Sex with a lover
“I want you inside me,” she purred.
We rolled around for the next 20 minutes finally landing in her favorite position. Her straddling me, touching herself, me inside of the tight other place and touching her breasts. This position always enticed a low seismic moan out of her as she felt the sensations she had always wanted.
I didn’t want to give up these incredible minutes, the best sex of my life. But I have to admit, looking back, while she was my lover I would have rather been her flame.
Lovers are the ones you have wild sex with. The ones that you are so hot for, there is simply no need for words, unless you are talking dirty. Lovers have to clear a sexual bar to become lovers: you have to make love.
But lovers aren’t flames and flames aren’t lovers. We make someone a lover when we are attracted so wildly that we want them no matter what. The “no matter what” is important here. It means that we overlook their faults, the heat goes to our head, and other parts of our anatomy and we experience a kind of heat stroke.
We don’t notice what is likely a long list of real life hurdles between us and instead head straight to bed.
In this case I summarily and instantly ignored that she was lousy at business, didn’t like people, couldn’t carry on a conversation and was more opinionated than a fundamentalist.
Amidst the whooping and hollering in bed, the kitchen counter, the sofa and behind the oak tree in the rest area, I forgot all that. I abandoned what was important to me day-to-day and invested my attention and heart in her willingness to have every kind of sex with me anytime anywhere.
But it isn’t really just the sex I wanted, there is something about being totally irresponsible, immature and leaving the cares of the world behind. That is what she offered me and I bit down hard.
My criteria for a flame is so much higher than it is for a lover. They just aren’t likely to be the same person. And though in the middle of heat stroke I convince myself that my lover is my flame, they aren’t.
A lover is an empty canvass where idealization will paint something imaginary, where you don’t have to answer to the grind—Camelot, with no bills to pay and all the men are tall with broad shoulders and all the women ageless and good looking.
Sex with a lover satisfies your body.
Sex with a flame
“A giant Brussels sprout ate my friend,” she said.
“A giant Brussels sprout ate my friend out,” I corrected.
Silly banter, that is what that is, and two sentences that have probably never been said before only different by one word, but as different as can be.
That’s the sort of banter we would like to have with a lover but that shows up naturally with a flame, punctuated by the unpressurized laughter that flames share.
We trust a flame, we call on a flame when our car breaks down or we need money, above all a flame is who we want there, should we find ourselves on our death bed.
A flame is the one who makes our life richer, our thoughts lighter and our days delicious.
Sex with a flame is a little like cheating. Because we don’t have anything to prove, we don’t have to have sex to know we are totally connected. We have already arrived at a relationship worth having, and whether we have sex doesn’t matter.
We look right at a flame, right in the eye and we can’t see faults—because we want them the way they are. A mole that we might have to look away from on a lover’s back isn’t an issue on a flame.
We don’t have to worry about a flame leaving, they (and we) are having too much fun to leave. And even if they left they would still be here. Flames live in our heads and hearts because we want time with them and that time is itself fulfilling. We don’t have to vow to be with a flame forever, or sign a marriage certificate because we have reason to want to be with them.
We don’t have to hamster away time or money from a flame because what is ours is theirs.
A lover requires vows. As much as we imagine we will love them forever, when we are in the heat of passion, we are likely to hate them when it comes to balancing the check book or working out the logistics of anything but hot sex.
Sex/time with a flame satisfies your soul.
We attempt to upgrade a lover to a flame—and always fail. We would never downgrade a flame to a lover anymore than we would try and talk our way out of first class on the long flight to Aukland.
Love is the triumph of illusion over everything—and we love that sort of magic. A flame is the burning away of imagination and the embracing of what is really here; the ongoing discovery that life is better when we are laughing together and shaking our heads at how nutty we are.
Love is a fairy tale, which when you return to life breaks your heart, ripping your childish imaginings to shreds.
Friends are closer to flames than lovers are. Friends are when you share interests, are lined up in intelligence, play tennis together or share an interest in eating raw and delicious food. Friends have a great time together but often fake laugh, fake cry and share partially.
Flames burn up the place, setting fire to anything between the two of them so that their hearts beat as one. Flames don’t have borders or boundaries; they aren’t ever offended because they burn as one, revealing idealization and illusion as weak bonds.
Make love to lovers, share time with friends and fulfill your life with flames.
Author: Jerry Stocking
Editor: Travis May
Image: Natalia Drepina/Deviantart