THE SEX (Or whatever you kids call it these days)

I am a reasonably attractive woman in my early twenties, and I hvae been sexually active for close to six years now.

I have recently been forced to acknowledge, very much against my will, how incredibly spoilt I am in this respect, and how much I take THE SEX for granted.

How, you may ask, did I come upon this particular epiphany?
Like you havent guessed.

Ever since I accepted the first sexual advances of my first boyfriend (GAWD that was so long ago) I hvae never had to pine for, well to put it bluntly, action. It has always been freely available, for me to chose to indulge in or refuse out of sheer moodiness. It was something that I never had to think about and never had to wait to long to get.

Though thinking about it, I hvae to admit, it wasnt the THE SEX as much as it was the motivation behind it. I am thoroughly addicted to feeling wanted. To being desired with such passion and fire that THE SEX becomes all the man Im with can think about. That dinners are left unfinished, clothes torn, work ignored (temporarily ot otherwise) and good sense and responsibility are simply forgotten in the all consuming passion that comes with THE SEX.

It wasnt always one sided of course. Too often, it has been me that was abysmally late for work because the man I loved stroked my bare shoulder a little too suggestively as I was heading for the door.

The problem, with where I am now and with who, isnt that THE SEX has disappeared, its that the passion just never was. THE SEX is good and absorbing enough as its happening, but... Its not copmpelling. Its not consuming. Its not... THE SEX.

Its just sex.

A List

The room was at the end of a long corridor, but i could hear the screams and shouts quite clearly. They would not deter me though, and I set out towards the door, gripping my clipboard firmly, adjusting the pen in my pocket, smoothing back any stray strand that might have escaped my tightly coiled hair. I stopped in front of the door, re affiring the stiffness in my back, setting the stone in my heart before i stepped in. There were more of them there than i had thought, but i didnt let it show on my face, that they had surprised me. There were the old men, and the young ones, the light skinned and the dark, the small girls and the awkward adolescents, and they had to be sorted.

They didnt notice me though, their focus was far away, their eyes watching a distant field hungrily. Every drop of blood and essence of being was tied up in the happenings in another place that most of them had never seen, and probably never would.

"Attention" I called out, stratling those closest to me, but registering just barely to those farther away, "I have come to divide you into groups. When I call out your category please raise your hand."

My announcement was met with a soft wave of confused mummurs, but I had got their attention.

"Muslim" I called out, "will all the muslims please raise their hands?"

They exchanged confused glances and whispered amongst themselves, but no one raised a hand.

"Hindu" I caled out quickly, slightly flustered by the response, "will all the hindus please raise their hands?"

I glared expectantly at my audience, but they held my gaze with an openly bewildered one of their own. They clearly had no idea what I was talking about. My training had never covered such a situation, and I could feel the panic begining to rise in my throat.

"Sikh?" I called out hopefully, "Christian? Jain? Parsi?"

I surveyed my now silent, and mildly amused audience with growing desperation, i had to put something on my clipboard.

"How can there be no hindus or muslims? You," I pointed to an old man hunched over a stick, "What are you?"

He looked blankly at me for a moment, before shaking his head sadly.

"You," I pointed, "or you! You! Someone has to tell me what you are!"

A light tapping on my wrist halted my fervour. I looked down into the wizened face of the old man I had first targeted. He smiled at me kindly, like one would at a child who is asking obvious questions of busy adults.

"We dont know," he told me softly, stroking my hand gently, "we dont remember. We dont care. The match is on."

Stars

You are happy. Content. You have found what you were looking for your whole life, and I have never been new to you. A part of you for forever. I fit inside your head.

A prisoner?

Certainly. I have no choice it seems in how we are. What we are. I exist inside the bubble you have created for yourself, and my unwillingness to be exactly what you have always wanted has no effect at all on reality or what it is that I could possibly want in my future.

A future with you?

How does it matter. I have a plan that I can live by, one that you have created and will probably amend and construct as you see fit. I have never been asked, and I suppose you could say that I never volunteered any opinions.

I was waiting, because I thought you might want to know what I wanted.

You decided to dispense with the first year of us, you went straight to comfort and familiarity and I have been floating around behind you, a kite on a string in a soft breeze. No option, no recourse just a thin tie to the person way below me, who holds entwined in his fingers my entire life.

You seem to think I want the same things that you do, that I’m at the same place that you are. That I am you.

The rush is what I live for. After its over I leave because I hate the tedium of being in love with someone so completely that its ok that things aren’t perfect. I hate that sex becomes something that has been pre-discussed and routine. I never stay after the rush is over. There is never anything to stay for.

I had decided to stay for you. I had decided that you were going to be worth growing old and boring and completely oblivious to the demands of youth and the thirst for constant excitement and action with.

So you are killing us before we even started. I hate that you have an iron clad reason for me to be alone. You sleep three inches away from me and I couldn’t reach across the distance and touch you to save me from choking to death on the thick loneliness that suffocates me every time I stop moving.

You are in this alone honey, and you have made it so that I could never tell you how much I will miss you. How much I already do.

You might as well say goodbye. You asked me to leave before I decided to stay. You sent me away because you knew I was coming.

i wont cry for you baby. You never let me feel enough to cry. You never let me be a part of you and me. You never let me be me.

I am the girl you wanted. I hope that you will be happy with her, for as long as she exists.

Prophecy

Somewhere in a little house
On the plains and greens that surround you
Under a blue sky
I wander and wait
My heart in a cloth bag
I drag along behind me


Along these lonely streets
Somewhere
There is a door that will open
And I will find you
Looking for me