Elaine Miller
Prose for Spike.
I Love Your Mind, by Elaine Miller
I could say your mind is your sexiext part, but that
sounds so cliched -- and brings up unsavoury images of brains in jars
pulsing in time to the mad scientist's maniacal laughter. Look, this is a
hard concept to explain. Either you get it or you don't, and there's no
single word for it. Here's the concept:
My sexuality is complex enough that I would have to explain it to to most anyone I wanted to get off with. And that still wouldn't work. You need to be brought into the community of perverts for the language and the customs to set in, for the meanings to become clear, for the subliminal fucking information that passes between us to make sense. Only a leatherdyke understands another leatherdyke -- and I hear there's regional variations as well. After a while you get sick of leading someone by the hand until they understand enough to do a little formal dance of perverted fucking desire. Little teeny baby steps of kink. First tottering steps on the path to perversion. But they may have a long way to go, to be on the inside of our little club. I'm a homosexual and that's named after my desire for my own kind. And you're my kind.
See, it's the *knowing* that's so fucking sexy.
See, now that sounds banal at best. Almost as bad as folks who say that cyber sex is real sex, 'cause the only sex organ is the brain. Well, crack open my jar, my little mad scientist. I'd like to go for a ride. The real sex organ is your whole fucking body, and I'm Oh yes including your mind in that equation. Your sex organ is your skin, your greedy sucking mouth, your cunt stuffed full with my fist and your sweet ass. It's your clit, your whole right hand, and with leather straps pulled tight, it's your cock as well.
And still, it's your *knowing* that gets me off.
You know what I'm thinking when I play with my knife blade. You know what I mean when I point to the floor at my feet. I don't have to explain what I mean when I say "Ask me". But that's not it either. Those are tricks you can teach to anyone, even, it seems, a straight man.
It's a deeper level than that. You know what I mean, and you know what I want from you, and it's because you share my desires, you speak my language, you're my kind. You think, and you think gloriously well. I don't want a body to practise atrocities on, I want a peer in perversion, a more-than-willing partner in sexcrime.
Simple acquiesence could never be enough. Grudging acceptance is a tease. A dawning sense of 'rightness' is fine, but I don't wanna wait around. You're up to speed. You're right there with me. That is so fucking hot.
Fucking pervert. Fucking bright and thoughful, wise and witty pervert.
Fucking A.
