above clit against cock-bone. Come. So as he about to come he almost stop moving. First my arms have to curl around his neck as tight as possible clasp each other. Soon as he about to come; now now, almost no movement. I'm not going to come even though I've come. Soon as he starts to come and there's almost no movement, I automatically come.
'How, exactly, does my body feel pleasure?' The girl's telling the other girl about her former lovers.
'No no. I can't talk about anything directly.'
'There's a definite difference in my physical being or body between when I'm being fucked and I'm not being fucked. How can I say anything when I'm totally uncentralized or not being fucked?'
'There's no sex anymore. I'm not going to have any sex. I'm not going to open up. This is me: the image. A man's suit. Look at me. I'm a woman who looks like a delicate boy and I'll never change. You can't touch me. I'm impervious. This's the way I'm happy. I'm totally elegant.'
----
'You're out of your mind.'
'Better than being laid, then sticking razor blades through my wrists.'
'Living isn't so black.'
'Living is a present. I'll never say otherwise. I wish I was together enough to say or do something.'
'Touch me. An open quivering clit. The little red animal wiggles.'
'Art, since its very beginning in prehistoric caves, has been, in our present ways of speaking, conservative.'
'Art's more interesting than sex . . .'
'More rewarding. We ARE getting old,' the fourteen-year-old says. 'At least art doesn't end up with razor blades stuck in the wrists.'
'. . . only according to the art critics and they only lie about dead artists.'
'I've lied down for enough artists cause I prefer men who hurt to men who want to own me.'
'No one sexually owns another person. That's the province of art. Provenance. Roman art made dumb Roman politicians into gods. Christian art justified or rationalized the controller belief system. So what's my sexuality apart from all that's been shown me?' The other girls throw up their hands in disgust.
'Then who's responsible for the human violence in this world? Those who make. The artists.'
'Who's this person I'm fucking?'
'If I'm just reflecting, I don't know. When I'm making love with you, my loving is seeing your face. The only thing I'm seeing my only identity is you.'
5. Deep Female Sexuality: Marriage Or Time
'When Eddie was kicking me out of his house, I put a razor blade into my right wrist in order to stop Eddie from saying "You don't know how to love. No man will ever love you." The people who saved me from death're my friends.
'Two men are fighting each other with cudgels. They're standing knee-deep in water. There's an overwhelming monster whose waist and hips are so soft, he looks like a woman. His
----
right arm doesn't look like an arm. The man is puking against my building's corner wall. He doesn't flinch as I watch him. A man as he's facing out from this wall masturbates. He has a typical grin across his ugly face. I have to tell you how I get sexual pleasure. The women, rather than turning away from him, look at his exposed cock and laugh. Toward the point of death.
'Therefore I love you. Knowing that in the face of about to touch absolute darkness, there is the one rescuing that happens between two people and in the face of full knowledge. Of not only pain and incomprehendable evil and death: The real knowledge is that I want this I want to die. Horror! Knowing this - what're our jealousies our endless sexual maneuver-ings our social deviousnesses compared to this: we know what love is?
'What's the function of darkness? Of being ignorant?
'You said, "Light light. Those who survive must learn mathematics." For me there's just love, I'm scared of love. I run away from any immediacy.
'One of my legs is extending outwards. You're owning me. A sky of hot nude pearl until . . . crickets in these sheltered places . . . the wind ransacks the great planes. You are taking over control so I can relax.
'How, exactly, does my body feel pleasure?' The girl's telling the other girl about her former lovers.
'No no. I can't talk about anything directly.'
'There's a definite difference in my physical being or body between when I'm being fucked and I'm not being fucked. How can I say anything when I'm totally uncentralized or not being fucked?'
'There's no sex anymore. I'm not going to have any sex. I'm not going to open up. This is me: the image. A man's suit. Look at me. I'm a woman who looks like a delicate boy and I'll never change. You can't touch me. I'm impervious. This's the way I'm happy. I'm totally elegant.'
----
'You're out of your mind.'
'Better than being laid, then sticking razor blades through my wrists.'
'Living isn't so black.'
'Living is a present. I'll never say otherwise. I wish I was together enough to say or do something.'
'Touch me. An open quivering clit. The little red animal wiggles.'
'Art, since its very beginning in prehistoric caves, has been, in our present ways of speaking, conservative.'
'Art's more interesting than sex . . .'
'More rewarding. We ARE getting old,' the fourteen-year-old says. 'At least art doesn't end up with razor blades stuck in the wrists.'
'. . . only according to the art critics and they only lie about dead artists.'
'I've lied down for enough artists cause I prefer men who hurt to men who want to own me.'
'No one sexually owns another person. That's the province of art. Provenance. Roman art made dumb Roman politicians into gods. Christian art justified or rationalized the controller belief system. So what's my sexuality apart from all that's been shown me?' The other girls throw up their hands in disgust.
'Then who's responsible for the human violence in this world? Those who make. The artists.'
'Who's this person I'm fucking?'
'If I'm just reflecting, I don't know. When I'm making love with you, my loving is seeing your face. The only thing I'm seeing my only identity is you.'
5. Deep Female Sexuality: Marriage Or Time
'When Eddie was kicking me out of his house, I put a razor blade into my right wrist in order to stop Eddie from saying "You don't know how to love. No man will ever love you." The people who saved me from death're my friends.
'Two men are fighting each other with cudgels. They're standing knee-deep in water. There's an overwhelming monster whose waist and hips are so soft, he looks like a woman. His
----
right arm doesn't look like an arm. The man is puking against my building's corner wall. He doesn't flinch as I watch him. A man as he's facing out from this wall masturbates. He has a typical grin across his ugly face. I have to tell you how I get sexual pleasure. The women, rather than turning away from him, look at his exposed cock and laugh. Toward the point of death.
'Therefore I love you. Knowing that in the face of about to touch absolute darkness, there is the one rescuing that happens between two people and in the face of full knowledge. Of not only pain and incomprehendable evil and death: The real knowledge is that I want this I want to die. Horror! Knowing this - what're our jealousies our endless sexual maneuver-ings our social deviousnesses compared to this: we know what love is?
'What's the function of darkness? Of being ignorant?
'You said, "Light light. Those who survive must learn mathematics." For me there's just love, I'm scared of love. I run away from any immediacy.
'One of my legs is extending outwards. You're owning me. A sky of hot nude pearl until . . . crickets in these sheltered places . . . the wind ransacks the great planes. You are taking over control so I can relax.
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