An introduction

I've always felt that sex was more important to me than most. Vital, even. Not only the act of sex, but the vast and ever-broadening spectrum of sensuality and sexual expression. I grew up feeling like a constant nuisance (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵) to those around me, because even though I didn't have a name for it, I 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 it so well. I felt it around and within me all the time. I wanted to talk about it to anyone who would listen.

I had an orgasm while riding the bus.

And in the morning, while washing an orange.

And after taking the first bite of it. 

Its juice, mild and sweet, running down my chin, onto my wrists.

To describe what pleasure truly means to me would take an incredibly long time. A lifetime, maybe. I can feel myself getting annoying to people whenever I try. I can't help but wonder, if it felt to them the way it feels to me, wouldn't they be able to think or talk about anything else?

I can, however, describe an orgasm as the closest to God that I have ever been. I can feel a whole world growing inside of me, like I was the one who created the garden of Eden. As if I were the one who took the first bite of forbidden fruit. Like tasting it, and feeling its juice running down my chin and onto my wrists, was worth the destruction of all of humanity. Like I need to create another day of the week for resting only.

An orgasm feels like wetting my hand and wrapping my fingers around an exposed live wire. Feeling the initial shock, the brazen sharpness of it. And then a pulsing of the current. Spreading from my lower abdomen, through my nerves, and out of my skin. Static kisses the small hairs covering my body, making them stand. It feels as though I've been pierced through-and-through by a lightning bolt. It leaves a glowing, orange warmth permeating from my chest, to my finger and toe-tips. Tingling and ringing through me. Resonating. For a few moments after, I am like a human body without flesh. Without muscle, or tendons, or bone. A walking nervous system. An orb of consciousness that looks and feels like me, floating down and returning my spirit to my flesh.

I can't wrap my brain around how I can be so filled with need for something I can hardly handle. Sex makes me feel like I could physically come apart, in the most decadent way. Imagine waiting in line for a rollercoaster that both frightens and thrills you. At last, you're on top of the hill, anticipating, biting at your lips. You come rushing down, floating in mid-air for what seems like forever. Eventually the cart comes to a screeching halt. Your hair is filled with static and floating about your head. There is nothing else to do besides sit for a few seconds in absolute rapture, thinking to yourself: 

What is there besides this feeling?

S.C