Introspection
and Psychology. It's a chicken and egg thing. Am I overly introspective because
I am a psychologist or was I drawn to the field for that very reason?
Sometimes
it's hard to turn off the self-analysis and just be in the moment. 'Oh, God,
that feels good' is echoed by a voice asking why that feels good, why
I like X, why Y is a turn on, what does it mean?
And
of course it's not just self-analysis. Equal
opportunity insight comes along for the ride in every relationship: business,
collegial, friend, lover.
Staggering
down the stairs on a Saturday morning to search blindly for the coffee whose
aroma I am following, I pass Ray, ensconced in front of the television, and
wonder yet again why he so loves cartoons and comic books? Does he have a need
to recapture the some of the childhood that he lost when his parents died? Are
they his touchstones from after his parents' death? The things that still
brought him joy? Was he always exuberant or was that something he learned early
from personal exposure to loss, from an intimate knowledge of the brevity of
life?
A
quiet Wednesday evening after a moderately busy day, one where we moved from one
job to the next without a sense of urgency or exhaustion. That comes later, when
the adrenaline has been reabsorbed. I
lie on the couch watching a movie on cable. Winston's in another world, drawn
into the pages of his book.
What
draws Winston to mysteries? Are
they concrete representations of the unanswered questions in his own life? A
method of exorcising demons accrued from childhood exposure to racism, from his
experiences in Vietnam, both in country and upon his return? Is this exercise of
skill a method of reasserting control over the enigmas that lie just outside
awareness? I can see it in his eyes when he's puzzled out the answer, the flash
of delight, of mastery and achievement, the quiet satisfaction.
Sexual
encounters are wonders of discovery. Touch this and draw a groan, nibble here
and feel the shudder running through the body of your sexual partner. Suck here.
What does it taste like? Do I even like the taste? Oh, but look what reaction it
elicits. That's marvelous, yes,
that's good, she's doing most of the work in that position. Hmm, I wonder why
she needs to be on top? Is it purely sexual or are there emotional reasons
driving it?
Why
did my last partner pull me down atop her as if the weight of my body, skin to
skin, covering her like a blanket was as erotic, as necessary to her
satisfaction as my tongue or fingers?
Of
course with men, sex is imbued with questions. To penetrate or be penetrated?
Both feel, well, they feel friggin' wonderful but there are some men I'd never
let fuck me. It's not a question of attraction or desire. I wanted them, they
wanted me, but there were limits and I knew them immediately. Attributing it to
control or domination is reductionist; it's control but it's more. There's a
need there, a need to suck this person or be sucked in return, a need to fuck or
be fucked and it changes from partner to partner or even from one session to
another. Surrender? Is it sometimes as simple as being tired and just wanting to
be held, wanting to be absorbed, engulfed? Maybe it's that simple. I don't know.
The answers always seem facile, the questions of far more import.
With
Egon, sometimes the questions fade and I can just be there, feeling and not
wondering. I touch him with only a thought to enjoy the stroke, to bring him
pleasure. Analysis suspended in
sensation. Maybe it's something I've earned, payoff for the investment I've made
in being with just one person for this long. But the questions don't go away. If
anything, they hover in my mind like circling birds, ensuring a near constant
state of self-consciousness. I've more questions for Egon, about Egon, than
anyone else.
There
are times that I want to feel him atop me, inside me, and know that it's my way
of being inside him. He is all around me and I have been absorbed by Egon, into
Egon. It's a place of safety, of protection and elevation, as if I've been
raised upward by this acceptance into his being. For a period of time, I
submerge my consciousness within his and find relief. Relief from questions,
from awareness, from fear.
While
I'm in that place of safety, the questions abate but I am inundated before and
after. Why do I need this escape?
Is there an inadequacy in me? Is this a transitory insecurity or a reflection of
a deeper, unacknowledged insufficiency? Should I see this as a surrendering to
him, an unexpressed acknowledgment that I view him as superior to myself? Or
does it just feel better than anything I've ever experienced before?
Am I overcomplicating an expression of love?
It's
anything but a simple fuck.
And
Egon's a lot more complex than I am.
Oral
sex is great. Frottage is hot, skin to skin, all friction, sweat lubricating
every thrust. Both of us enjoy it
when he's on top. But he doesn't really like being fucked, so we didn't do that
very often. Well, not until I stumbled upon the Spengler sexual Rosetta stone.
It's
kind of a cliché really; that whole notion that buttoned-down, reserved,
control freaks like Egon have difficulty letting go and I could testify that
there was nothing reserved about Egon in the bedroom, or the lab, the kitchen,
wherever. But there's a kernel of truth in every cliché--come on, that's how
they become clichés in the first place--and I was curious.
So
I found my answers but they are packaged with another whole round of questions
that emerge whenever I tie him to the bed. I'm a psychologist. I know that
externalizing the bonds allows greater internal freedom, freedom from the same
self-consciousness that plagues me. But I wonder anyway.
He
wants to be fucked but he doesn't allow himself to want to be fucked until he
gives up physical control. Is that it? Why? Does being bound give him the
freedom to enjoy or is it the bondage itself that excites him?
I
want him to feel that same sense of being engulfed, of being absorbed but his
submergence is external not internal. If he enjoys being fucked when bound, why
doesn't that pleasure leach over into sex sans restraint? Why does Egon need to
maintain such tight control, even with me, even during sex? What occurred in his
childhood, in his emotional development to create that need? Was it his distant
father with rigid expectations or is this need for control innate? If it was
learned can it be unlearned? If it could be unlearned, would Egon want to
change? Would I want him different than he is?
Rationally,
I understand the element of power and trust inherent in bondage. It's an
intoxicating expression of trust and one I'm not sure I can make, even with
Egon. And on some level, it
frightens me. Does the need for control come packaged with a complementary need
to surrender, and if so, what does that make me? At what point does my pleasure
at fucking him warp into dominance? Or does it? Is it a taste that is acquired?
Is the arousal I feel when I see him naked, open and completely at my mercy tied
to Egon's pleasure or mine? And why does sex have to be so complicated? Or am I
making it complicated by analyzing it instead of enjoying it?
And
how do I answer when he asks me what I'm thinking?
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