Our Lives As Genitalia

Our Lives As Genitalia

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Our Lives as Genitalia: A novel with an intense beating erotic main theme.It is subtitled: Signatures from between our legs, aroused by sex, penetrated by memory, yet screwed by the mind to always confront life in the present. The narrative begins as a series of erotic driven encounters but they all ripple back through later relationships in time, place and memory. It seems in the coupling moment that pleasure ignited by pleasures ignition remains uncomplex pleasure for two. However, memory tattoos even seemingly casual sex under our skin. It will meander back through association. The central crux of the story is reflective in its sensual unfolding: we are left with lingering consensual sexual memory. To sum up; the story is best described as thinking erotica unfolding a deep romantic core and the better side of our human nature; though in the heat of racy randy coupling and later separation; this is the last thing on our mind and that’s okay and the story lingers repeatedly in those intense pleasurable memorable moments of life and asks the reader to do the same...our lives as genitalia. The insight devoid of ego may come eventually. An erotic romance novel in forty chapters

Summary

Our Lives as Genitalia: A novel with an intense beating erotic main theme.It is subtitled: Signatures from between our legs, aroused by sex, penetrated by memory, yet screwed by the mind to always confront life in the present.

The narrative begins as a series of erotic driven encounters but they all ripple back through later relationships in time, place and memory. It seems in the coupling moment that pleasure ignited by pleasures ignition remains uncomplex pleasure for two. However, memory tattoos even seemingly casual sex under our skin. It will meander back through association.

The central crux of the story is reflective in its sensual unfolding: we are left with lingering consensual sexual memory.

To sum up; the story is best described as thinking erotica unfolding a deep romantic core and the better side of our human nature; though in the heat of racy randy coupling and later separation; this is the last thing on our mind and that’s okay and the story lingers repeatedly in those intense pleasurable memorable moments of life and asks the reader to do the same...our lives as genitalia.

The insight devoid of ego may come eventually.

An erotic romance novel in forty chapters

Chapter33 (v.1) - Showered

Author Chapter Note

Rhea and Luke, mature adult sexual love. The most erotic artwork in the world.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

Reads: 330

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

A A A

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Chapter Thirty-Three: SHOWERED

Rhea and I are in the shower. Her fingers are playfully massaging my balls. I’m male and I don’t think beyond this, but then I do. I see Rhea and even more of life.

Remembering was more than remembering Ruby now; it was about life as a whole. It was never about closure, it was about openness but, god, it took a long time to see. We don’t choose to remember. Also, there is what we actually believe we see in memory and what is constructed by the mind and attempted to be layered on memory. We believe we can reshape the persistent veracity of memory.

As the story goes, when Corot was painting en plain air an observer accurately stated to the artist, “Where is the tree?” To which Corot is said to have replied, “Behind me.”

As memory too is behind us, shaping our intimacy of the past and of the present, so even if the sex tape existed of Our life as Genitalia, it wouldn’t tell the full story. Sure, we can observe even in its most prurient detail; genitals engaged in unrestrained, uninhibited playfulness, but it’s like observing a financial transaction. We can see and relate very accurately to the money changing hands, but not the feelings or moods engaged. Was it a bargain? Was it a hard deal? Was or will it be worth it? Is there honesty here? And  it’s the same when two people look into each others’ eyes as their genitals gyrate rhythmically and progressively escalating in sensation and loss of surroundings and even body or consequential thoughts as they enter a state of complete spontaneous unprepared abandonment. Yes, we see the sex tape and rarely think beyond slutty tramp or well hung stud. But what is really being fashioned in memory, even here, is like the most complicated of bridal gowns. There is pattern, fabric, tradition; there are the personal signature elements of often incorporating something old, veils, et al. So there is more going on in the life of genitalia; it’s actually beyond what the participants of the sex tape or the viewers make sense of at the moment, because it’s joined to other memories. Who knows what is recalled and why. Yes, the genitals are sated in the immediate moment, but memory and its rippling associations? Never.

This seemingly makes it harder to be resilient in love, though eventually we are; though at decisive moments in time and space, we never believe we will be able to love again like we loved. But we do because we live in the moment and time progresses and space modifies almost imperceptibly too. So the memory so fast held changes undetected by us, though we are the ones who modify it by moving on in time and place, even if reluctantly. Memory then is equally the silent servant, not the perpetual condemning ostraciser of genitals, who keep calculating the days of their exile from other genitalia. Quietly, memory is at work: building memory of memory and expanding the associations which heal our core and bridge us to another soul again.

The erotic sculptures of the Khajuraho temples in India are the apotheosis of life as genitalia and genitals linked to soul, like savouring the best experience from memory last. In one frieze, a couple are in an intimate copulating embrace, while on their left a male masturbates and on their right a female does the same. The compelling beauty of these scenes is they are interspersed with daily life and ordinary scenes of everyday activities; the life of genitalia, in its whole life context. This is a site of pleasure and pleasure should be embraced without shame if mutually desired. This is embracing genitals as joy, enjoyment and enjoinment.

The sculptures radiate love first and then the sexual explicitness is seen. Your mind returns from their genitals and sees only the expressive force of love. This is love as concord between male and female, constantly reinforced by the dominating erotic kissing usually accompanying the entangled privates. What appears to be a riot of the senses in the massed sculptures is actually structured harmonious human love. The sculptors of these amazing sequences embraced the life of genitalia. In fact, without their empathy and understanding of enriched life, the whole could have a different impact. The images are often given cosmic or spiritual sexual significance, but they are equally about partnership in sex. As they are sculptures, they have a held in the moment quality, like genital love holding time for lovers; these are sculptures rooted in the earth and the cosmos. Here are humans like you and me, as we live and copulate globally. Here is a key aspect of our shared humanity on open unashamed public display.

As the sculptures embrace life and genitalia as one, memory and genitals also are not at odds: when they are hand in hand—not hands held apart—then we are truly us, Janus faces both ways simultaneously. We are boldly genital humans and we are gently ready to join another and become one.

Rhea and I are in the shower. The water is warm. We are soaping each other with touchy tenderness. Rhea gently hold my semi erect manhood, I hold my hand open over her pubic mound and move it in a slow circular motion over her sparse pubic hair. She reaches up on her toes and kisses me full on the mouth. Her toes relax and down she goes. I bend my head and cradle into her face and kiss her, long and passionately. We forgot we were actually going to take a shower together. Hands move over bodies, I touch the line of her caesarean scar—a memento from our fourth child—she runs her fingers through my greying chest hair. I massage her buttocks, not as firm as they once were. She grabs my butt and it’s looser fleshed too. My hands are at the sides of both her breasts. Gravity has won, but I like their softness still and her ever firm nipples as my fingers circle each tip once. Her hands run down my back, catching hairy patches. We see each other as we are and we are comfortable.

We kiss again, then I am nibbling and whispering in her ear, “I love you, sweetie.”

Rhea lifts her eyes to mine and softly replies, “I love you too, darling.”

I move my hand over her partially trimmed Mon Venus. She worries about the look of the unruly full bushy pussy and I part her labia with my fingers and touch what is erroneously termed ‘home base’ by the young and selfish coveting their own genitals delights first. No, this is home for lovers. Rhea lifts her eyes again and meets mine as I touch her inner wetness and she holds my cock a little tighter and moves her hand along the shaft a few times. Then she releases it and wraps her arms around me. Her arms around my body, holding steady, and I stop fingering her and wrap my arms around her too. We are both washed over with water, holding each other under the rain of water, nothing more. Holding each other. And again we share expressions of love, using the word love. It’s the only word we have for the huge range of feelings and emotions we now share built over time and cemented by memory and our mutual lives as genitalia. We hold each other gently, hold our intense gaze into each others’ eyes nearly too long, and her bountiful love for me flows like a waterfall.

And yes, Niagara Falls is on our bucket list. While my useless cup, recently down to the dregs, is filled again by her love. No man deserves this much love in a lifetime and I kiss her again and my cup is now a revived spring, flowing over the edges.

 


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