Forever

For a racing heartbeat you lay languid

Thigh draped over thigh first sex for the first time.

I am startled

when you flee across my tiny room

cover your nakedness

hold clothing between us

I meant no invasion

when I reach out to hold you for a moment longer.

It would be

nice to hold you

kiss again without needing to rise again…

a seemingly small intimacy after petting, licking, kissing face to face

sexual penetration, fucking

my compliant cock in your mouth kiss my voice

with your genitals rub cheeks with soft dark downy red hair

you built up to orgasm

trembling step after shivering step strained your body

reached the moment

eyes closed against invading light a bare bulb

hangs from the ceiling lips drawn over my flesh

blood darkened nipples enlarge pucker in the heat

rising from inside you.

then you want me now, urgent

stuff my cock up inside you distend your opening

build up arched back

steely legs orb my shoulders

fingernails leave crimson marks on my butt you pull, drive me ever deeper

you totally open your frame to me, contort your pelvis to meet

thrust after thrust until I come expel my fluids

submerge your womb

suddenly

with violence almost matching intensity of the instant before banish me from your body

flee the sweaty mingling of our souls abruptly, I am

more empty than before making love.

You have taken even more than just

a continuing physical embrace.

I reach toward you

urge you to come back to bed, climb beneath  the covers clasp me against you

linger in flesh memories

find comfort in the joining of our bodies an act of association

instead of penetration

but you wrap yourself in a checkered shirt

slip down the hallway

to the rooming house bathroom take a shower

wash away

the ebbing scents of love

bolt the door

against invasion as you shower

Marriage

I wonder

then if you indeed wanted me or just to prove something

to yourself

Are you the same woman

who stands at the altar with me and promises me forever?

following church in the bathroom

you look at yourself in the mirror.

You don’t know I watch you,

even now

with mixed emotions

at the scowl in your eyes:

you flick away false eyelashes, undo the clasp

of your wedding dress.

the binding you loosen –

it is the dress, or the wedding itself?

are adoring looks

across the reception hall during my Toast to the Bride as pretended as your face?

more than I can express mere words “I love you” chill my heart

when I realize

we are now attached together

forever…

biting in

out for dinner

celebrate your thirty-third birthday three weeks after the birth of our son – a pulsing, :flooding gush of blood

a crowning head from your body torn open

by his entry into our lives

you are more beautiful to me than ever

nursing breasts swollen with milk nipples still sore, from suckling the baby

belly shrinking, distended with stretch marks,

red stencils of her passage into motherhood

I wonder if you notice

how much you have changed since this conception.

months of wondering if this baby might survive

unlike our first.

Anxiety combines with nausea bloating, cramps

intermingled bleeding

rub vitamin E oils over distended bellyskin massage your lower back

your  mind – some other place

parenting classes, breathing exercises

sit with pillows on the floor, mark moments on our watches count the time between contractions

what to do when the water breaks

a packed bag – toothbrush change of clothing hospital stuff

then the day of the birth race home from work

find you already gone by taxi your bag still in the closet

all our lessons together already abandoned with your frilly gown

and brand new toothbrush

arrive at the  hospital after a sixty mile an hour drive across the city beginnings of rush hour.

I am terrified

I am going to miss being with you

to share in the birth of our child

when I arrive you complain

I’m never around when you need me but before you land any real blows you clench back a howl

from the pain of a contraction .

I hold your hand while your eyes glaze over momentarily

before you return from your journey into pain to look up at me

from your seat in the shower in the maternity ward

the rest of the long night blur of nurses and midwives, friends come by to see you

some stay through the birth

others leave at the first real signs of birth – the final minutes

unable to face

the overpower physical reality of it

during the breathing counts your eyes are locked onto mine

it feels like our souls are glued to each other by going through this passage together

it is the only way we can face this pain

is if you can concentrate your focus on my eyes, counting

panting together

a counterpoint to intercourse a body passion to expel

what we have inspired in your womb

in the final moments

fully dilated, ready to push flushed, fearful, pressed angry, hopeful

you are enraged when a nurse

scratches your thigh with a protruding fingernail

swear like a trucker

during the final push when the baby’s head passes out of your body

the rest of his little torso

is expelled from you like sausage from a meatmaker

part of me is repulsed

by the whole damn thing, but I am also

drawn in

by its sheer immensity

afterward

in the visitors room the relatives

noisily visit mama and baby

I finally go home

too exhausted to notice when I say goodnight

and kiss you on the cheek

you barely nod in my direction our son sucks

on breasts newly sprung triggered by the baby’s need.

out for dinner

three weeks after the birth of the baby you sit back in your chair

suckling the baby

even more of a stranger to me now than before our first embrace

Deviant Life #33 — Discerning Deviant

FIRST / PREVIOUS / NEXT For as long as I can remember, the Polyamory community has had a strangely sex negative segment that was largely born of the desire to distance themselves as much as possible from the widespread assumptions by people outside of the community that polyamory was all about fucking around indiscriminately. It’s […]

Deviant Life #33 — Discerning Deviant

“Polyamory” – Freya’s Chambers – Sexual Orientation — The Grey Wayfarer

Happy Frigg and Freya’s Day Disclaimer: The topics covered in Freya’s Chambers include serious discussions of sex, sexuality and related issues. If it isn’t your thing; you can move along, otherwise enjoy and feel free to discuss. Given the nature of some subjects be prepared for nude images as there may be some. I avoid […]

“Polyamory” – Freya’s Chambers – Sexual Orientation — The Grey Wayfarer

Nude Photography – Sex and Art and Love and Lust

This is a reblog of an earlier posting from 2011. A lot has changed in eight or nine years, including my experience of a sense of broken trust with my wife of somn years.

The truth is that I was fooling myself, in believing that my wife was okay with my photo shoots with nude models. The only thing she was okay with was not talking about it, or expressing her feelings on the subject. This is now over, and she is quite vocal about her point of view, which is negative in general, and frustrated in particular.

She honestly believes that she never agreed to the terms of our marriage as I understood them, almost forty years ago. The whole idea of “open marriage” or a “poly” relationship is fundamentally offensive to her sense of what is necessary for a marriage to work, ultimately. Today, while we continue to cohabitate, she no longer considers our marriage valid, and considers herself to be unmarried, or perhaps, never really married at all.

In some ways things are actually better between us, in that she is now open to express her honestly held beliefs and her emotions. Now we’re both somewhat bitter about the whole thing, and yet still are trying to find a way to function as a couple.

Life is funny. Despite everything we love each other. Can’t always stand each other, but still have deep affection and respect. We just don’t agree on marital fidelity and a lot of other things. At the heart of it, I’m the one incapable of cleaving to one and only one woman. She’s convinced that it is a function of my inability to really trust anyone completely. She might be right. But just saying it doesn’t change it for me, and it doesn’t resolve it for her.

So. Limbo.

Out Here in Paradise

A close friend of mine, a photographer in Vancouver, with well-developed skills and a wonderful eye, is struggling with a major conflict between his intimate relationship with a long-term woman partner and his even longer term artistic exploration of the female form through nude photography.

I think it’s important to define both – what I mean by an intimate relationship with his partner, and what I mean by nude photography.  They may both seem pretty self-evident, but trust me when I tell you that neither is as simple as it seems.

My friend is struggling because his wife of about a year is absolutely mortified that her husband wants to take pictures of naked women, and spend time in intimate situations with naked women who are not her.  This is despite the fact that her husband, before marriage, was one of the best known local boudoir photographers in…

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Nude Photography – Sex and Art and Love and Lust

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A close friend of mine, a photographer in Vancouver, with well-developed skills and a wonderful eye, is struggling with a major conflict between his intimate relationship with a long-term woman partner and his even longer term artistic exploration of the … Continue reading

A letter from mother on my birthday

3511 Mahon Ave. North Vancouver,B.C.

June 25,1984. Dear Bruce,

Mom

Ready to try again

So you are thirty-one years old today. It hardly seems possible because the events of the day you were born are still as vivid in my mind as if  the whole thing had happened just a year or so ago.

Your dad was out of town, on the road, and his father and stepmother  had agreed to come and get your two sisters and look after them when it was  time for me to go to the hospital. However, their understanding of when they  should come obviously did not square with mine. I phoned them at about eight  o’clock in the morning to tell them that I was having labor pains and would  like them to come for the girls. They said they would come as soon as Art got  home from work … after five o’clock.

Naturally this caused me some concern because the only person that was available to look after the girls on an interim basis was the new tenant in the other half of our duplex, a who I scarcely knew. So I waited, and waited, becoming more and more frightened, until about four o’clock, at which point my pains were  scarcely one minute apart.  I can still  remember the frightened faces of your two sisters as I left, with them crying, and  the new neighbor obviously unhappy about this turn of events.

It was a good thing  that I did not delay any longer, because as it turned out, you were the only one of my children who would not have been born easily without assistance. You were a frontal delivery, and required some expert manipulation in order to be born without any damage. The procedure is also rather painful, and my concern for my two older children probably added an extra level of tension.

When you finally arrived about 8.30 P.M., you were just fine …no severe bruising, just a slightly elongated head, which the doctor assured me would shortly resume its normal shape (which it did.)

Your dad did not get to see you until you were almost two days old, although he did come back early on the Friday. (You were born on a Wednesday.) He also reclaimed our little girls from their relieved grandparents, and looked after them until I returned home when you were five days old.

During the weekend while I was in the hospital I was deluged with flowers and gifts for you from
all your dad’s relatives, who were absolutely delighted that we had finally managed to produce a boy. They arrived in droves to inspect you and declared that you were very nice. However, once I returned home they disappeared into whatever limbo they had occupied before …many of them I didn’t see again for years.

However, you certainly were given a royal reception to the clan!