Collective nouns intrigue me. Not the prosaic ones like a herd of sheep or a litter of puppies. I mean ones like a cloud of daffodils, a pride of lions or an unkindness of ravens. It pleases me to learn that a large collection of kangaroos should properly be referred to as a mob. It displeases me to know that one should properly experience a welter of emotions. I've been in a lather of emotions for almost twenty-four hours and the word welter seem indequate.
A very dear friend contacted me yesterday to tell me she was very sad and greatly troubled. Her distress became my distress because we live far apart and I was unable to speed to her aid. Distance muffles one's words and I felt powerless to assist as much as I would like. When you speak from a distance, you realise how vital to communication are things like eye-contact, gestures and facial expressions.
So I slept poorly and still felt very restless on awakening this morning. I could not even bury myself in work as I'd deliberately left my afternoon free of appointments. When push comes to shove, I revert to one of the most common of all male stereotypes - I want to fix things. If I can't really help a friend in need, if I can't hug her and murmur the sorts of words we murmur when holding someone who is distressed and crying, then I become almost angry with myself. It's not rational, but emotions seldom are wholly rational.
We had beautiful weather in this part of the world today. Determined to rid myself of restlessness, I decided to take my kayak out on the estuary and paddle till I was exhausted. This ambition to torture my body was accompanied and almost overtaken by a fierce need to attain some form of sexual release.
I was aware that my friend Pam would probably welcome a visit and that it was more than likely that we might have sex again. The heat in my blood would have made me amenable to any overtures she made, but I was far too highly wired to be content with a partner who seems incapable of enjoyment. Besides, Pam lives quite some distance away. I was not about to punish myself by paddling that far!
So I thought of my friend, Steve. His shack is about an hour's paddle away from my place and there was very little breeze. I decided to strike out for Steve's house to the north. I would arrive hot and dishevelled. He would offer me a cool drink. I would be saturated and my shorts would cling to my loins like a second skin. Steve would suggest I remove my clothes so they could dry. He might even suggest a shower. At some point I would stand before him naked and aroused by this unquenchable restlessness within me and we would go to bed together. And then, having exhausted myself both on water and on dry land, I would leisurely paddle back home feeling far more at ease with myself.
It was a selfish plan. In my mind there was scant regard for the needs of others. It was all about my need. Self-flagellation is not habitual with me. Even if it were habitual, it would be unfair that another person should feel the sting of the lash. As it happened, the gentle breeze suddenly went from gentle zephyr to strong wind gusts almost as soon as I entered the water. So Steve was spared a "ravaging" and I am spared from having to confess - yet again - that I have allowed a stiff cock to overrule my conscience.
My plan worked in part though. I was absolutely spent by the time I reached land. The wind was so strong and the water so choppy that I found myself enjoying the fight to make headway. As usual, I sang aloud as I paddled - silly songs with high notes that never quite became sound because I was panting so hard and laughing as well.
I reached home with just enough time to shower, change and pick the kids up from school. By the time we got home and I'd started cooking dinner, I was feeling almost virtuous about my afternoon. I was able to ignore the inconvenient truth that only the capricious waather had prevented me from misbehaving. And all that frantic paddling and singing and laughter had freed me from the tormenting restlessness at last.
I suspect that Steve would have been happy to oblige me. I have turned up at his door wild-eyed and rampant before and he knew instinctively what my needs were. We have discussed it once or twice and I have made it clear that my preference is for two people to come together out of mutual need. He is no masochist and yet he seems content to be taken aggressively and rarely expresses a desire that I do anything specifically aimed at his pleasure. And I do want to please a partner in bed. I am no expert on passivity but I am beginning to understand that Steve's greatest need and his greatest satisfaction comes from being penetrated. I know he finds joy in his art, especially when it is going well. Apart from that, he leads an almost monastic and spartan life. It is as if he sees a need to do daily penance for past sins. At times I feel that being fucked cleanses him as well as chastises him. One day soon, when no hidden agenda is standing proudly at attention in my pants, I will prompt him to tell me more about what our couplings mean to him.
And tonight I will try to speak again with my troubled friend. I am calmer now - less indignant at her bad treatment by a person she loves more than anything else in the world. I accept that I can't cure world hunger. I accept that I cannot bring peace to the Middle East. But I have difficulty accepting that I can't do much to help a close friend in need. I do accept now - after all that time spent yodelling and fighting the elements on the estuary - that I cannot fix things for her. I can only listen and respond with empathy, give her re-assurance and hope her self-esteem is not irreparably damaged. I can do that day-in, day-out in my professional life, but it's so much harder when you're personally involved.
So I will head for bed tonight feeling calmer though still yearning for sexual release. I'm rejecting my right hand's advances because I'm sure something better is waiting around the very next corner, even if I have to row, ride a camel or jet-ski to get there.
All I need to do now is find a suitable collective noun that encompasses all the emotions I've dealt with today. Welter doesn't cut the mustard. Vortex, turbulence or maelstrom are closer to the mark but still not quite there. I need something evocative but still refined and pleasing to the ear. A tumescence of emotion is in the ball-park(!) - it at least encompasses the sexual aspect of how I felt. Not to worry - it'll come to me.
A very dear friend contacted me yesterday to tell me she was very sad and greatly troubled. Her distress became my distress because we live far apart and I was unable to speed to her aid. Distance muffles one's words and I felt powerless to assist as much as I would like. When you speak from a distance, you realise how vital to communication are things like eye-contact, gestures and facial expressions.
So I slept poorly and still felt very restless on awakening this morning. I could not even bury myself in work as I'd deliberately left my afternoon free of appointments. When push comes to shove, I revert to one of the most common of all male stereotypes - I want to fix things. If I can't really help a friend in need, if I can't hug her and murmur the sorts of words we murmur when holding someone who is distressed and crying, then I become almost angry with myself. It's not rational, but emotions seldom are wholly rational.
We had beautiful weather in this part of the world today. Determined to rid myself of restlessness, I decided to take my kayak out on the estuary and paddle till I was exhausted. This ambition to torture my body was accompanied and almost overtaken by a fierce need to attain some form of sexual release.
I was aware that my friend Pam would probably welcome a visit and that it was more than likely that we might have sex again. The heat in my blood would have made me amenable to any overtures she made, but I was far too highly wired to be content with a partner who seems incapable of enjoyment. Besides, Pam lives quite some distance away. I was not about to punish myself by paddling that far!
So I thought of my friend, Steve. His shack is about an hour's paddle away from my place and there was very little breeze. I decided to strike out for Steve's house to the north. I would arrive hot and dishevelled. He would offer me a cool drink. I would be saturated and my shorts would cling to my loins like a second skin. Steve would suggest I remove my clothes so they could dry. He might even suggest a shower. At some point I would stand before him naked and aroused by this unquenchable restlessness within me and we would go to bed together. And then, having exhausted myself both on water and on dry land, I would leisurely paddle back home feeling far more at ease with myself.
It was a selfish plan. In my mind there was scant regard for the needs of others. It was all about my need. Self-flagellation is not habitual with me. Even if it were habitual, it would be unfair that another person should feel the sting of the lash. As it happened, the gentle breeze suddenly went from gentle zephyr to strong wind gusts almost as soon as I entered the water. So Steve was spared a "ravaging" and I am spared from having to confess - yet again - that I have allowed a stiff cock to overrule my conscience.
My plan worked in part though. I was absolutely spent by the time I reached land. The wind was so strong and the water so choppy that I found myself enjoying the fight to make headway. As usual, I sang aloud as I paddled - silly songs with high notes that never quite became sound because I was panting so hard and laughing as well.
I reached home with just enough time to shower, change and pick the kids up from school. By the time we got home and I'd started cooking dinner, I was feeling almost virtuous about my afternoon. I was able to ignore the inconvenient truth that only the capricious waather had prevented me from misbehaving. And all that frantic paddling and singing and laughter had freed me from the tormenting restlessness at last.
I suspect that Steve would have been happy to oblige me. I have turned up at his door wild-eyed and rampant before and he knew instinctively what my needs were. We have discussed it once or twice and I have made it clear that my preference is for two people to come together out of mutual need. He is no masochist and yet he seems content to be taken aggressively and rarely expresses a desire that I do anything specifically aimed at his pleasure. And I do want to please a partner in bed. I am no expert on passivity but I am beginning to understand that Steve's greatest need and his greatest satisfaction comes from being penetrated. I know he finds joy in his art, especially when it is going well. Apart from that, he leads an almost monastic and spartan life. It is as if he sees a need to do daily penance for past sins. At times I feel that being fucked cleanses him as well as chastises him. One day soon, when no hidden agenda is standing proudly at attention in my pants, I will prompt him to tell me more about what our couplings mean to him.
And tonight I will try to speak again with my troubled friend. I am calmer now - less indignant at her bad treatment by a person she loves more than anything else in the world. I accept that I can't cure world hunger. I accept that I cannot bring peace to the Middle East. But I have difficulty accepting that I can't do much to help a close friend in need. I do accept now - after all that time spent yodelling and fighting the elements on the estuary - that I cannot fix things for her. I can only listen and respond with empathy, give her re-assurance and hope her self-esteem is not irreparably damaged. I can do that day-in, day-out in my professional life, but it's so much harder when you're personally involved.
So I will head for bed tonight feeling calmer though still yearning for sexual release. I'm rejecting my right hand's advances because I'm sure something better is waiting around the very next corner, even if I have to row, ride a camel or jet-ski to get there.
All I need to do now is find a suitable collective noun that encompasses all the emotions I've dealt with today. Welter doesn't cut the mustard. Vortex, turbulence or maelstrom are closer to the mark but still not quite there. I need something evocative but still refined and pleasing to the ear. A tumescence of emotion is in the ball-park(!) - it at least encompasses the sexual aspect of how I felt. Not to worry - it'll come to me.