .She finished me off with her hand. When I came, I had to take her hand off my dick before it started hurting. Maybe her other men came for longer and ejaculated more than me.
Carol coughed, got up , pissed like horse in my toilet and got back into my bed as nothing had happened.There was long embarrassed silence and I drifted off for a while with the mixed sensation of her lips and teeth, and the warm suction dragging cum out of my balls and realising that the happy arrangement with my girl-friends was about to implode. I fell to their totally , uselessy ,( probably) “weird in bed” category.
In the morning Carol grabbed a coffee from my kitchenette, smoked a cigarette out of my window and slipped out of the door without saying much. I politely pretended to be lying in so she could step over bustle around me and get off to lectures. This was really to save her any embarrassment , it wasn’t her fault, I was caught totally off-guard and she genuinely intended to have normal sex with a friend.
That night I’d lain awake and I decided to quit as a student . I didn’t want to go back and face the ridicule, and I just lost a whole bunch of girl-friends. This how ruthless I was about myself in these situations. I guessed my girl-friends would have to find themselves another honorary eunuch .
To cut a long story short. I went back to my dad. He was a decorator and he had retired early due to ill health . `I feigned a nervous breakdown- due to the pressures of coursework and borrowed £500.00 , his van ladders his brushes and his tools.
Two years passed . I had my own flat and quickly into the routine of passing time. Decorating is a total zombie job. When I got home I read profusely, sketched and painted water-colours. Oils were too “glossy” and smelled too much like work.
At night I imagined the whole planet outside my window humping, fingering and licking itself to sweet oblivion. I imagined the silent music of lovemaking going on outside, thinking: with seven billion people on the planet there must be a rising chorus of ongoing orgasm firing off every moment of the day in different parts of the world. I drew detailed sketches of every conceivable range and aspect of sexuality, and wanked myself off when it was time to sleep. I had a huge portfolio of erotic work, and yet I figured in none of it. My existence had its own esoteric separate structure, distinct from the world’s organic rhythms and pulse . It was a kind of half life, but better than a string of inevitably failed attempts at one fully lived .
The day my life life changed: I had the contract for a large victorian house divided up into student flats. I was handed master key . The landlord was supposed to inform the tenants I was going to start work. But he never got round to posting the notes through their doors.
I climbed the stairs to the highest attic room . I went straight in at eight thirty with a set of clean dust sheet and dropped them on the floor. When I looked around I noticed the neat stacks of books which were mostly on the floor due to a lack of space on the shelves. The windows had these kind of monastic arches and gave a view over the chestnut trees into the city. There were weights, sports gear was drying on a folding rack. I walked over to a cork notice board . Interspaced between gallery postcards, were some original sketches. Some were erotic, some plain human. They were honest , enhancing nothing, nor did they detract from the human dignity of the subject. When I examined the sketches, they brought the whole room into coherence. Then I saw what I took to be a self portrait, and recognised the sitter.
I think we must have some kind of instinct to recogonise and make sense of patterns, in a way others, unlike us, can not have. I knew within a few minutes I was in the room of a fellow traveller, and this was a female fellow traveller. I have only ever spotted one other, anything like myself in this city . I’d glmpsed her going to, and leaving the universtity gym, at times when it would be least used. I’ was running the other way on the opposite side of the road to her and I could feel her. Once, I was sitting on the lower deck of a bus and she was jogging up the road out of the city, from this area . In that moment I knew. She’d picked me, out recognising her and turned her head towards me as the bus was pulling off.
This room had to be hers.
I'm not really good at intoductions. So, please take this as a kind of intoduction. I'll edit my profile later. I'm ( mostly ) male, BTW.
I (occasionally) want to try to write erotica . I want it to be honest and human .
So I would aprreciate any help with style, before posting
When I got to university I naturally gravitated into a female group . At college I had been a part of a similar circle . It seemed as if women could see beyond my outward appearances,and they trusted and took me in. When they did , they began to open up and tell me about boyfriends , their affairs, break-ups and the of managing the complexity of multiple relationships . One girl-friend decided she had never met a man who ticked every box for her. So she continually had four boyfriends : One for her physical needs, the other intellectual, another emotional, and for some reason another , like a personal priest, tending her spiritual needs. I was surrounded by this ever-changing social landscape of semi- permanent relationships, and one night stands .
I quickly became the understanding male confidant in this circle . After a while they talked openly, explicitly around me about their relationships in a way groups of men don't. As you know, women do talk a good deal about their partners . They tend to be more supportive of each other than men .
I got to learn which of their current boyfriends were studs, who came prematurely , who was plain weird, or avoidable in bed. I offered advice and things could get strange sitting in a pub opposite one of my girl-friends temporary, three-week -guy at the table and me knowing all about his sexual technique and my girl- friends collective performance rating of him .
The group seemed like an organic structure designed for testing, comparing, selecting , filtering and ultimately locating what was most desirable in a partner .
My male company came from the university gym. I worked out four sessions a week . I didn’t do intensely heavy weights, more series of lighter reps and a good deal of stretching and floor exercise. There were a aline of punch bags strung up at the other side of the the hall. I bought a pair of bag-gloves and when there were very few people around I built on the kicks and punches I had learnt in a mixed martial arts class. When I was at school my dad instead I learnt self defence, so I did a mixture of kickboxing, kung fu and Jujitsu. Maybe he hoped I was going to become a preofessional a cage fighter instead of a Mixed Media Arts student.
I made conversation with the males in the gym . I have to be very careful in gym-converstion with males because it can be highly competitive , mostly concerning how much they can lift or how hard they are driving to develop themselves, and of course I had to read up on football and other group sports to pass. I had a toned body, a rock hard six pack and and my biceps bulged to the size of apples when compressed. I wasn’t trying to be vain, don’t get me wrong, I like my body to look like and feel like this, but ultimately my physique is a necessary defence I wear and carry like body armour: Males will verbally, and can, physically attack if they sense difference. I ensured I passed well.
Back in the common room girl-friends regularly asked me who I was seeing . I always replied I was currently abstaining asexual,- sex didn’t really interest me at the moment . I had a girlfriend . Things got messy. I didn’t want another one, because I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be with this one. I never offered explanation beyond that .
When I was at college I had a steady girlfriend , Amy. We were both virgins and of course we believed we had discovered sex for the first time on behalf of the human race. She’d never seen another man in the flesh before, and we developed out own techniques. One afternoon, when her parents went shopping, we got undressed and I noticed she was covered in carpet burns on her lower back and knees. Amy was part of this dance school. She told me she’d got them from a routine on a carpeted floor. When we made love, unusually she climbed straight on top of me. I became aware she was using a new technique. No foreplay, tight and dry as possible . She paused at the tip of my glans letting her weight push, and gradually she slipped down letting the -friction grip and then slip a bit more, until she almost painfully enveloped me . It was like when we had first made love. She drew up to the top of my shaft , but slid off the end before quicky guided me back in and repeated this tight descent . Soon she got very wet and we fell back to our normal routine with me on top of her moving in and out with little resistance, pressing in hard getting friction from the underside of her pubic bone.- As usual I pulled out knelt at the side of the bed and began to lick, nuzzle and nibble, pushing my tongue in and out of her, bringing her towards orgasm. Just as she was about to come I put my dick back in her and she squeezed tight . I loved coming inside her like this with the smell and taste of her in my over my face. On this occasion I kept wondering but how do you continually miscalculate the length of your lovers dick ? The answer of course broke my heart.
My pretension towards asexuality was always met with incredulity and derision, and the reply from my one of my girl-friends was “ I don’t know how you manage that, I couldn’t get by without sex for three day., I start getting really stressed. “
No, no you wouldn’t I silently answered.You’d do whatever the female equivalent of jerking off is, every night, until the urge is reduced enough to be able to live with it next day. That’s what I do.
About my not wanting another partner? It simply wasn’t the truth. After I split up with Amy , and with with regard to my survival , I had become an skilled liar. .
Here’s a harsh truth : whatever anyone tells you , the penis has a Caste System all of its own. All the rest is subtle, furtive , kindly deceptions to ensure the sexual- selection process doesn't descend into naked aggression based on a mixture of jealousies, anxieties and anger , with one half of the male population, overnight , murdering the other half and returning us all back to the Stone Age.
I mostly used the gym and showers very early in the morning because few people would ever be in there at this time. Ceratinly not in the showers. Halfway through my shower, the university running team team unexpectedlyarrived and started getting changed to go on a early morning training run. They caught sight of me. Even though I had my back to them waiting for them to leave I got the sense of these guys weighing me up. I kept myself facing the tiled shower wall to them and pretended I was relaxing my shoulders and neck with the water spraying on my hair and face.
I stood there in the shower waiting for them to leave and the ancient university heating system did its finest The water became warm them cold . I reflected If Lucian Freud painted my penis with his artistic honesty , even in warm conditions the world would see an ugly uncircumcised tube of grey skin . When I got cold like this, my nipples become painfully effect, my dick shrivels, retracting to the size of a small rose bud . At this time I didn’t even like my dick. Mostly I considered it as convenience to piss through. To make matters worse one of my testicles never developed fully so my entire ball sack looks deformed. My pubic hair is more triangular than a normal male . If you looked really carefully under my sack, you would find the finest trace of what had begun development as a single labia lip. Its there , like an upswept paint stroke. The skin is more sensitive, smoother less corrugated in texture, - as if the artist changed his or her original intention at the last moment and hurriedly over- painted my sexual organs ‘male’.
Eventually the running team left and I jumped out teeth chattering and shivering and wrapped a towel around myself . I decided to run into the gym and back and shower in my flat. I couldn’t face this again.
To explain: I am somewhere right at the start of the intersex spectrum. I have small breasts with very sensitive nipples . I found I could finger them to their own specific type of orgasm. Even Amy didn't realise. She once bit into one through my T shirt messing about and I nearly came in my pants. That was one reason for doing weights- to keep my small breasts solid. . Beyond small breasts I had no other discernable female organs and definitely I considered myself male . I felt no attraction to men . To the other males in the gym , I was a regular , if quiet guy. To my girl-friends I was a just a screw up in along term relationship, temporally abstaining , at Uni until I sorted myself out.
One evening , the inevitable happened. Carol . One of my closest girl- friends had asked me to go to a local dealer and buy some grass for her. She was off to a party on Friday night. My girl-friends didn’t like going these particular dealers, there were always semi- veiled suggestions of alternative forms of payment. Carol said Nothing strong, Colombian preferably , a nice light mellow smoke. When I came home, I placed a quarter of an ounce of Colombian grass in my drawer covered it with and A4 pad and shut it tight . I tidied up my room and vacuuming the carpet. I changed the duvet cover because it smelt rank with a weeks worth of masturbation and sweat. I even took the precaution of quickly getting into bed and jerking off under the old cover before Carol arrived to reduce any residual sexual urges I might have in her company.
When Carol arrived , she walked into my room, without knocking and sat down my clean bed. I was in my armchair . We talked, and it was like we had this ongoing conversation that picked up wherever we’d previously left off. I pointed to the drawer and she pulled out the bag of grass. I went to make her a cup of tea and when I got back she’d rolled a long spliff and placed in the ashtray I keep for guests on the window ledge. I don’t normally smoke grass , but its not unpleasant. She lit it up inhaled three drags and passed it to me. We spent two hours chattering about nothing and it was suddenly half past ten. I intimated it was perhaps time for her to go home. When I did she rolled back on my bed , put her head on my pillow and stared at the ceiling. It was too dark and dangerous out here. Could she stay here for the night? I said sure. I rolled out my sleeping bag We stayed up talking for anther half hour then I clicked out the light, said goodnight . One of the things Carol told me , which I found surprising , was, she said most of our friends said they rated me fuckable, if shy.
It was still dark, and I woke to feel a hand lightly caressing around my belly button and the top of my pubes. My sleeping bag had been unzipped. Slowly Carol’s hand started to probe down into my boxers. I recoiled in cold terror, Carol is an unashamed cock queen . She knows exactly what she wants in a man , and asks up front.
“ Relax, :Carol whispered, "come on, relax these abs. We’re having a friendly shag , that's all.” She ran her hand over my chest and clipped my nipples with a passing finger nail . They stood up erect and she caught them again on the return sweep. I did my best not to respond. Her hand traced down over my stomach , over my triangle reached into my boxers. She fished around and it seemed like there was a momentary glitch in time. I was not what she was expecting , at all.
If you don’t know already this, when a woman’s holding any man by his penis it's like being trapped in an invisible force field preventing further movement. I was splayed out on my floor immobilised. Carol must have reasoned it would be embarrassing for me if she stopped at this point . She momentarily considered things, and then asked me, in her conversational voice, if maybe I would like blow job. She crawled over me , rested weight on my stomach and my boxers were parted. I pulled her around and lifted her T -Shirt over her buttocks and got the most beautiful earthy ,sweet aroma of woman. I traced the outline of her pussy with my tongue. It was wet, and larger than Amy’s . I gently sucked the area between her pussy and her asshole. Her lips gaped at me when I touched it with my finger. She said “Please. Don’t get me worked up if you can’t make me come. I won’t be able to sleep.” I promised to do my best, and explained As I could make Amy come, all things being equal there shouldn’t be a problem.
I rolled Carol on her back and for the next twenty minutes or so I went through my entire knowledge of pussy licking and finger-sex. ( Which I don’t think she found too experienced) Eventually she came with four of my fingers and my knuckles jammed inside her .(Any more than two would have hurt Amy, but Carol had pushed my other fingers in and beagn fucking my hand from the start) My tongue ached from licking and pushing into her when I took my hand out.
She went back to what I think she had originally intended . My nose and mouth was full of her pussy- scent drying on my face , and I had the sensation of her warm lips pushing down on my erect little shaft. A set of teeth gently passed over, grazing my glans. Then the suction started and of course I didn’t last more than a minute . As I was about to come, Carol pulled away and said “please don’t come in my hair” .She finished me off with her hand. When I came, I had to take her hand off my dick before it started hurting. Maybe her other men came for longer and ejaculated more than me.
Carol coughed, got up , pissed like horse in my toilet and got back into my bed as nothing had happened.There was long embarrassed silence and I drifted off for a while with the mixed sensation of her lips and teeth, and the warm suction dragging cum out of my balls and realising that the happy arrangement with my girl-friends was about to implode. I fell to their totally , uselessy ,( probably) “weird in bed” category.
In the morning Carol grabbed a coffee from my kitchenette, smoked a cigarette out of my window and slipped out of the door without saying much. I politely pretended to be lying in so she could step over bustle around me and get off to lectures. This was really to save her any embarrassment , it wasn’t her fault, I was caught totally off-guard and she genuinely intended to have normal sex with a friend.
That night I’d lain awake and I decided to quit as a student . I didn’t want to go back and face the ridicule, and I just lost a whole bunch of girl-friends. This how ruthless I was about myself in these situations. I guessed my girl-friends would have to find themselves another honorary eunuch .
To cut a long story short. I went back to my dad. He was a decorator and he had retired early due to ill health . `I feigned a nervous breakdown- due to the pressures of coursework and borrowed £500.00 , his van ladders his brushes and his tools.
Two years passed . I had my own flat and quickly into the routine of passing time. Decorating is a total zombie job. When I got home I read profusely, sketched and painted water-colours. Oils were too “glossy” and smelled too much like work.
At night I imagined the whole planet outside my window humping, fingering and licking itself to sweet oblivion. I imagined the silent music of lovemaking going on outside, thinking: with seven billion people on the planet there must be a rising chorus of ongoing orgasm firing off every moment of the day in different parts of the world. I drew detailed sketches of every conceivable range and aspect of sexuality, and wanked myself off when it was time to sleep. I had a huge portfolio of erotic work, and yet I figured in none of it. My existence had its own esoteric separate structure, distinct from the world’s organic rhythms and pulse . It was a kind of half life, but better than a string of inevitably failed attempts at one fully lived .
The day my life life changed: I had the contract for a large victorian house divided up into student flats. I was handed master key . The landlord was supposed to inform the tenants I was going to start work. But he never got round to posting the notes through their doors.
I climbed the stairs to the highest attic room . I went straight in at eight thirty with a set of clean dust sheet and dropped them on the floor. When I looked around I noticed the neat stacks of books which were mostly on the floor due to a lack of space on the shelves. The windows had these kind of monastic arches and gave a view over the chestnut trees into the city. There were weights, sports gear was drying on a folding rack. I walked over to a cork notice board . Interspaced between gallery postcards, were some original sketches. Some were erotic, some plain human. They were honest , enhancing nothing, nor did they detract from the human dignity of the subject. When I examined the sketches, they brought the whole room into coherence. Then I saw what I took to be a self portrait, and recognised the sitter.
I think we must have some kind of instinct to recogonise and make sense of patterns, in a way others, unlike us, can not have. I knew within a few minutes I was in the room of a fellow traveller, and this was a female fellow traveller. I have only ever spotted one other, anything like myself in this city . I’d glmpsed her going to, and leaving the universtity gym, at times when it would be least used. I’ was running the other way on the opposite side of the road to her and I could feel her. Once, I was sitting on the lower deck of a bus and she was jogging up the road out of the city, from this area . In that moment I knew. She’d picked me, out recognising her and turned her head towards me as the bus was pulling off.
This room had to be hers.
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