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

Chapter8 (v.1) - Rainy Daydreams

Author Chapter Note

Luke's fantasy sex life focuses on Raine, a cute dental assistant and a split second decision impacts on his life

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

Reads: 281

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 23, 2015

A A A

A A A

PART TWO: COITUS

Chapter Eight: RAINY DAYDREAMS

The taste was sterile, antiseptic. The congealed gel designed to numb. Raine, the young dental assistant gave me her usual professional smile. The dentist’s scaling drill was polishing an uneven surface. I’m awake...I’m nodding...I’m drifting. I’m daydreaming. It’s either a flight of the imagination or a blurry stare at the dentist’s drill.

I recalled the last time I had fantasised about Raine. I was driving to a seminar. The world of study and routines were dominating my life. The freedom of travelling when and for how long I liked were distant memories. So too were the reality of Lena and Leise. Then most of my time was taken up with studying for a higher degree; part time wage slave at a fast food outlet, broken by short, very short now and very quickly distant memories of breaks away from it all. Then, buying a first car, a piece of crap designed to get from point A to B. Rust bucket embarrassment, movement on wheels, no style here, and a quality vibrator had more power and grunt on a low speed-setting.

I needed to attend a seminar to assist my thesis three hundred kilometres away. It was a clear autumn day, plenty of hard edge music to sustain the weary single traveller and erotic day dreams filling in the gaps. I needed this trip over before it started. I wasn’t throwing off the edges of a deep fluey cold, though youthful infallibility was ignoring the basics, I should have stayed home, but I needed the perspectives and contacts from the seminar. The flu was making me drowsy, not my erotic day dreams being choreographed by myself around a recent visit to the dentist. It was a fanciful dirty assignation of the conscious mind about the good-looking dental assistant, Raine.

As in Raine: ‘Please record the following as I examine’, ‘Raine, a little more suction’. Yes, Raine, a little more suction around my cock. The dentist was clinically and professionally doing his check, polishing an uneven chip and then moving to his scaling and cleaning routine. If he knew what I was thinking about his cute assistant, he’d be knocking out my teeth with his fist. I was engaged in my dental routine too, checking out Raine’s mouth, her fuller lips, their natural light pinkness gets me fantasising about her other set of lips, glossy wet pink. I’m getting a side view of her firm, close, stocking covered thigh, and its flesh coloured and sheer. I assume she wears pantyhose; the blighted curse of any young man’s wandering fingers when they start to get itchy for sticky action and searing, racy moaning on a sofa or a dentist’s reclining chair.

So my daydreams are always suspenders, frilly knickers and stockings to trace slowly to the upper inner thigh, not to confront pantyhose as a secondary defensive line supporting the primary adversary: panties. Fantasy always likes the accoutrements of seduction. Yes, the initial male erotic thought is always some fleshy bit, often straight to the genitals. Maybe a lingering at the breasts for a  fondling stopover, then straight to the genitals or a firm butt and approaching the genitals from a different direction, but still all genital. Though strangely it all back peddling for there, it lingerie, its touch, they never get to the genitals again in any fantasy. So blokes think about sex along with what to eat, scratching an itch where the sun doesn’t shine and whether the three-second rule applies to the food they dropped and getting a job finished and where their next lay is coming from and the rest of life. Sex in the male mind is mixed up with everything else. So the accessories of seduction help build the fantasy, which is interrupted by a blast of cold dry air between my teeth and the play button is hit again in my mind, sometimes with a bit of fast forward or some back tracking. Oh Raine, I imagine, is getting wet and moist thinking about me. Yeah sure, sucking saliva out of your gob hole and suggesting you wipe the drool from the side of your mouth with the tissues provided. Yet, Raine has a life and memories; I hope they don’t include my nose or ear hair or fillings. She’s probably seen it all before, is in auto work mode and fantasising about a new g-string and thinking Brazilian, which will get her current boyfriend’s flagpole raised to attention.

Raine and I share space, her thigh nearly within intimate range of my relaxed fingers itching at my side. Inner thighs, it’s the promise of waiting, postponing the movement up and in, the definitive tease. So guys think, make her wait. Its okay to make her wait because you know this is only waiting; it will all soon happen rapidly enough. Hold the male erection; you’re young enough to keep wood for ages. Touch Raine’s thigh, placing pressure with your fingers, moving to the closest point of the sanctum of softness without touching any pubic hair. Or maybe it will be a shaved surprise your hand finds on Raine‘s pert body. Brazilian was an inspired guess. Taunt her fleshy lips, but only at the edges, then back off, kiss her thighs. She expects to be eaten out, but it’s not coming yet. Then deftly, the tongue has taken charge of the situation and finally simple basic male sex is occurring. Raine is fucked senseless, completely humped in your gratuitous fantasy.

“Please, rinse,” asks Raine and its over for your teeth and dreams, no tooth fairy here. Jeez, phone sex would have to be way cheaper than Raine in her ‘uniform’ as a way to get off.  I don’t really know Raine. She‘s a bit young, I suppose nineteen. But she’s into slightly more mature guys, you wish. She’d look great in a sexy nurse’s uniform.

There were a few spots of rain on my windshield. It was colder passing through the first highway pass. I thought; should stop and freshen up? No; get there. I turned the music up, opened the window, got a blast of cold air and kept going. I remember passing a car at relatively high-speed in a passing lane, entering the climb into the second pass. Then only road glaze, I actually went to ‘sleep’ at the wheel of my car—or nodded off. It makes no difference here what language I use, this was probably one of the dumbfuck moments of my life. I didn’t know how long I had my eyes closed or if my head nodded forward. At least my hands were still at ten o’clock, two o’clock when my eyes opened. I think. Or they instinctively gripped the steering wheel quickly.

Of course it was unintentional. This was perilous, not consciously playing chicken on a train track or dodging cars on a busy highway. This was blind driving. I could have drifted in the spilt second or two or—no; it couldn’t have possibly been longer. But it’s unknown. I would have then been either dead, wrapped around a tree, or rolling over and over down an embankment to an early grave. So was it a second or two, or if more, I was ‘Chances’ pin up boy. The thought one single second or a part of a second will decide the course of your whole life, is over focussed time, and thankfully one of the few in my life where mere seconds amounted to everything.

I could have seen the vision splendid, a huge roadside gum tree in the middle of my wipers. At least I was spared déjà vu and didn’t see a barbed wire fence as my eyes adjusted. Why I drifted left and not right across the lines into potential oncoming traffic was beyond my conscious decision making. I wasn’t making a decision in a crucial moment of time. A metal casing with interior vinyl trim and no airbag was hurtling uncontrolled on a major highway; going at least one hundred kilometres an hour, maybe faster. A second or two, with eyes closed: surely no more, any more would have been beyond tempting fate. I was staring at a looming high embankment on my left; it was too close and the wheels were skidding through the gravel already. I was probably processing all this in half a second, no time to think. There was only going to be impact. The crunch of the gravel verge brought me back from my lapse in concentration. The idea of having driven more than fifty and closer to hundred metres, or even more; without vision on a curved  crested section of highway , the impertinence of my eyes or brain to have allowed this to happen.

What was ultimately even scarier with hindsight was I couldn’t recall later any of the road covered between passing a vehicle at speed in an overtaking lane and the moment my eyes opened.

The appalling and inexcusable danger I had potentially placed on others. If I  drifted right, which was the natural road direction as it curved down through the pass quite steeply, immediately beyond the crash site, this was multiple collision, head on territory. I know from my youth the dreadful force and the depth of the pounding deep bang as one vehicle at high velocity hits a stationary car. It’s physics and motion: two high speed objects don’t belong in exactly the same space with combined momentum, the thought of  doubling the impacted resonance combined with the last view of life being another innocent drivers face, well, time and place in space, play out in crucial or random ways. If I had pulled over ten minutes before in a small town, had had a power nap, got a coffee and stopped for a short break; the accident wouldn’t have occurred. I was basically dead at nearly twenty-five; from not pausing. A whole richness of life since, years into decades, it came down to minutes not taken and decisions and awareness in the seconds after vision was miraculously restored  and watching while participating in a situation completely out of my  control as too much frickin’ embankment unfolded before my stunned eyes.

There wasn’t much to spread in the terms of my field of vision, the embankment loomed and enlarged in its rocky infested rawness, nature rudely sliced through and exposed for a road, poised to make a statement. Well no, everything happening was human; I was supposed to be in command of the situation, basic highway driving, plenty of wide, well maintained and all the tight bends and bumps removed to help reduce fatal accidents and yet it comes down to human decision making. I shouldn’t have been driving at this moment. The consequences were beyond my earlier choices. I had rescinded my control over my life, however momentarily.

Dumb inaction actually saved my life at this point; I gripped the steering wheel and rode the bank at the angle of impact, not enough to roll, but a jolting, jarring, metal collapsing and a protracted ripping, tearing and grating all happened together. There was an excess of embankment in my vision and the angle too steep. I kept holding the steering wheel straight and rode out the embankment, bumping roughly back to the verge of the road. I had actually nodded off on a highway and survived. My car stopped or I braked. No, maybe I thought I did, but it halted. It never felt so good to be still.

Fucking stop, I said to myself, How the fuck did that happen? Shitty flu. Well we all blame something. It was me and it certainly had nothing to do with Raine, who had kept me alert for a decent length of time somewhere back up the highway.

Infallibility came next; I was actually going to continue driving. I didn’t get out to look at the damage. I started the engine a couple of minutes after a severe impact as if I had parked to take a piss by the side of the road. Nothing turned over in the engine, but prior to trying the key, obviously nothing at all had turned over in my mind either. Probably mild shock, it had been way too much embankment for a moment, a day or lifetime. Shit, I was going to have to get out and assess the damage, meet my mess head on. The left front tyre was shredded and pushed at an abominably deep angle, right under the engine. Jarred collapsed metal was the front left hand side of the vehicle. No wonder the engine wouldn’t start. The radiator was askew and nearly under the windscreen. I needed a tow truck. I hitched a lift back to the nearest town, my need clearly seen from the side of the road.

The rest is towing, repairs and increased insurance premiums.

How often in life can you get really death defying lucky? I suppose there’s no number actually, like dodging bullets right through a war. The first time as a child I had no control over the sequence of events, what time we had left our grandparents’ house, where our car was parked, the fact cars had no seatbelts, the way our car was hit from behind and spun and where I flew and how I landed, an incredible sequence of chance events, involving centimetres or maybe millimetres in survival.

Now it was time playing out in my continued existence; how long had I nodded, the fact I didn’t react and instinctively turn the wheel back to the road for a death roll, but rode the embankment with straight wheels. Yes, but I had been plainly stupid to drive unwell and tired.

I had to wait two hours in a country town for the intercity bus. It was actually the local hotel where I got a ticket. A couple of drinks at the bar—I wasn’t driving any more. It was starting to rain heavily and turned to hail.

A motorcyclist came in and sat next to me; he ordered a straight double whiskey and sculled it.

“Needed that,” he said. “Freeze your balls off up through the pass, bloody hail.” And he hit the road again.

We want life, we crave life, and few of us enact actually on any melancholic death wish, yet the improbability of our actual survival to replicate is often severely tested. The chain of genes we are linked through our genitals is incredibly fragile, but clearly persistent. In my case millimetres and tenths of seconds away from a prime human directive: procreate, impossible dead; as boy projectile or a solo crash statistic. So flimsy is the hereditary sequence we belong to; my father badly burned and hospitalised when fuel drums exploded near him in an enemy air raid during a war. No marriage, no children in his life, metres from an incendiary cremation. One of my grandfathers lost a testicle in a bush logging accident as a young man, very close to being neutered. Any chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and young men are dumb mother fuckers when it comes to personal safety. If they get to twenty-five, they may have survived long enough to procreate.

The bus arrived soon after the biker revved off. Plenty of time to snooze and reflect while not driving. Raine didn’t fit my mood now.
 


© Copyright 2018 Janus. All rights reserved.

Chapters

Add Your Comments:

Other Content by Janus

More Great Reading

Popular Tags