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Tell you my fantasies, lover? Well, we could start with the power of flight. Or super-strength. Maybe the ability to breathe underwater and/or talk to fish because, really, what do they have to say? I also dream about sticking to walls and ceilings, having super-augmented senses, and wielding the power cosmic.


Oh, you meant it like that, lover? No, no. I guess you\'re right. That\'s probably the more common interpretation. But the things I mentioned are truly my fantasies. And while some might respond with \"Two at once!\" or \"Donkey show!\" or \"Spanked by mother figure!\", these so-called fantasies could be achieved by simply putting the right amount of cash in the hands of the right prostitutes. So, really, the fantasy is to be rich.

 

Am I hung up on money again, lover? I suppose that could be due to the expensive nature of my sexual... well, I really do hesitate to use the word \"fantasy\". Let\'s call it my sexual best-case scenario, because sexual fantasy-- as defined by what I think is your definition-- would imply waves of exquisite pleasure, wish fulfillment, and rapture most complete. I am familiar enough with myself and my wang to know such \"fantasy\" would exist for such a short duration as to render it all but meaningless. Am I hung up on my wang again, lover? You can\'t imagine what having these things on the outside is like. Blooming and recessing, blooming and recessing. Moist skin clinging to moist skin. Like a stress ball mixed with a lava lamp. Just hold still, you little bugger. You\'ll be too tired to play.

 

Get to it, lover? Fine. Here is my sexual best-case scenario: sterile room, hard white light, two pairs of kneepads, and a bank of a dozen or so television sets. And you. Or someone approximating you. Or you approximating someone. The television monitors play the myriad of mass media\'s menagerie: unconventional sitcoms; highly competitive sporting events; live, late-breaking news; foul-mouthed cable dramas; talk shows featuring people I\'m actually interested in hearing from; movies with good plots; music videos, but without too much titillation. We\'re going for distraction, not amplification.

 

Why not just have one television and an extensive satellite subscription? Lover, your mind is sharp and honed for economy. Let me press you to my bosom. But there is a reason for the multiple screens. If I was to flip through the channels as I took you/someone from behind, unless I kept an absolutely steady rhythm of flipping, my distracted mind would become obvious to you/someone. And I can\'t have that. For I wish to love you/someone long, and love you/someone hard, and earn a place within your/someone\'s personal lore. \"Mmmm, he was nice.\"

 

What do the two have to do with each other, lover? I have discovered the best way for me to endure lovemaking is to blank my mind of the pleasure I\'m receiving. It is a devil\'s bargain to be sure. Somehow separating mind from body, but body carrying on. Not just carrying on, but doin\' it and doin\' it and doin\' it well. Self-negation of a sort. I suppose that\'s why I\'m looking to enter the lore. If I must feign unawares as to the waves of pleasure crashing against my rocky shores, may you at least pencil a bare-and-heaving-chested lover-of-great-standing over the rote mechanics of my mentally-abandoned body.

 

That kind of creeps you out, lover? But it\'s done for you. I will admit I squandered my virility on scrambled pornography and Vaseline as a boy. I am left with a smash-and-grab willie. But with me unseen behind you, and several dozen televisions playing before my eyes (and yours; take a look should the rapture grow repetitive), I suspect I could last well into the night-- indeed even the early morn-- provided that service is uninterrupted and the programming is compelling. Meanwhile, you could assume I was loving you directly and thoroughly, even as my mind cruised scattershot across the dazzling lights and bright colors and stories of worlds that don\'t have me in them. And somewhere deep in the night, I can pass into lore while I pay no mind.

 

That all sounds a bit cold and distant, lover? Well, it is my fanta-- my best-case scenario. And I did include a second pair of kneepads.
artid
3533
Old Image
8_6_lover.jpg
issue
vol 8 - issue 06 (feb 2006)
section
stories
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