On the Ars Erotica [the art of love-making]

Alphafemme (link here) posted an interesting article today on her relationship with 'subbing' (link here). At point of time, here's what she said: "I have an extremely active brain, always mentally sorting things and being in charge and adding things to my to-do list and needing to know exactly what’s going on at all times. I’m a control freak, yes it’s true. I’m trying to find strategies for shutting down my brain a bit, but it’s largely a process of trial and error. This doesn’t mean that I’m checking off my to-do list while fucking, but it does mean that I tend to be focused a lot on what she’s doing and how and why and what does it feel like, rather than just letting go and getting into any sort of subspace."

Reading this part of Alphafemme's post made me realize that this is exactly the way I make love. Not that this is something that I wasn't aware of: It is true that I have always claimed that I fuck with my brains and not with my penis. I think this begs the question: what makes a good game of love? What are the strategies, risks and rules involved? When we say we had had bad sex, what in the sex made it so bad, or when we say that we had had great sex, what in the sex made it so great? And is the game of love something akin to a game of chest or is it more akin to a hockey game? Is it about winning and scoring or is it about the pleasure of the game itself?

At a point of time in his History of Sexuality Vol. 1, Michel Foucault speaks of how in the latter half of the 19th century, what was had been the ars erotica became the scientia sexualis, which basically means that the art of love-making becomes an object of knowledge, to be discovered scientifically through the medical, the legal, the religious etc. At this point in the West, sexuality becomes an object to be quantified and analyzed and recorded in strict labels. Indeed, we see remnants of this in our own education, when roughly round the age of 10-13, we are told about 'semen', 'ovaries', 'night-emissions', and are shown drawings of sexual parts and their functioning in medical terms. And yet, when we make love, do we do so in a scientific way, do we do so in an artful manner or do we do so like beasts that just need to fuck?

Now, mind you, when I say that I fuck with my brains, I mean to say that for me, love-making is an art, a difficult art at that, that has to be learned and mastered. [Has this got anything to do with the fact that almost the totality of my lovers have been artists of some sorts: sculptors and painters and writers and dancers and photographers? Go figure!] I always find an intimate connection between fucking and cooking. Of course, there is the oral aspect of both in the desire to eat and the desire to eat ones partner. And yet, beyond this greedy instinct there are also subtle tastes. Just like the kitchen is a playground where subtle tastes and spices encounter each other and cook together, for the right time, at the right temperature, the bed is a playground where ten senses, five for each person, mingle. (Yes, some have sex in 3s, 4s and 5s, but I value quality over quantity-- and learning to discover another person's body and perfecting the sex is difficult enough a task!)

I perfectly connect with Alphafemme when she says that she tends to be focused on what her partner is doing, how she is doing it and how it feels. I confess that I like to be the man on top and I like to be in charge, always in control. With this, I also confess that I am very giving and the stakes of the game for me lie in giving pleasure, and barely in receiving it. Hence, I tend to always concentrate on what I am doing and how I am doing it. From there, I lend an ear to what is happening to my partner: I watch out for the sounds, the heartbeats, the twitch of the limbs, the contortion of the muscles, the sighs, the gasps... The possibilities are endless. The challenge of course lies in the fact that our bodies are all different from one another. Consequently what gives a man pleasure might not cause the slightest tremor in another.

And then, there are games of rhythms and games of directions and games of positions: Do I move my tongue from up and down or from right to left? Do I build the tension gradually or give it all in the beginning? How much of foreplay is enough foreplay and how much is too much? [Though for me, there can never be too much foreplay!] Do I allow him to take control at times or do I always stay in charge? 

All these answers, for me, lie not in ones penis (or in ones anus) but really in the interaction between ones intellect with ones tongue, fingers, toes, nose, eyes, ears, lips, teeth... How much do we realize that the biggest tissue of our body is actually our skin? How much do we realize that the tongue is actually made up of sixteen muscles (though popular belief says that the tongue is the strongest muscle of the human body, relative to size)? How much do we realize that good sex is an art, it's a game where you need to fight your adversary while making him/her your partner? How much of our intellect do we actually invest into our own pleasure? Can pleasure actually really be enhanced via intellect?

One of the reasons why I've never been successful at online dating is probably due to the question that arises at a point are time while we are chatting online: 'so what are you into?' or 'so what kinda fun do you like?' The moment I earn this question, I block and the conversation dies and we never end up meeting. It's hard for me to categorize my sexual experiences and my sexual preferences. What am I supposed to say? Do I say that I make love with my brains and that I adjust to differing and different situations because the dynamics and the attraction and desires that ensue are never the same? Do I say that I always do the fucking but that you never know, maybe when I'll meet you I'll want you to pin me against a wall and penetrate me? This is probably the part where my sexual intellect fails. And at the same time, what about the element of surprise when you are making out with somebody, as you unveil his/her body, part by part, layer after layer?

I do have one rule though: I NEVER have sex with bad kissers. If you're not good with your tongue lips teeth, if you can't find the right balance within your face breath nose, there's not a chance in hell that you can handle a human body! Feeling like a steak on a chopping board getting banged mechanically? Sorry, not for me!

And Then, I Got Angry at the Dictionary [know what a 'coolie' is?]

Do you know what a coolie is? So here's what a coolie is:

A coolie refers mostly to the people from the Indian subcontinent who undertook the perilous journey across the seas to the plantation settler colonies (Mauritius, parts of East and South Africa, Fiji, the Caribbean etc.) between the 1830s and 1920s. Many of those people ended up being exploited working and settling in those colonies since the riches and the glorious return that were promised to them were never granted. (Duh!)

Now, the term 'coolie' was initially used to disparage those engaged in manual labour, and it was then redeployed by the British colonial administration as racial slur. (Duuhh!! [that's a double-duh, in case you didn't notice])

Why am I saying all this?

Because I wanted to find out what the English dictionary said about the word 'coolie'. And that's what I found:

Coolie: "an unskilled laborer employed cheaply, esp. one brought from Asia."

Now lil'fuckers, that the coolie is Asian or that the coolie is a laborer, that doesn't de facto make him/her 'unskilled'!! If the coolies were really unskilled, how the hell would they have worked their lives on your plantations and produced your tea, coffee, sugar, corn, cotton etc.? Funny how words work and how they acquire their meanings.

I want to question the meaning of the 'coolie'. Methinks a coolie is skilled labor. Who's on with me to question and challenge the dictionary meaning?!