Hot, steamy, dripping, drenched and soaking wet, I am high on an ecstasy that is my own.
Music dances through me—slow, fast, rhythmic, pulsating, soothing, igniting, erupting, I explode.
Lost in music, I find my soul, an honesty that surprises me and excites the recipient, startled.
Barely clad in black, steam vapors rise from his pale, white skin, now glowing lava red from pure unadulterated exertion fueled by his passionate dance.
Sighting him in the corner, spontaneously I am moved to quench his thirst while fanning his flame and stoking mine.
With a cascade of water, I anoint him.
Fully present and aware of my actions, uninhibited, Spirit moves me atop him where we immediately we embrace, bathing each other with our salty, sweaty strength, through the rising power of exploratory touch.
In this moment, Now is all there is.
Recognition, realization and acknowledgment give way to freedom.
In abundant self-expression, I toss my head back in primal guttural laughter, allowing myself to be appreciated —as I deserve to be.
At the crossroads of lust, the voice of hesitation, parading around as responsible reason whispers in our ear, and together we separate and enter into a state of blissful, individual retreat.
Now I wonder, can my imagination trigger fantasy, threatening to ruin the sacredness of our brief encounter of aliveness?
Certainly, only though, if I choose to be seduced by the machinations of my conditioned, expectant mind.
Like elephant journal on Facebook.
Ed: Brianna Bemel