Why is it so easy to watch flesh go by as flesh, realizing nothing more than the curvature or the color, imagining the unseen flesh as if it were more than fantasy, but a separate, additional reality? Why is it so simple to imagine a touch, a caress, totally unrealistic in its texture, or even to guess at a flavor -- the flavor of skin?
One image brings back a memory not fully recalled, and that memory stirs arousal. Maybe that's a cause. Or maybe some biological tendency towards a positive reaction to something unusual -- that's possible. Or maybe a constant flood of information drifting to and fro between bundles of neurons, connecting to the body's pheromone sensors, causes an overflow of emotional attachment to a particular image, odor, sound, taste or texture from time to time.
An old Fugazi once said, "Why can't I walk down a street free of suggestion?" Fugazi was referring to overemphasis of the physical attributes of any given person in people's minds. My question is, "Why can't I walk down a street free of suggesting?" Why can't I stop myself?
But that's pessimistic, even for a card-carrying pessimist. I can stop myself, just not permanently, apparently. I work on a case by case basis.
Anyway, where you are a sex addict, so am I. Where you are a drug addict, I have a problem also. Where you have committed murder, I too am guilty. Where you have committed rape, I too have given in to the violent indulgences of lust. And so has everyone else. We are all just as responsible for the crimes of the worst person in the world as he is, but every person is capable of change as long as we realize we're all in this cesspool of human nature together. (I'm almost certain the worst person in the world is a man.)
Animus breathes deeply and breeds rapidly, but I guess that's only because I care.
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