NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #31/NN_1992_31.iso/spool/alt/personal/ads/4044

Text File | 1992-12-23 | 6.5 KB | 118 lines

Newsgroups: alt.personals.ads
Path: sparky!uunet!mcsun!fuug!anon
From: [e-mail]
Subject: HetWM iso Bi*F for email & more
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Sender: [e-mail] (The Anon Administrator)
Organization: Anonymous contact service
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Date: Wed, 23 Dec 1992 22:28:35 GMT
Lines: 106

X-Anon-To:  alt.personals.ads

     So here's the story:  I'm forty-five, white, degreed in
     English lit and working lo these past nine years writing
     software for one of the big companies.  I spin fantasies,
     dark and light, for a few hours every morning, and my
     first novel will be published in a bit over a year.  I'm
     quirky, erudite without a hint of stuffiness, childlike
     and never gruff, sedentary but into seriously _thinking_
     about long walks and eventually taking them, a lover of
     books, music, and film, a cat fancier but not a fanatic,
     bearded, bespectacled, a smidge beyond the sleek-bellied
     thinness of my twenties but with only the slightest hint
     of impending pudge, and that tide _will_ be held back.  I
     neither smoke nor drug, but I had some very pleasurable
     experiences with entheotropic substances twenty years ago
     (mescaline, psilocybin, acid, and the milder hash and pot)
     and would love to see these mindfreers destigmatized real
     soon now so that Huxleyesque mind-voyages might once more
     safely be taken.

     Now you must be told that I am what most people would call
     "married."  Legally this is true.  But I have never bought
     into the term, find it in fact odious, and regret having
     done it.  In brief, I agreed to it because we wanted to
     have children and it would be easier on the grandparents.
     (Rule 1:  _Never_ do anything whose sole motivation is to
     please your parents.)  At the time, both of us agreed it
     would be an open marriage, no different from the living-
     together we'd done before.  Over the years, she grew less
     daring and I grew more.  When I tried to make theory non-
     theoretical, she became nervous, clung to me solely, and
     thereby lost what she thought she was clinging to.  Why do
     I continue then, why does it persist?  There is a reason I
     won't go into now, but it has to do with our two wonderful
     daughters.  (Rule 2:  Get married only if not doing so is
     as unnatural as deciding not to take your next breath.)

     I have harbored the growing conviction, as polyamory makes
     itself clearly known as my love philosophy of choice, that
     the right lover for me is a bisexual woman, one who shares
     a mutually enriching life with me, but at the same time is
     open to either one additional female lover of exceptional
     quality, or to a series of satisfying short-term embraces
     with other women in a threesome or moresome which proves
     always awesomely satisfying to all parties concerned.  Now
     I realize that this is fantastical, but I believe that one
     ought to have fantastical goals, that having them is more
     likely to bring about reasonable approximations of the odd
     and wonderful end one wishes, than not having them.  And
     I'd like to think that there exist exceptional women who
     feel similarly if not precisely so.  Note, please, that
     though much of the above has of necessity concentrated on
     the sexual, love and affection and friendship and meeting-
     on-many-planes all take precedence over a splendid healthy
     hearty bout of bodylust, which latter is of course one of
     life's joys.

     You will be . . . .  Ah yes, the section where I describe
     you.  I must confess you're indescribable.  Your age in
     years is not as important as the maturity of your mind and
     the healthy wingspan of your imagination and the zeal and
     passion with which you love yourself and those lucky souls
     you adore, both physically and otherwise.  You more than
     likely do not take tobacco in any form.  Your drinking, if
     you drink, is limited to rare tastes of wine or beer.  You
     are clean and orderly in things that matter, and all over
     the map in things that don't.  You are probably petite and
     if so, you probably think your breasts are too small, but
     they are, I assure you, exactly the right size.  There's a
     slight chance you are "model-perfect" but likely not, as it
     takes a _very_ special woman to be barraged by the desires
     such a curse and such curves bring; all things come to her
     without effort, and therefore she feels little need, never
     having learned, to give.  You love the person first, the
     body second--but you also give the body proper devotion.
     You love receiving physical attention, but possibly, as I
     do, you love giving such attention more, the dispensing of
     pleasure to a lover triphammering incredible neurons in
     your brain.  You love, in roughly equal measure, to give
     and receive the delights of lip and tongue, and you find
     much delight in taking a loved one all the way with your
     mouth.  You can't quite understand how people can be so
     excitable about baubles, yet so passionless when it comes
     to things of importance.  Seeing no contradiction (since
     there _is_ none), you simultaneously take the world dead
     seriously and with a constant temptation--often yielded
     to--to make light of it.  This happens not because you're
     frivolous but because you understand the absurdity and owe
     it to the mother tongue to anarchize it (and its pretense
     at logic) to the max.

     That's about it.  Serious replies only, please.  What with
     the holidays keeping me from email between 12/24 and 1/4,
     I may not reply right away, but be assured I'll respond in
     some measure to any woman who sends me her thoughts.  And
     I'll be hoping for the beginning, perhaps fumbled, perhaps
     tentative, of at least one incredible adventure in getting
     to know another sympatico human being.

     Yours in the spin of electrons,
     An open scribbler
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