Time and again I find that some of the most interesting things that happen to me are sexual experiences, or experiences I've had in the pursuit of sex and intimacy. I feel an urge sometimes to write down some of these things, but a certain fastidiousness makes me hesitate. Since my sexual encounters tend to run on the debauched or excessive side, it seems difficult, if not impossible for me to convey these incidents without sounding vulgar or prurient, or without giving the impression (whether rightly or wrongly) that I am a sexual compulsive, or a pervert, or an alcoholic or a drug fiend, or something worse.
Moreover, I don't really have any descriptive language to draw on except the language of pornography, or - even worse - the language of the clinician. And even if I did manage to invent the kind of elegant language I envision that would be required to relate these incidents - a daunting task in itself - even then, I would run the risk of being misunderstood, judged, etc.
But, um, who gives a shit, Martha? After all, some day I'll be all dust and ashes - or, put another way, there will be no "I" to be thought well or poorly of, and all that will be left are these words, if that much. Again, not trying to be maudlin, just stating the facts to put things in perspective.
Some of the thoughts and ideas that arise from these incidents are quite interesting, or at the very least they have some value because they are simply true, because they really happened, and because they were filtered through my consciousness and burned to their essences as though by an acidic compound.
So, in spite of all these obstacles and baffles and scruples I've manufactured for myself, all I can do is try, one sentence at a time. Or not.
