After Orgasms and Intimacy, We Share Our Humanity

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This is the third part in a series, inspired by life inside the 2009 Burning Man Poly Paradise.  The first part can be viewed here, the second part is here and the third is here.

Anything for art

In the Erodome. Photo by Eric Francis.

She now begged for her lover to ejaculate into her.  Or perhaps she encouraged him longingly.  I watched as he thrust his reality into her core, all breath and motion.

For me, witnessing male-female coitus is cosmic.  Erotic on a scale I never considered existed.  I began exploring first in my imagination.  Then, circumstances would manifest occasionally.  Unexpectedly, such as now.  His ass thrust between her thighs and the dome seemed to rock as he did so.

She moaned yes over and over a few times anticipating his release into her, and then he came, silently.  She seemed to reel back in the initial wave of his storm surge.  I was watching from behind and slightly beneath, and his shaft throbbed in that magnificent pumping as the semen entered her.  Everything about her received him, from her voice to her hands clasped around him, her hips tipped upward to collect a pool in the throat of her uterus.

Lucille’s awareness embraced this as well.  We watched together in that moment, astonished, beholding the primal scene.  He withdrew himself from her, leaving her semen filled vagina visible to us, and I gasped audibly.  My camera was still in my hands.  I said, may I please photograph you?

Sincerely and directly.

All I had to do was ask.  She reached down and spread her lips.

“Anything for art,” she said.

Where babies come from

Julia in the Erodome. Photo by Eric Francis.

This is approximately what Lucille and I were looking at.  We seemed to float in space.  No other presence around – my mental space shifted and I was joined in a trimind with Lucille and the the lady from Russia, who gazed at us languidly.  What we felt among us I can only describe as understanding.  On a level so deep it lacked any opposite; as if we were the last or only three on the world.

I could smell cunt and cum in a melange that resembled neither.  I softly clasped Lucille’s leg.  I wanted to lick and fuck what I was witnessing.  Yet at the same time I revered her self-possession and a boundary pierced only by awareness.  She pressed her fingers into her flesh, offering visceral delight.  Erotic yearning filled me with thirst.  I connected this vision to the creation of existence as caused and celebrated by the mixing of waters and breath in penetration.

I recognized two things, in a wave of each, richly blended at the center.  I was looking into the source of life; semen, freshly spurted into a vagina.  The vagina and vulva were wet with her own secretions and feeling full and strong from repeated thrusting, of which we had all been aware.  Received entirely, given fully, and laid open to all our beauty. Her beauty was our own. Her nature.

And, I was not the one to do this; not the one to have done this with her and not one who would.  I might want, yearn, crave, desire – but did not have.  I wanted to love and to swim in his seed in her soft marsh, first with my mouth and then and leave my own seed as well; but this was not to happen, and I let myself feel that.  I glanced at Lucille, young and fertile and alive, and needed to mount her.  I would not; despite her knees being pulled apart softly.  This was simply a silent understanding.  This, experienced with full recognition of her beauty: her lovers were herself and others besides me.

Therefore slipping into the reality that in this moment of encountering the fertile essence of human nature, I was encountering the other human nature.  I was thirsty for myself.  I understood, subtly, that I was allowing myself to be pressed into this corner of my feelings.

I subtly resented them for not being able to have them, and the moment I felt that, the feeling yielded to being deeply grateful that they provided me with a way in to my desperately complex matrix.  I felt them experience my submission to myself and my own ends.  Their approval flushed through the circuit that we all made. It was now my privilege or need to accept their grace.  I feared I would seem less in their eyes.  I felt to such pleasant surprise that in my willingness to accept myself, that I was only so much more.

She brought her thighs together slowly, swallowing the mix of anima and animus in her pelvis.  Voices from the street right outside the dome filtered into the late afternoon space.

(Posted at Book of Blue, here and here)

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