It builds as I listen to the satisfying clop of shoes on the sidewalk. Sometimes it is in the passing of half-opened lilacs or the silver in her hair. It gets bigger and bigger until I don't know what to do with myself and I crawl back into the safety of practical concerns.
Sometimes I fall in love with everybody. When it happens (and I'm strong enough to feel it) I cry a lot. I laugh at myself. I cry because I'm laughing so hard. If I'm out in public, I wonder if people think something is wrong with me.
When I fall in love with everybody, I get confused about how to express it. The geyser that erupts from the base of my spine and the warm, sloppy feeling that spills from behind my heart, make it hard to do anything. My brain tries to make sense of the experience, tries to fix it. It thinks, "Maybe I should bake cookies or write love poems. Maybe I should give foot rubs, plant flowers, sing a song. Maybe I should just have sex with all of you."
That's it! I think of how much I would love to pleasure people and how much I would love to feel closer to them. If I am naked and you are naked and we press ourselves together and rub noses - if we breathe into one another's mouth, drag our fingers lightly along the soles of our feet, if we get inside each other, maybe that will come close to a physical expression of this feeling.
Okay, maybe not everybody. I only want to have sex with those who want it. Not everyone is into laugh-crying crazies. But that still leaves a lot of people. I could be engaged for a long time.
I ponder my solution.
I don't realise at first. I'm wrapped in fantasy. Then I grow cold and lonely in the absence of expansive pressure. The feeling has gone away, replaced by all these thoughts.
The intimacy I crave is in the experience of unbearable sensation. The pressure I'm trying to fix is the very thing I seek. The sex is already happening inside me.
Feeling it is hard. But in the moments when I can bear to be alone in the erotic heart-pain, I make love with everybody.
