Spring the Lock

Sometimes there is wonderful writing on Stickman and sometimes there is garbage. You can feel pleasure at the quality of Korski's work, and then feel a disgust at something I recently read of a submission referring to "man" and "woman." The writer kept talking about his "cock" but he himself was a "prick." His words were so lacking in feeling they were a form of pornography, without any redeeming quality. Real man and woman, to me, contain heart, not just hanging appendages. Sex by itself is fine, and I enjoy reading some submissions of pure carnal mongering. Sometimes, though, something has been turned on after the flames turn off.

Most of us want pleasure, but then also an aftermath that wonders about and wants more behind the smile. The tale usually turns sad because the man wants something deeper which the lass cannot provide for many reasons. Self-deception can be a withering thing to read, but it also draws a reader's compassion because it is so common a part of the human condition, and the underlying motivation is a desire to connect to another human being, to feel the sweet emotions after release.

The best writing to me on this site seems united by a desire to communicate truth. This is not so easy because illusions are sometimes exposed. Writing about oneself usually involves less than heroic cast. It is the self-exposure, however, that can be powerful. The recent essay by Stick on retreat into Western ways is an example. It described a certain failure to assimilate that was its truth, but because it did not flinch from this idea, merit was established and the reader was touched.

Dana has contributed vastly to this site. I have personally e-mailed him when his writing has, in my opinion, been a pleasure to read. I would suggest he sometimes writes too much and too quickly. Not every impulse can be a gem. I would also like to read more of his life in America to contrast his Thai pursuits. And I would like to see less talk of "fan clubs" and more of his inner doubts and insecurities that speak to "the truth thing."

It is hard to know what the reader responds to. In my most recent submission I wrote of a crisis involving temptation versus preserving a relationship with my Filipina wife. A couple people wrote me, and Stick did suggest, to write more on "the affair." This was certainly a valid point as one writes to be read by others. The trouble for me was I wrote my crisis as a way to realise things about myself. I have not continued the tale as I do not yet find myself ready to face certain "truths." This is obviously evasion on my part. I plead guilty. When my first marriage broke up I engaged in a break-up spiral involving alcohol and isolation. I sought the highway to down.

One particular emptiness was the emptiness of the bed. I was used to her next to me: her weight and form, the softness of her breath as she slept, the perfume of her natural odour, my self-awakening in the morning and taking my arms around her chest and feeling her pink breasts. After her leave, the silence of the space next to me on the bed felt a kind of dead. When I revived after several weeks I went to Las Vegas. I had a massage. I paid to be touched and it felt good. But the feeling was of contract. I did get talking to the massage femme and liked her. The next day I phoned and asked if she would come to my hotel room and give me another massage instead of at her place of business. Which she did. And after I asked if she'd like to go to dinner with me. Which she did. And later after dinner she came back to my room in volunteer. We advanced into inner space. We were intimate. This was the first sex for me since my break-up. And after the sex we held each other. This was also the first time I had held someone since my breakup. And I remember thinking: this is what I missed most – the touching and holding and being held by someone. Listen, don't get me wrong. The sex was pleasure into a firecracker world. I'm just talking about the simple human act of touch.

Many submissions on Stick do just address pretzel positioning, and I do indeed enjoy the submissions of pure monger adventure. It's just that these sexual adventures leave my memory soon after reading them, while ones that speak of the human condition, and of ones that try to communicate a truth, though it may be painful, and paint of defeat, are the ones that stay with me, and have a certain influence upon me, effect upon me.

As to my crisis of Aberdeen and silk, of crush of deceit or faithful spin, I shall have to wait for its truthful fair to spring its lock. I am still not free.