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

Chapter35 (v.1) - Picture Me

Author Chapter Note

Flashback: Luke's last phone conversation with and a letter from Jenny Taylor

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

Reads: 301

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

A A A

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Chapter Thirty-Five: PICTURE ME

Lena and Leise, sometimes you are not in control and apparently fluke paradise according to your smug genitals. Your mind agrees; it was your lucky day, nothing else. They confer as a pair and can’t see any serious consequences here. Memory ignores them and quietly goes on making associations beyond daiquiri’s and bruised apples.

I was confused with what Coral wanted. It was never actually me or Ruby. Maybe once it was Josh. More corrosive to my spirit was confusing Ruby’s genitals with love and ending up kissing sealed lips. It was Ruby I had to release from my life. The svelte pixie was right. You can’t promise not to love, but you can’t make anyone love you either, especially the way you think or actually do love them.

Jenny was always going to release herself. Jenny never returned after her trip away. She had graduated and then travelled before moving interstate. I never saw her again after the orchard road. She did contact me once; after several weeks’ absence, Jenny rang me. The conversation I recall went something like this: after the preliminaries;

“It’s great to hear your voice. I’ve missed you, Jenny. It’s been a fair while...everything okay?”

“No.”

“Oh…can I help?”

“No.”

“What is it, Jenny?” I was worried now.

“I’m not coming back, Luke. I’m not.”

Long pause.  I was on a fixed wall phone and I had spices and vegetables now over sautéing in a pan on the stove.

“Luke…Luke…are you still there?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, Luke; you always knew this could happen.”

“What could happen?” I was getting my first hint of the wrong sort of smell from my unsupervised cooking.

“Luke, there is someone else, okay? I’m sorry.” said gently, hiding the name, so it could not hold in me.

Even longer pause. The odour of overcooked food was really irritating my nostrils. It was the pungent aroma of lemongrass and coriander gone feral with heat and no attention.

“Luke, I said I’m sorry. I warned you…I told you. You always knew I was going to be hard to hold, to stay. I warned you.”

“I still love you.”

“You bugger. Sometimes it’s not enough. You were good, but I need more. You’re too steady, okay? Too quiet for your own good. Try to communicate more what you feel. You’ll be okay.”

 Shorter pause. The natural sizzle of ingredients was replaced by the intermittent splutter of the last vestiges of moisture in the pan. I really needed to save my meal before it spoilt.

“Do I know him?” I asked

“No.”

“Good.”

“What’s good, Luke?”

“I have no one to picture,” I replied.

“You can always picture me, okay?”

Thinking pause...Shit...I caught the first waft of really burnt food.

“I knew.”

“You knew what, Luke?”

“I knew too…you wouldn’t stay.”

“When?” inquired Jenny softly.

“When you told me—when you said you loved me.”

“I tried, Luke. I stayed longer than…oh, Luke, I knew you knew.”

Extended pause becoming silence, finally broken by:

“Jenny, So…so…this is really…it?”

She hesitated then replied, “Yes, this is it.”

“Okay, bye then. I suppose.”

“Yes, Luke. That’s it. Bye.”

Jenny hung up.

My meal lay ruined.

Later I realised we both had underdeveloped relationships skills halting us from going any farther together.

A few days later a small package came in the mail. I recognized Jenny’s handwriting. There was a small pink shell and a brief note. Her message was approximately this:

Dear Luke,

You thought I didn’t remember you from the beach, your ashamed embarrassment. I always knew it was you. I was too young to know what to think, you bugger. Still, I kept the shell. I’m always going to be glad we took the chance together. I’d have never thought it possible after the beach. We never know, do we? It’s okay, you’ll remember me by this, and I’ll remember you too.

Hugs always,

Jenny.

Tears were filling my eyes, emotions undirected for a while like a child’s spinning top. Believing life had to get back to the path of natural gentle uninhibited inclinations, I held the shell. I caught Jenny’s breaking tears after her first climax, and remembered the sex; two young bodies melting into one pliant mass. I still have the shell. And the shell was enough, held and released in the same instance; memory moving parallel with the present moment. Consensual sexual memory, like vulnerable desire and desirability, lingers for a lifetime.

 


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