Off-color: An unsent letter

Warning: may not be suitable for sensitive readers

I know how it goes. We have so much cultural artifact that tells a man that 'you are not a man, that it is un-manly, for you to fuck a girl without being on top.' And the other way, from behind, we name that after a dog, and by so doing we slyly call the girl a bitch, to the nervous chuckling of our collective masculine subconscious.

Whatever. If we both like it, if that's what she's hungry for, that is enough, I always thought.

But with this one, it's much different. With this one, the rhetoric is reversed.

She is the sky, the towering, over-arching, limitless and dominant sky, her breasts the heavy fulness of ponderous moon and all -eclipsing sun, her skin the soft endlessness of pale clouds, nipples that color and sharpen like stars, hair that echoes the wind in the trees painted by the setting sun.

Dominate, in this sense, is as much a reference to a soaring dome, as it is to ownership. If we follow in this vein, the brown of my skin and the impenetrable tangle of my dark, coarse hair is then the mysterious, fearsome and captivating 'feminine' darkness to her bright, clear, overpowering and 'masculine' light. Dark, brown earth, bright, clear sky.

That, too, is a myth and a trap to be wary of; to be fixated on details like this is to be voluntarily shackled. There's always something more.

best,

paulmonster-closeted