Sound and Fury
I find voices distracting. The spoken word pulls my ear and demands that I pay attention, process the information and from there, decide if it is worth listening to. Sex talk is the worst because I find myself analyzing what they are saying and why they are choosing the words and phrases that they do. I never come up with answers during this onslaught of obscenity that will constitute forgiveness for the offense against my psyche.
In its own way, it is a form of aural rape. It is verbal sexual dominance by objectifying and degrading the partner. You are no longer the source of love, passion or adoration but an archetype of sexual power that must be reduced to a caricature of sexuality. In short, you are a symbol of refined art that is having garbage thrown at it because the barbarian feels threatened by his painful awareness of his own ignorance in the presence of it. Some women enjoy listening to this. Of course, some women enjoy being treated like this, also. And the bottom line is that I am not one of these women nor will I ever be.
And perhaps that is why I like gags so much. It will not keep them silent but it will reduce them to the delightful grunts and groans of an animal which is more in keeping with their animal desires in these moments. The gag reduces them to monosyllabic grunts and strips them naked of potential lies, promises and vulgarities. Their eyes tell me everything and even the reserved ones become a cacophony of dialogue with their gaze. Theirs are the sounds of a powerful engine revving at high speeds, waiting only to be connected to the drive train so that it can explode into action.
And here I will be found, whispering the filthiest vulgarities into his ear. Pouring obscene descriptions and reducing him to the lowest form of social scum, I am relentless in my sexually pedantic tirade. I know these words are familiar to him and I want him to experience the power of the spoken word. He will feel the lashings against the soul when the obscene offerings travel along a path of bridled hostility; and when they are offered with seductive encouragement, the liberation of unexpected pardon from his moral prison sentence.
His mind and body are a symphony of building tensions and breaking crescendos as I play the invisible strings tethered to his agonies and ecstasies with the careful composition of words I conduct through his aural chambers. His psyche dances for me like a puppet on a string, helpless and waiting for the next controlling direction from my hand or mouth. Each vulgar description and each obscene command spins and pivots him in a frenzied tango during the embrace of my unforgiving attentions. He is lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and I am the calm eye in the center that he gravitates sensationally around.
The power of his speech is rendered impotent only by mechanical barrier and his denied power must find an expression. It is circumvented into me like an electrical charge looking for ground and my words are illuminated with his frustrated energy. I feed them back to him and create an intoxicating loop of dynamic power exchange. The tables are turned, and now he is the subject of vulgar assault. He is the formidable presence that will be reduced to nothing more than a receptacle for longing and frustration. Inside the vestibule of his true sexuality, I smash deceptive mirrors with sound and fury. I will not tolerate villainous lies and lubricious promises. He will stand before me naked and honest; completely or not at all.
In its own way, it is a form of aural rape. It is verbal sexual dominance by objectifying and degrading the partner. You are no longer the source of love, passion or adoration but an archetype of sexual power that must be reduced to a caricature of sexuality. In short, you are a symbol of refined art that is having garbage thrown at it because the barbarian feels threatened by his painful awareness of his own ignorance in the presence of it. Some women enjoy listening to this. Of course, some women enjoy being treated like this, also. And the bottom line is that I am not one of these women nor will I ever be.
And perhaps that is why I like gags so much. It will not keep them silent but it will reduce them to the delightful grunts and groans of an animal which is more in keeping with their animal desires in these moments. The gag reduces them to monosyllabic grunts and strips them naked of potential lies, promises and vulgarities. Their eyes tell me everything and even the reserved ones become a cacophony of dialogue with their gaze. Theirs are the sounds of a powerful engine revving at high speeds, waiting only to be connected to the drive train so that it can explode into action.
And here I will be found, whispering the filthiest vulgarities into his ear. Pouring obscene descriptions and reducing him to the lowest form of social scum, I am relentless in my sexually pedantic tirade. I know these words are familiar to him and I want him to experience the power of the spoken word. He will feel the lashings against the soul when the obscene offerings travel along a path of bridled hostility; and when they are offered with seductive encouragement, the liberation of unexpected pardon from his moral prison sentence.
His mind and body are a symphony of building tensions and breaking crescendos as I play the invisible strings tethered to his agonies and ecstasies with the careful composition of words I conduct through his aural chambers. His psyche dances for me like a puppet on a string, helpless and waiting for the next controlling direction from my hand or mouth. Each vulgar description and each obscene command spins and pivots him in a frenzied tango during the embrace of my unforgiving attentions. He is lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and I am the calm eye in the center that he gravitates sensationally around.
The power of his speech is rendered impotent only by mechanical barrier and his denied power must find an expression. It is circumvented into me like an electrical charge looking for ground and my words are illuminated with his frustrated energy. I feed them back to him and create an intoxicating loop of dynamic power exchange. The tables are turned, and now he is the subject of vulgar assault. He is the formidable presence that will be reduced to nothing more than a receptacle for longing and frustration. Inside the vestibule of his true sexuality, I smash deceptive mirrors with sound and fury. I will not tolerate villainous lies and lubricious promises. He will stand before me naked and honest; completely or not at all.
posted by Samois at 8:46 AM
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