the narrow escapes of sex

i blog usually from my bedroom, living room, or a coffee shop. today i am blogging from bernie's. great story of a local noe valley girl running a coffee shop after tully's was to close down. http://www.yelp.com/biz/bernies-san-francisco

prompt of sex and lies and narrow escapes. you have been deprived too long of a sex post- so here it is my friends.

Sex and lies and narrow escapes. Narrow escapes of love. Narrow escapes of hurt. Narrow escapes of procreation. The narrow escape to lie next to someone after the commingling of sex. Because everyone needs the escape of sex. We lie, lie about how we might like it or who we want it from but sooner or later you will crash into each other. Crash narrowly escaping each other but finding each other nonetheless. Sex the quest to get it, the desire to have it regularly.

Once you have found it, found it, you want to hold onto it. It as you hold your childhood blanket to your chest. You don’t want to let it go. Because what if there is no more rain for you and you awake to the dreaded drought of sex again. The monsoon how I live for the regularity of it. I long for the good stuff. You desire a combination of athleticism, creativity, slowness, passion and most of all some connection other than the penis and vagina repetition. A connection of something more than just sex. Sex lies to us though it does. You can have wonderful amazing sex with someone but nothing else will be on your menu of shared meals between lovers. You are indeed under the spell of sex.

The spell of sex- I have been under it more than once. The spell made me see in rose-colored glasses and cotton candy and ponies and chocolate all day long. The spell of sex erases the ability to see. See the lies of narrow escapes. The narrow escapes of safety. I pull away to my side of the bed breathing deeply- feeling better- holding my lovers hand.

The narrow escape of love. The narrow escape of a future. I keep narrowly escaping what I want, what I think I want. It might be the spell of sex, the smell of it. It might be the lies, the lies, I tell myself about what I want. Maybe it is the narrow escape, the narrow escape of commitment. Commitment. Committing to someone. I think, I think the commitment phobic like me, the serial monogamist only mongamize others. But really, really the spell of sex, the spell of sex is me, me seeing maybe I can’t commit either. Can’t commit either. What happens after? After. The relationship reaches longer than I can stand. I have stood. What happens when my breath is shared? Shared. The sex, the sex, the sex, how I live for it. The narrow escape of love-from love-I can’t escape it. Narrowly. Spaciously. Not at all.

Sex lies narrowly escaping again. Again. Stop lying I say. Say to myself. The spell of sex I am under again. The spell of love I desire. Desire beyond the temporary. Beyond this. But how I forget, I forgot that I am alone while you are inside of me. The spell. The spell. The spell. The spell is my own.