By Miss Jamie Evans, Illustrated by Chris Beyond

Lust is fodder for the fire of gratification, the kindling for masturbation. The catalyst for every human emotion. Raw. Combustible. Insatiable.

I once had a lover who preformed all sexual acts with his eyes closed, fumbling around like a blind man who has lost his guide dog and made a wrong turn near a woman's vagina. I got off watching him, as he'd grope around in his own dark little world until the beads of sweat would roll down over his closed eyelids and my body would buckle in pleasure. It wasn't love. It was a one night stand that extended into six months of god knows what and ended with little fanfare. No goodbye, no cluster-fuck scream match...just a clean break as though it had never happened.

We are brought up under the illusion that sex is a melding experience. The birds and the bees speech is formulaic in its teaching. "Two people who love each other...blah-bitty-blah-bitty-blah." Bullshit. Parents never sit their children down and explain that when the hormones surge they'll want to fuck anything that moves. And fuck they will, and unsatisfied they'll be. They'll press forward wanting to feed the carnal cravings only to find themselves lowering the bar after each conquest. Lust comes at a price. Lust has become the new definition of love. Who knows what love is? I don't personally pretend to know. I doubt that I've ever experienced it, at least in a sexual relationship. Furthermore, I like to think that if I had I would have known. Attachment is too often mistaken for love. We lose sight of searching for a true connection and focus too much of our precious time and energy into recruiting our next fuck.

We all have our eyes closed during the act of sex. It is not in fact, some glorious cosmic union. We screw our partners while each in our own little world. "We" do not become "I". We feed of off them like vampires. Lusting for the sight, smell, taste and touch of another human. Desperate for some sort of alliance, but more often than not settling for mere attachment. The concept of love is in a sorry state of affairs. We are all searching in the wrong places, with the wrong people. And yet most of us are still too afraid to open our eyes.


The End.


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