Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality

by Francis Kroncke

CHAPTER G

  Xer wants it to be true: Just one look! He desires, no, is driven, compulsed; it assaults his every thought and feeling - "I must look," stated once but resounding in and through every motion he makes, he took that night. She leaves. He follows

  No woman had ever treated March that way. But what "that way" was, is what is killing him. He has no avenue of attack: immobilized. He could take anything else. Blocked at the scrimmage line. Tagged out at home. Pinned with the first flip. Anything but "that way."

  It’s not just anger. He knows his anger. It’s not just rage. He has raged. It’s not just humiliation. He’s too confident to be humiliated - such is a social emotion. He could fuck her; that’s not it. What?

  I adore her. This is felt thought; not heard words; no clear inner articulation. It is his knees which want to bend. It is the air around her which he wants to kiss. It is a sin, so he knows. A Capital Sin: idolatry, nothing less.

  March has knelt before Mary. Mary, Mother of God. He knew he was supposed to be impressed. That looking into her Pieta eyes; into her uplifted agony at the foot of The Cross; into her ethereal holiness as she was Assumed ... but it never took. He couldn’t feel her. Had no problem with the counsel: "Mary is not a Goddess. She is not to be adored. Just revered." Reverence was a quickly sloughed-off emotion.

  Adoration. It had never really been real to him. So, how would he know? Could he?

  The Box was destroyed that night. Guys flipping out everywhere. The walls were pounded with bottles, chairs, a guy’s head - berserk. The only word. Lily’s driving them berserk!

  He showed up at four in the morning. He didn’t know why. He, almost, couldn’t remember how. As if his alarm had wailed and he jumped to: "Emergency Quarters!"

  There is some fog. He likes that. He feels like that. An ancient movie he saw: forlorn lovers meeting in the fog; the fog consuming them - it had made him hot: Why? Cranked off some heady stuff that night.

  Now. Now is the iron-gate of Joseph Smith. He feels its iron. That he can’t go in. That he is being stopped. But it’s okay. His own training - "You’re Catholic" - and he learned the rules, the customs, the procedures. "The Mormons need us. We don’t know why. That is not important. It is God’s Will. We are the "remnant." The anawhim. They are deluded. They believe they are approaching an Ascension. Blasphemy! Sacrilege! Beware."

  So, like others, he had come to the gate, but never entered. Actually, it dawns on him as he waits, he’s never really wanted to enter - doesn’t even now. Is content to wait. Never before had a Smithy interested him that much. But here he is: waiting. It seems okay. The fog comforts him.

  What was it tonight that she hadn’t done before? If bedlam had not ensued, maybe he would have reflected on that. But bedlam did ensue. It wasn’t just the fights. It was sexual havoc. Just like a scene from Dante - the film seen, the book not read - there was fucking all about. Men and girls. Men and men. Women and women. Groups. Singles. Loners. And it seemed not to stop. Like everyone was "on," hot: Can’t stop!- that’s what Xer grasps: he can’t stop, no one can stop ... how did it stop? He can’t figure. Just finds himself lying across some broad’s ass when all of a sudden he becomes conscious: at least aware of what’s happening. Air thick with human smell: at once fetid, at once intoxicating. Bodies piled; no other word for it. Moans, groans, snores and the melody of retching and curses. Berserk. Bedlam. "Did I look?"

  "March." Not a question. Not a hail. Almost an order, a command. For she appears, apparitionally: all at once through the gate and keeps walking as he falls in with her: beside, almost lockstep, and within a short time - just breaths? - they are back at his place: two luminescent trails in the fog - from here to there: there being not even so much his place as their presence: at once he pours some wine, she lights a cigarette, they offer themselves, lips to lips: of glass to glass: tipping their blood: sipping: it is the magical moment, for he has no self-control, he has no self-awareness: it is their awareness, their self-control: two bodies merging, slipping into each other, drifting through each other: her not slipping off her skin but rather peeling his: unadorning him, lifting off his shirt as if uncovering a lost treasure; loosening his trousers; untying his shoes: it is a singular motion of fascination - each action is one of intrigue, she discovering, but more, he discovering: being discovered! - it is a thrill beyond his eyes, more than he can breathe: rapture ... fly free her blouse, her skirt, her hose: a painter stroking the canvass, so does her body become palette for him: taking her breasts and washing across the canvass of their common desire: herself as moon and stars, the heavens: all gasp of blue and grasp of night: she the night for him - as he touches her, holds her, fondles her, so is he no longer seen, not by himself, rather by her: she is Night seeing him as he is without Sunlight - Ravished! - in the unspeakable part of himself, so is the word spoken, proclaimed .... a word with which she sucks the marrow of his warrior soul: like a sword the word beheads him - him as Enemy, as the one who seeks to ravish her: as he has been trained - to capture her and bind her with his flesh, to pierce her with his cock, to subdue her, submit her, to stab her so that she surrenders!

  Ravished!

  They burned The Box. "They"? Someone. Or, all of them? But it burned to the ground. Nothing left. Lily is gone! Consumed?

  She plucks his sword. Holds it high. Slams it down upon the rock of his skull: it shatters!

  Only he knows where Lily is. Who Lily is! Xer sets siege outside the gateway to Smith.

  He has died. Why do they know this? Not him. But, yes, I am dead. As body, he knows this: knows it in "the Biblical sense of knowing" - now, that phrase from Theology 101 coming back to him; back as knowledge: erotic. How else? "As Adam knew Eve," so it taunts him, laughs at him ... consoles him.

  For she is dead. So, he knows. So, she knows he knows. So, he knows she knows ... Ah! erotic knowing: that of Coupling: of The Embrace ... a knowing of Embrace: this which is grasped: that The Embrace is how s/he is now alive; lives; is present. Not as one but as one who is two.

  She kills him as she plucks his sword: grasped his penis and adored it. Breathed upon it. Sucked it high and hard and conjured it as stone. An obelisk which she endows with her heartbeat. Coming unto him as she slipped into him through serpentine adoration. Twining around his cock. Being the wind and a flame to his Pillar of Fire: his sacred totem! She laughs as she seduces him.

  Seduced. What he does as he adores her: this the thrill which eggs him on. The trade he makes with all he knows he is losing, giving up, surrendering. Feeling himself as Seducer. Tricking her. Luring her. Having her step in a faulty manner, so that she falls into the pit of his soul: the soul of the Warrior. Christus Victor! As all Cats knew: know: one must Fall before they Rise!

  She sucks him. His juices flow. More, they never stop flowing! Flow. This is the Seduction. Each to the other. Each as the other. Flowing. Neither could care to describe the mechanics; to sift through a conscious reduction of the experience: no, once it happened - It is! - her fingers loosening his balls, rolling them, frictionless with desire, setting them off into Perpetual Motion: a never-ending generation of sperm: endless ejaculation! - Ah! Warrior Paradise: Ejaculation Without End. Amen.

  In her mouth: not being mouthed - becoming mouth: flowing inside her, flowing down her throat, into her belly, entering her bloodstream: beating as her heart - a union, a Communion, a common breathing, an ecstatic consummation: Eaten and Eating: as One, as Host.

  Ejaculating and ejaculated: a puddle, a pool, a stream of sperm: laid before her, lying before her: full body prone as a single sperm adoring her: spreading her body as he washes himself across her belly, down her thigh, hiking, running, jumping, parachuting, burrowing into her: beach, delta, cave, hungering mouth: kissing - adorational kiss: licking her, spreading her lips and plunging deeply into her, not just tongue but Tongue! - a madness of himself which she is seducing as more than himself: more than his bodily parts, so is this adoration: more than her bodily parts: so is this seduction ...
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br />   Ravished. Adored. Consummated.

  Painted. Imagined. Created.

  :flowing - ebb and eddy: he at the gate; she walking back through the gate.

  "What’s keeping her?"

  Should I wait any longer?

  When she turns as her Hello and Good Night it is her face: dappled, fog-droplets, a misty veil baring moonbeam eyes: pearly blue.

  Her!

  Not as he knows her, but as he knows himself, so is Lily present.

  "Lily." Whispered. More in hope or more in fear? Touches her shoulder.

  She turns.

  "Excuse me?"

  Xer’s eyes burn: no, is it her eyes burning through me?

  He sees himself like a small sheet of paper curling edges as it disappears into smoke.