Flight Of Fancy
It began with an orgasm.
Not some eyelash-light, frilly, polite orgasm but a full throated, fist clenching eye rolling, guttural passage to someplace else. The kind you only read about. One that makes you aware of your soul as it surrounds your body like wearing a baggy suit that barely touches your skin ever so delicately. It is a heightened feeling of the physical through something so intangible. Like nothing man made, that is certain.
Hands always held a special meaning to Ellie. They were the first tools of homosapiens – the ever versatile opposable thumb which gave humans the capability to grasp and hold. Ellie often sat and wondered what her hands said to people. She believed when people shook hands, it said something to the other person – besides “hi, how are you?” she believed the action of shaking hands gave a whole history lesson of that person.
So when the hands reached across and fastened the belts across her chest, she felt reassured. These were friendly, though disassociated hands probing and checking, making certain she was secure. In the middle of a clearing she had only heard of but never seen, she eased back into the chair waiting for whatever would happen next.
The cloud of stars poured over her like milk over black velour of the cold country sky. She looked up and made a wish on a billion stars. The chair slowly ascended, like an elevator. In a moment she was pressed back into the chair fighting the initial motion sickness. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t. Ellie could see the undulating hills and sharp treetops and the roof of her house as she continued to climb. The chair accelerated into the night with the purpose of lust and though totally alone, she felt at ease and had a feeling one has among friends.
Floating now on the shores of space, though bound, she felt weightless. Somehow in the vacuum of space, she could breathe and wondered how this could be. (Perhaps, like a fish, she could absorb air and convert oxygen on a molecular level from other sources of matter.) Reason had fled for some other dimension, of this she was certain.
The charm that her dying father had given her was floating semi-motionless about her eyes as the chair rattled spasmodically. Above, in the distance, Ellie could see the bright object that appeared like a headlight. Like a magnet, she felt herself being pulled toward it. “Ellie! Ellie!” she thought she heard. Mesmerized yet with a heightened sense of something emotions, she felt herself at the entrance of something larger than anything she could have ever imagined. The size of this entrance pressed against her like summer heat.
Still fastened to the chair, she began to slide into this hole, and had a feeling of a downward motion. This movement triggered memories of her as a little girl sliding down a playground slide though she had no sensation of losing her stomach, as slides tended to do. The chair and Ellie accelerated almost instantly defying all known laws of inertia and physics.
Reds, oranges, blues and greens streamed past her like train stations on a moving train. Ellie was flying now, rattling through the hole with a recklessness she had never experienced. As she did this, her skin began to tingle and feel like latex. Her nerve endings seemed to poke through her skin and she could feel them swaying to the shifts in her body’s momentum. Before long, the feeling of arousal surrounded her like her own body heat beneath a blanket. Her muscles twitched with a pleasure which she had not known was possible. It felt like drawing some smooth fine fabric across her lips or cheeks.
As her body moved, her sense of pleasure intensified. This feeling of sex pulsed from within; these feelings rose up like the mercury in a thermometer. This was not a woman in the throes of normal passion. There was something primal, humid and liberating going on, emanating from her spirit. It manifested itself as something outside of herself, outside of who she believed herself to be. She was so devoid of self and evil as much as she was devoid of goodness. This was not a moral or immoral act – this was pleasure being squeezed from some place deep within until it extruded from her like squeezing a sponge.
Her body was moving spasmodically and Ellie was aware that she was sexually alive now. She was someplace for which she had never ever seen the road signs before. Like the great explorers she was forging a new map, and stood on new land.
Intense, yet relaxed, freeing she craved nothing. She wanted nothing. Her breathing was a low rhapsodic grunt and she shimmered as the power of lust washed over her like a shower. From one wormhole to another, she was dragged always climbing yet never reaching the top, never feeling fatigued or that she wanted it to stop; feeling continually reenergized.
Ellie was poured into the present like water so vividly and so perfectly she almost laughed – oddly reminding her of Woody Allen’s famous line about sex being as much fun as you can have without actually laughing.
With a violence and a mercilessness only seen during times of war, the sandpaper sound of the alarm stopped the ride, though not all at once. Awake, she was in that place before you are fully aware of exactly where you are, when dreams play tag with and tease the real world . Her body could not clearly distinguish in which domain she occupied space.
Shaky and weak, but as alert and alive as ever before, Ellie was in the presence of a force that larger than any she had ever known. She knew this intuitively. She felt stronger than 10 women and felt she could lift the large amorphous mass of blankets that was Garrett lying next to her. He never stirred before 8:00 on a weekend. Ellie was left more awake than asleep and her very first thought was, “Wow, that was good for me. Was that good for me?” She giggled, amused at her own cleverness. Garrett ripped a thunder clap kind of snore that seemed to come from nowhere into nowhere.
It separated the worlds for Ellie, the way Yahweh’s voice split the curtain covering the Ark of the Covenant for the Hebrews. Ellie was fully awake now. She rolled over and stared at the peeling off white paint of the ceiling and had a grin as large as the horizon. “I just made love to the whole universe,” Ellie thought. She felt bewildered and just a bit blessed. She now turned and watched the glowing digits of her alarm clock radio and watched the numbers turn minute by minute. She listened to the gradually slowing sound of her own pulse in her ears with the pillow pushed up against her head. Every so often, Garrett would mutter about someone being an asshole and throw off her count so she’d have to start again.
The memory and feelings of her dream spread over her like marmalade over warm toast. A part of her wanted frantically to go back to sleep and finish the journey through the wormholes. How could she just get up and make coffee now? How could she get up, throw on her oversized UMASS sweatshirt and penguin slippers, take out the compost and pretend this didn’t happen? The thought saddened her. Choices haunted Ellie at every turn and this was no different. Then the thought occurred to her that hadn’t yet: had she cheated on Garrett? Had she been unfaithful to her boyfriend of 7 years with another woman: herself?
MB 2003
Not some eyelash-light, frilly, polite orgasm but a full throated, fist clenching eye rolling, guttural passage to someplace else. The kind you only read about. One that makes you aware of your soul as it surrounds your body like wearing a baggy suit that barely touches your skin ever so delicately. It is a heightened feeling of the physical through something so intangible. Like nothing man made, that is certain.
Hands always held a special meaning to Ellie. They were the first tools of homosapiens – the ever versatile opposable thumb which gave humans the capability to grasp and hold. Ellie often sat and wondered what her hands said to people. She believed when people shook hands, it said something to the other person – besides “hi, how are you?” she believed the action of shaking hands gave a whole history lesson of that person.
So when the hands reached across and fastened the belts across her chest, she felt reassured. These were friendly, though disassociated hands probing and checking, making certain she was secure. In the middle of a clearing she had only heard of but never seen, she eased back into the chair waiting for whatever would happen next.
The cloud of stars poured over her like milk over black velour of the cold country sky. She looked up and made a wish on a billion stars. The chair slowly ascended, like an elevator. In a moment she was pressed back into the chair fighting the initial motion sickness. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t. Ellie could see the undulating hills and sharp treetops and the roof of her house as she continued to climb. The chair accelerated into the night with the purpose of lust and though totally alone, she felt at ease and had a feeling one has among friends.
Floating now on the shores of space, though bound, she felt weightless. Somehow in the vacuum of space, she could breathe and wondered how this could be. (Perhaps, like a fish, she could absorb air and convert oxygen on a molecular level from other sources of matter.) Reason had fled for some other dimension, of this she was certain.
The charm that her dying father had given her was floating semi-motionless about her eyes as the chair rattled spasmodically. Above, in the distance, Ellie could see the bright object that appeared like a headlight. Like a magnet, she felt herself being pulled toward it. “Ellie! Ellie!” she thought she heard. Mesmerized yet with a heightened sense of something emotions, she felt herself at the entrance of something larger than anything she could have ever imagined. The size of this entrance pressed against her like summer heat.
Still fastened to the chair, she began to slide into this hole, and had a feeling of a downward motion. This movement triggered memories of her as a little girl sliding down a playground slide though she had no sensation of losing her stomach, as slides tended to do. The chair and Ellie accelerated almost instantly defying all known laws of inertia and physics.
Reds, oranges, blues and greens streamed past her like train stations on a moving train. Ellie was flying now, rattling through the hole with a recklessness she had never experienced. As she did this, her skin began to tingle and feel like latex. Her nerve endings seemed to poke through her skin and she could feel them swaying to the shifts in her body’s momentum. Before long, the feeling of arousal surrounded her like her own body heat beneath a blanket. Her muscles twitched with a pleasure which she had not known was possible. It felt like drawing some smooth fine fabric across her lips or cheeks.
As her body moved, her sense of pleasure intensified. This feeling of sex pulsed from within; these feelings rose up like the mercury in a thermometer. This was not a woman in the throes of normal passion. There was something primal, humid and liberating going on, emanating from her spirit. It manifested itself as something outside of herself, outside of who she believed herself to be. She was so devoid of self and evil as much as she was devoid of goodness. This was not a moral or immoral act – this was pleasure being squeezed from some place deep within until it extruded from her like squeezing a sponge.
Her body was moving spasmodically and Ellie was aware that she was sexually alive now. She was someplace for which she had never ever seen the road signs before. Like the great explorers she was forging a new map, and stood on new land.
Intense, yet relaxed, freeing she craved nothing. She wanted nothing. Her breathing was a low rhapsodic grunt and she shimmered as the power of lust washed over her like a shower. From one wormhole to another, she was dragged always climbing yet never reaching the top, never feeling fatigued or that she wanted it to stop; feeling continually reenergized.
Ellie was poured into the present like water so vividly and so perfectly she almost laughed – oddly reminding her of Woody Allen’s famous line about sex being as much fun as you can have without actually laughing.
With a violence and a mercilessness only seen during times of war, the sandpaper sound of the alarm stopped the ride, though not all at once. Awake, she was in that place before you are fully aware of exactly where you are, when dreams play tag with and tease the real world . Her body could not clearly distinguish in which domain she occupied space.
Shaky and weak, but as alert and alive as ever before, Ellie was in the presence of a force that larger than any she had ever known. She knew this intuitively. She felt stronger than 10 women and felt she could lift the large amorphous mass of blankets that was Garrett lying next to her. He never stirred before 8:00 on a weekend. Ellie was left more awake than asleep and her very first thought was, “Wow, that was good for me. Was that good for me?” She giggled, amused at her own cleverness. Garrett ripped a thunder clap kind of snore that seemed to come from nowhere into nowhere.
It separated the worlds for Ellie, the way Yahweh’s voice split the curtain covering the Ark of the Covenant for the Hebrews. Ellie was fully awake now. She rolled over and stared at the peeling off white paint of the ceiling and had a grin as large as the horizon. “I just made love to the whole universe,” Ellie thought. She felt bewildered and just a bit blessed. She now turned and watched the glowing digits of her alarm clock radio and watched the numbers turn minute by minute. She listened to the gradually slowing sound of her own pulse in her ears with the pillow pushed up against her head. Every so often, Garrett would mutter about someone being an asshole and throw off her count so she’d have to start again.
The memory and feelings of her dream spread over her like marmalade over warm toast. A part of her wanted frantically to go back to sleep and finish the journey through the wormholes. How could she just get up and make coffee now? How could she get up, throw on her oversized UMASS sweatshirt and penguin slippers, take out the compost and pretend this didn’t happen? The thought saddened her. Choices haunted Ellie at every turn and this was no different. Then the thought occurred to her that hadn’t yet: had she cheated on Garrett? Had she been unfaithful to her boyfriend of 7 years with another woman: herself?
MB 2003
posted by M C Biegner at 6:02 PM
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