Sex at the heart

So to the girls I was with, I was a boy, but from another planet.

Since I was seen as a discoverer of worlds, I took on the role with fervour.

Subsequently, in my heterosexual relationships, I was, in the course of these shared moments, progressively exalted by the sexual attributes of women.

Everything that made us so different, their breasts, their sex, their buttocks, all seemed great to me.

Not that I felt this way because of a depreciatory comparison with my own body, nor with that of my peers. On the contrary, and this is perhaps what made me special, and partly appreciated by the girls. I discovered myself physically with all the more enthusiasm that I liked their bodies. I simply found it fantastic that there were women, men, monkeys... an infinite variety of living beings whose notorious differences from my own individual did not in any way call into question my sense of legitimacy as a being. Through me, men and women seemed equally lovable, and it was their propensity to define me that formed a large part of our bond. I am speaking here exclusively of the sexual aspect of my identity and my perception of bodies. It would be simplistic to try to describe here all the extraordinarily constructive and totally destructive exchanges between us during all these periods. As with all couples' relationships, whether they were simultaneously multiple or bisexual, as was my case, did not exclude the gentle banality of daily exchanges, social life, the common discovery of the world and shared dialectical moments.

But the concrete terrain of my discoveries remained, above all, the bodies. It is through them that I travelled and still travel, on the unfortunately terribly conditional condition that the imaginary is at the level of the ass; a terrible handicap that this necessity when it comes to concretely meeting others.

I then entered into the resolutely macrographic contemplation of vaginas, labia, hair, penises, anuses, testicles, clitorises. I smelled the odours, memorised the grains of skin. I rejoiced in each of my journeys through the sumptuous landscapes of bodies. Of course, at the end of the journey, there were our pleasures; mine, theirs, sometimes thunderous, sometimes modest according to the moods and the times, but I must say that the cinematographic voyeurism of these immense organs was and still is as dear to me as the suave penetrations, as the wet caresses. I have tried to say this in these terms in my poetic prose for the stage in The Sleeping Fleece:

How I am touched by this skin! The soft and mobile skin under the finger, with the moist heat of the shaved testicle, similar to that of the labia majora, moving and moving like an earthworm emerging from the earth, retractable on contact with the finger; I love the humanistic emotion that animates the skin of our sexes like the most pacified earth of our armed body.

And it is true; that is how I see things. It is with the same passionate and attentive gaze that, as a child, I would fly over my Napoleonic troops caught up in the chaos of war on the huge battlefield of my trestle table. In a similar way, I would dangerously crawl into the world of plastic dinosaurs dimly lit by a bedside lamp on the carpet.

The body is a stage, a set, a playground and each new sex and intimate nooks and crannies of our skins, the latest toys, suitable for unleashing passions and the imagination.

The buttocks are mountains to climb; the pussies, caves to explore; the lips, sources of moisture where, thirsty from our exhausting journeys, we come to drink or quietly hydrate our yards; the glans of the male sexes, finally, sweet bottles to soothe anguish and give strength to the appetite for conquest.

What lover or mistress hasn't experienced this?

Alas, abandoning the childhood of desire, the sinister social relationship arrives one day under the pressure of the Couple, wanting to be a functional Identity and not only but royally, a Union of bodies.

Then comes for the lovers, the time of the serious decision to let the pure animal bond spoil or not. He, fragile and discreet as much as he was tempestuous, threatens, feeling the bodies covered with the cloak of serious as well as responsible relationships, to take his leave of the soon to be glorious ex-lovers.