It seemed like a strange encounter at first. An uncrowded subway train, one man standing by a door reading off his phone when another man, walking half the distance of the car, holds his phone up for the other man to see as he maintains a wry smile. I can’t tell what is on the screen but in the moment it seems the two men do not know each other, and the first one politely and perhaps uncomfortably assesses whatever the content of the screen held in front of him. the man holding the phone never lets his grin weaken. After several moments the first man shrugs his shoulders and goes back to reading off his own phone. The other guy walks away. It seems to did know each other after all but the scenario of a stranger approaching another stranger and simply holding up some content on his phone in anticipation of a reaction was a weird one.
I walked into this room today and, heterosexual that I am, I felt the gravitational pull of my eyes toward a woman’s ass. I looked as long as necessary to imagine what it looked and felt like underneath its thin layers of covering. Then I looked away. The mental transaction could not have lasted ore than 2 full seconds, but it reminded me of similar reflexes which occurred during times of duress or pain. In Central Park I once ingested a small insect, probably just a gnat but it felt like I’d inhaled a full hornet’s nest. I managed to stay esophagally continent but the line between vomiting and not vomiting was an thin as a gnat’s asshair. As this bodily inner eructation showed no signs of abating I saw woman jogger with the sweetest legs I could imagine ever existing pass me by, and through the crowded tangled tendrils of internal discontent I fixed my eyes on those peaceful, beautiful stalks of womanhood, long enough to appreciate and from a distant corner of my mind I wished I could somehow communicate to her my admiration. But in the next seconds she was gone, disappeared into the gullet of the park’s passages and invisibilities.
Something similar happened with the last woman I was with. She was prone to seizures and I had the dubious opportunity to experience one of them. I vacillated between insisting I take her to a hospital and listening to her own preemptive dismissal of that suggestion, but during a shortness of breath or a particularly violent moment of shaking her eyes would dart to my cock (I was almost always naked with her) and she would hold it for a few seconds at a time before concentrating on her seizure. When it finally ended she asked if I’d noticed how she almost never looked away from my cock. Yes, I noticed, even when you were not holding it you were looking for it. “Heterosexuality at its finest”, I remarked. She did not even laugh at that.
I’ve known other woman who have recounted to me how they think about cock almost continuously. One woman I remember said she knew she wanted it before even knowing what it was. When she was 6 or 7 years old she would look at mens’ pants and somehow she just knew she wanted in. She talked about it in ways that made me cry, it was so eloquent and sincere.
I feel like if I talk about this sort of instincive reflex behavior and mental rabbit holes I’ll be deemed a pig.
