[WARNING:Mom, you may not want to read this one, either.]
Ok, so seeing as how I’m now the “Resident Sex Fiend” here at this mag, I was given a challenge. The Editor-in-Chief asked if I would know love from a hole in the ground. I most definitely would, since I have actually fallen in love (twice, if you must know, and unrequited both times, dammit!), and unlike him, I have emotions. Other than the two falls, I’m pretty sure I’ve stepped in love a few times too, at least that’s what the gunk smells like. Trust me, it ain’t Teen Spirit, that’s for sure.
But how do you know that what your feeling is love? How do you reconcile the fact that you are in love with someone? How do your wardrobes combine? This and more will be answered for you, faithful reader, so read on!
First off, I guess we need to define the emotion before we worry too much over whether or not we are feeling it. Love is a term that is way over used. All day, every day, you will hear people randomly state that they “love this” or “love that” or “love pug dogs” and we all know it’s just not true. They can have a true affinity and really enjoy whatever, but no one really loves that many things, and certainly not those smelly, faggy little balls of drool. (Note to Editor: I’m talking about a pug dog, not you!) So we have a basic misunderstanding in our society about what is and isn’t love. Even better, we are ashamed of our lust, so we like to hide it in the more socially acceptable guise of “love” or “love at first sight” or even “love in the afternoon”. We are so funny~!! Truth is, we just can’t stand that we don’t have more love.
But Love is important to us. It’s what binds our family together. It’s what keeps our friends in our thoughts. Hell, it’s what keeps us motivated to get up without a servant giving us coffee. For those of you with servants, Money gets you up, which is fine and dandy. Love is what we feel when we see the sunrise over the mountains or the ocean or our lovers’ butt. Love is real, and you can’t escape it. You can however, become confused, overwhelmed and turned about and think that what you are feeling is love, when in reality you are feeling a whip. Oooops, sorry, you’re feeling lust.
Now Lust is another game entirely. (And if you are up for the game, call our Editor, he’s “up” for it, anytime.) Lust is the Wednesday you flounce into B.S. and flash your smile at every cute AmberZombie you see, hoping to find someone for a tryst in the alley. Lust is when you breath heavily of a man’s cologne and realize that it’s ok for one night, but that stank has got a time limit! Lust is easy, and so are you when you are overwhelmed by it.
So it’s love or lust, and, for those of you who rode the short bus, we need to delineate between being felt, and being felt up.
The Candle Lit Dinner
Spending an evening with soft music and soft lighting can be romantic. Spending it with someone you actually care about can be love. Mind you, it’s not something that you instantly recognize. It’s something that builds for you, over time, causing you to realize that you have become entwined with this other person. Sitting in the dark, or semi-dark with him, you gaze into his eyes and realize that the future would be drab and dull, and much darker without him. You realize that you breathe at the same time as him, and watch his every move with anticipation for him to move to touch you. Even if it’s just to touch your hand. You watch, your eyes meet, and your lips ache to caress his. You realize, though you can barely see him, and you couldn’t care less what the food is, that you couldn’t be any happier, and wouldn’t trade this for the world. It’s love, and by god, you’ve waited long enough for this. You go, girl!
Spending an afternoon in a field or a lawn can almost be romantic. Spending it with someone cute can be a good thing, and quite possibly the beginnings of love. Mind you, his cuteness you instantly recognize. Duh! Then there’s something that “builds” for you, rather quickly, causing you to realize that you need to be entwined with him in the weeds. Schtupping like wild animals in the park, you gaze onto his back and realize that the future might be cold and lonley, yet less grassy without him. Still, he is kinda cute, but your thoughts need to stay with the matter at hand. You realize that you’re breathing faster, and his every move causes you to with anticipation for him to move to touch you. You decide it’s not so bad, and you’ll go along with it for now. This is not love, at least, not yet, but it does bode well, if you ever see him again. Go ahead, ask his name and number. Hell, give him yours! You go, girl!
The Chocolate Sauce
Spending the after-hours party in a strangers bedroom can be exciting. Spending it with people covered in chocolate sauce may do nothing good for your waistline, but who cares? Mind you, covering them in sauce is easy, whether it’s from you or the bottle. Just recognize that you don’t even know names, have no intentions of meeting families, and have told them you’re from Albania. While you spend time with various appendi covered in Hershey’s, you play safe and commingle well into the morning. This is lust, pure, unadulterated, chocolate covered, lick-me-thrice-and-call-me-finished lust. YOU GO GIRL~!
The Poetry Reading
Now, we all love poetry, it’s the verse that leads to music, to our hearts if not our ears. Sitting in a dimly lit little shop filled with denizens of the dark colored clothing, you can hears stories of hearts being rent by beasts more evil than any dragon, more forceful than any storm, more over-dressed than a Calvin Klein model. Find the heart strings of one of these injured beings is difficult, but rewarding in ways you’ve never experienced. When you find him looking at you with the longing of a soul ripped from it’s home, that’s love. When you hold him to you with the power of a thousand gods, that’s love. When you reach out to him with your heart across a crowded room and strengthen his resolve without missing a beat, that’s love. You can’t mask it, you can’t fake it, and it’s not something to be taken lightly. Nothing is light and airy in the poets world, so don’t mess with it, they won’t hesitate to kill you, and they are usually dressed for a funeral anyway.
The Coffee Shop
Now, we all love finding poetry, and we can find it in the trendy little non-Starbuck coffee shop that all the trendy bitchy people are frequenting. Usually, while there, we can find someone to play with for a while, and while it may be only a while, it’s worth your while. Well, now that you’re “while”-d out, I suggest looking for the hottie barista mixin up the lattes with that extra special flare. We call that poetry in motion, and if you play your cards right, you can have him motioning some poetry sans clothing with you. Plus, if you time it right, you can make sure that both of you are wired on caffeine and sugar and god knows what else as you head off to a poetic bliss. Love, probably not, unless you knew his name before hand, but definitely a possibility if you did.
Now, we all love a poet. I’m not being facetious or using the term out of hand. Ask anyone who is coupled, and if they say they are in love, their lover is invariably a poet. Axe wielding lumberjack by day? Poet by night. Number crunching bean counter at the office? Poet in the bedroom. Leather wearing, paddle swacking, master of your domain? Poet. It’s all about the feelings behind the action, especially the action with you. But does that mean that you are in love? Not usually, but you never can tell. I would have to give this one a big ol’ stamp of lust, quite frankly. I mean really, we all dream about dating someone romantic, who can sing of ripe olives without laughing, who can dream of tangerine skies with lavender storms, who can quote Shakespeare as he ties us up. Whatever the case may be, it’s a dream, a basis for lust more than love. I mean really, other than our Editor, who wants to be tied up on a daily basis?
[This article was originally published in Instinct Magazine in late 2001 or early 2002]