Posted By admin on April 25, 2003

Swing out wide with your outstretched hand and touch as many lives as you possibly can.

Some you will only lightly brush, even if they are in your life, daily. Others, though less frequently held in your eyes or caressed by your touch, may be closer, tighter and even love you as you love them.

The power of adolescent memories fascinates me. The way some words in a particular succession can evoke the feelings of wonderment and longing that filled us when we first learned of our body?s aching needs, sometimes frightening, sometimes overwhelming, and always causing a tingly swirl of energy to rise like warm vapor from just below your pubic bone?up the center of your stomach, up, slowly, slowly up through your chest and out through your lungs, where you exhale the want in warm aching tendrils and where sometimes a mouth is hovering closely enough to inhale your desires and you in return feel their swirling tendrils of electric desire as you breathe it deeply into you and let it deliciously tangle you up.

Somewhere you are nestled in somebody?s memory as their first kiss?their first lover?the pretty girl that sat next to them in Algebra class. Somewhere you are a memory, a shadow in the past?the boy with beautiful smile and great tan?the smart kid that didn?t have many friends, withdrawn and kind (sometimes we wonder what happened to this person and what company they might be in charge of), the lonely girl that a boy secretly admired but never let on because of those peer forced fears we place upon ourselves and some of us only begin to shed in our late twenties. Somewhere there is a man in an expensive suit working on Wall Street who remembers a girl in a sundress, the sagging strap revealing a line of pale skin surrounded by golden kissed shoulders?he remembers the way her eyes danced when she laughed and the way all of the scents of her perfume, powder, shampoo and soap mingled to make a warm cloud of her essence.

The kiss…pressing our lips to another?s…wet pink tongues swirling and dancing to the music of your desires and irresistible curiosity. How strange and how tantalizing a custom to engage in and yet we can?t help but engage in it?at first with some amount of trepidation, but, ah ? then the quickening of your pulse?the radiant heat from that mouth that you want to explore every corner of and every warm breath you inhale pushes your lips harder and the want grows, uncontrollably.

The things that course through our bodies and brains when all of that awareness collides inside of you and a girl is now a wonderment?she is hair that flows and skin that glistens. She is pert round breasts that assert themselves against the fabric of her t-shirt where a boy?s eyes can?t help but wander?and wonder. His hands ache to cup the newly discovered mounds of flesh and he is so distracted by their appeal almost to the point of frustration at times. Further down, the soft belly of a girl, the slightly rounded belly that tells you she?s female?then further down to that place of complete womanhood a boy dreams of and fears going?curiosity usually wins if the opportunity presents itself.

I remember myself, sitting on the side of the basketball court?I was about 13 years old?watching the older high-school boys, their shirts off, sweat glistening in the summer sun, running about, bouncing the ball calling out to each other in their low voices, so different from that of most of the jr. high boys I knew. Their Levi?s jeans so well fitted and that line of hair below the belly-button that whispered to me of the wonders below the jeans riveted button, beneath the button fly of the Levis 501's?and what might it be like to see inside?or the overwhelming excitement and swirls of fear it might cause to *feel* inside of those jeans.

Wondering what it might feel like to have a boy put his hand up my shirt and feel the skin of his firm hands against the naked flesh of my stomach?then my breast?my nipple?and the fire it would ignite inside of me. A rush of hormones swell me in places that were newly awake and so acutely aware. To remove our shirts and feel the firm, smooth flesh of his stomach pressed against my soft feminine belly?and his chest and squared shoulders above me?his face hovering so closely that I inhale his desire as he exhales it into me, filling me in a way that was frightening and enlightening and so very delicious all in the same moment. His hips, rigid and bony against the inside of his jeans?and the firm line of his want pressed against my thigh and the urge to feel his whole body, naked…pressed to me…EVERY INCH PRESSED TIGHTLY TO ME, the pressing of our lips, and our hips, makes me want to swallow him whole.

Such are the memories of many of us. Some of us didn?t explore those desires for many years?some still deny themselves the pleasures of physical bonding, or they dehumanize it to a mere bodily function?so sad for them.

Think of all of the memories you have created for somebody?and all of those that you hold in your heart?and in your mind and realize that the past lives you lived and the spirits you have touched are all that this life is. We can buy things?we can work hard and earn money?we can become rich and famous?but we all have tender and sad memories. We all have longings and needs?at the end we are all the same and will turn to dust until the cycle begins again.

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