by
M. Zora

She says, ďCome over here and give me some pussyĒ and suddenly, little Pinocchio feet start jerking and high stepping in my groin. Iím annoyed by her crudeness, shocked by my physical response to it. She is insistent, demanding, horny. The relentlessness of her assault deprives me of the time I need to build the walls I rely on for safety. If those walls donít block her view, sheís gonna have the chance to find out whatís lurking in the dark, dank inside this cave. Is there a rank monster, or are there skeletons? Not the figurative kind, but the actual remains of living things Iíve killed or which have died because of my oppressive control. ďIf she keeps pushing me, sheís gonna find out, and itíll be no oneís fault but her own.Ē Thatís MY FEAR talking. MF is a big bitch, hard to shut up and the enemy of love. But, Iím fighting that bitch, like every day.

The other night my woman brought me to a screaming orgasm, as she has so many times before. (How strange to be at a point where I can almost, (almost) take a screaming orgasm for granted!) Like it has since my very first experience of cumming, my clitoris ran to hide after the climax, like a scared rabbit, back into itsí hole, behind my pelvic bone. And my woman understood this sensitivity, because she is a woman, with a clit that reacts similarly. But she is also a living ancestor, and sexually wise. She knows shit instinctively, Iíve never even thought to study Ė sheís got emotional and sexual capital in spades. So, rather than cease and desist her frigging, rather than holding me, she continued with her finger, continued with her encouraging words. And somehow I began to know that there was something on the other side of this sensation, something huge, and maybe mind-altering, but not death, not a dead thing. For the first time I was able to not say no Ė and if you donít say no long enough, when youíre as inclined to as I am, it turns into a yes.

And so Iím yessing, and sheís frigging and I feel my clit reinventing itself Ė and it becomes something much more like a penis than Iíve ever known it could be. And this feeling has a sound, and itís a crackling, snapping metallic kind of sound. And the look of this feeling has something to do with lightning, and something to do with static electricity and something to do with those crazy circus guns I loved to play with as a child Ė the barrel all full of streaking sparks, leaping in response to my finger cranking the trigger. And I do feel like a loaded weapon, but Iím not expecting bullets to come out. Iím going to ejaculate, something pointed, hotter than a stream of urine, and more forceful. Some kind of piercing beam of hot light, but not a laser; thatís too modern. Iím talking about the kind of light emitted by a star millions of miles from earth, but still so powerful, pyramids are built to bathe in it, from antiquity, into perpetuity. Only, Iím not on earth waiting for the light to arrive. Iím at the fucking star. Matter of fact, Iím fucking this fucking star. Itís all up in my guts and that light is trying to bust out of my clit, and when it does it will be a sword between my legs. I will be the baddest bitch on the block, hung like an African goddess. Iíll slay dragons, Iíll slay bigots. Iíll slay the 9 to 5 grind and help people see that this kind of grind is so much more worthwhile because it actually gives something real back.

Iím going there, Iím going there. Canít keep my eyes open, canít keep Ďem closed. Words are leaving me, got the jimmy legs. I know sheís looking right at me and I donít give a fuck. And even with all of this momentum, all this promised power, I allow fear to win this battle. I shut it all down before crossing over. But damnit, Iím not kicking myself, Ďcuz this shit takes time. Itís not easy to step out on faith. This night I have seen the promised land, and goddamn it if Iím not gonna get there. Over there Iím gonna see my ancestors. Over there Iím gonna see the future. A grandchild with my eyes may be waiting over there. A new kind of vision may be over there. All that running from the altar and from the spirit, to end up here, fucked into a shout, out of control. Iím telling you, my people, catharsis is gonna come some kind of way. We are our great-grandmothersí children, regardless of the layers of time and ugly, materialistic culture that cling to us like dead skin.

Oh God, I pray that in the hour of their oppression, the slaves and the Indians had this; that they managed to keep and know this joy. That exhausted and beaten, they were able to escape to a knowledge of self and spiritual freedom through each otherís bodies. This is some survival shit here. This is some pemmican, some high-energy travel food, some concentrated nutrients mixed with deer fat, goes straight to the bloodstream to give energy for the hunt. Some pulsing liver, some rich placenta Ė do you hear me? Something funky and nourishing and necessary. This loving is food, basic and magical and itís blowing my fucking mind. And Iím so happy, shouting happy to feel these gates clanging open. How on earth will I ever be able to go back to pretending? When you donít know you just donít know, but once you know . . . shit, you better stand up and shout about it.

The End

Copyright © 2003. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.



Contents Literature Art Gallery SpiritSpace Links Cherry Grove S and M 101 Blog The Steam Room Relationships Albums OtherWords The Library Survey FAQs Tales Of The Talented Tongue Skyview Writer's Resources