Edge of Wetness

Images of moisture have been surrounding me. Over the weekend, I was strolling the streets of misty Vienna, taking a short break from rainy and misty Berlin. In my wanderings, I visited the Hundertwasser Museum, water water everywhere. While listening to a recording of him describing his experiences in painting, images of my journeys in Sacred Intimacy and touch came to mind. Painting took him out of this world, beyond its judgments and limitations and into a dream world in which imagination flourished.

As voyagers in Sacred Intimacy, we too journey into a dream space, into a realm beyond time and things separating us, beyond society’s judgmental and restrictive eye, into a place where we are free to be creative and wet in the most profound of ways.

Wetness is one of Eros’s trail markers, it shows us the way in. At first touch, our bodies are dry, our kisses maybe only damp. Progressing deeper into touch space, our building energy leaves more traces of wetness, trickles of pre-cum ebb and flow, and our excitement builds as we ride the edge of wetness prolonging its final eruption for as long as possible. All the while, we are in a kind of forgetfulness freeing us from time and space. It is an erotic dream space, a realm in which we feel the full powers of rejuvenation culminating with our cocks exploding in wet celebration.

Like Hundertwasser’s experience of forgetfulness in the dream space that was the wellspring for his paintings, I feel much the same with journeys into touch space. It is like drinking from the waters of the River Lethe in Greek mythology. Only by drinking of the waters of forgetfulness, of oblivion, are we cleansed to be reborn.

I think the Greeks were onto something here. The world places more than enough obstacles in the various pathways of erotic life, and especially for those of us who vibrate to homoerotic pulses. It is all the more important for us to wash away this negativity, to enter oblivion, and to feel the nourishment of rebirth. It all begins with the simple act of stripping and touching, from there the wetness trickles into a flood from which we emerge newly energized, and thus newly whole.

For Hundertwasser, a painting was a record of his journey into forgetfulness. For me, it is the glowing traces left in my moisture laden body from the experience.

4 thoughts on “Edge of Wetness

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