How are we Meant to be Used? A Meditation on Faith, Death, and Bondage

HR over at @artwatch has finally gotten her @porn-watch project going,

and it promises to be a thrill in all the best ways: saucy, irreverent, erotic, fun, and friendly.

I'm not sure how much of my "dark side" I want to share here on Steemit. Isn't that a reservation everyone has? It certainly held up @artwatch's project for some time. In the end she overcame her fears, and posted some pictures of a red-hot blue eyed stunner smoking a cigar--like she knew right where all my buttons were and pushed them hard.

So when she said she expected a darker entry from me, I was incapable of resistance.

She wanted a free-write story but I'm providing a thoroughly edited poem. Submission's no fun if there's not a little fight in it!

How are we Meant to be Used?

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How are we meant to be used?
What is the purpose of each of our parts?
If a cup is for drinking and a car is for driving, than what of our bodies and minds?
How can we know, with so many paths to choose,
How we are meant to be used?

What is the pattern to play?
With 88 notes in the scale (if in tune)
And all that bare air to vibrate and shake,
We can practice 'till our fingers bleed, pluck strings until they break,
And die before we get it right. Who judges and who grades?
Are you straight or are you gay?
What is the pattern to play?

Who will bind you? Who will tie you down?
Everyone submits to someone. God or monster, family, or self -
The last is an illusion. Even masters have those whom they serve.
Be suspicious of your liberties and pleasures, but follow them despite it - there's a thrill
In descending darkened alleys, unlit corridors and dungeon steps
Until the manacle clicks! on your wrist, as your fate finds you.
What will tie you down? And who will bind you?

Once you can't move, the deciding is over.
There's a freedom in that. Some call it faith and others death. We must have trust
In the inevitable - it makes it hurt less. Ah, but if we submit while we still cling to
The phantasm of choice: one leg tied there, the other... there,
Wrists lashed together, or spread apart (for now the whim belongs to someone else),
A blindfold extinguishes thoughts of escape. This blackness full of breath and feeling
Is your perfection. Scream and suffer, moan and cry; exult in your disclosure:
How are we meant to be used? Once you can't move, the deciding is over.

_{TOAD HALL, MARCH 18, 2018}

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^{I don't think this post requires an NSFW tag, but if anyone's offended or unduly creeped-out I might add it. The poem really is more about faith and free will than sex, or at least I think so. But we wouldn't have made it this many years as a species if everything didn't circle around to sex at some point.}

Cheers to HR for getting her groove on over at @porn-watch. I know this isn't a typically male thing to say, but there's a lot of room for intelligently thoughtful, erotic content, now that the usual channels have gone as far into in-your-face extreme content as it's possible to go.

I'm really hoping she shares more her comic-book work as well. The glimpses we've seen so far are positively electric. Just compare these panels to the work of Milo Manara. Seriously. Every line just crackles with energy. I know she's got some concerns about REDACTED, but really, this stuff is way too good to hold back. (I'm of the firmly held opinion that once we share something with the universe, it becomes part of the soil, ready to nourish whatever seeds others might want to plant and grow there. We don't get to control this. Neither should we concern ourselves with it, when we've got a little seed of our own to plant.)

So, do we besmirch ourselves when we delve into the words and images that make our hearts race and our skin tingle?

Sex is messy, love is complicated, and the whole human experience, done right, turns into a sticky, slippery mess.

Here's to more of that, I say!