I like to get up close to people. Real close. Smell their skin and shared intimacy. It may not always be what the other person desires, me up close to them, but it is not about them. It is me. Always about me. This egotistical disease, been passed down in my lineage from generation to generation. It was all about my father, grandfather and so on. All about the men and their erect penis’s. Not that I agree with this patriarchy, but I am biologically predisposed. I happen to enjoy feminists, I like to get up real close to them, but it is still about me. The erection is stronger than the sword, mightier than the will to do good.
There is something empowering, exhilarating about getting up close to someone whom you should not. Aeschylus talked about this when close enough to his sport to feel the departing spirit from the dying flesh. Ahab was also never to forget his dance with the whale. There is something almost supernatural about getting to close to the one you should not. It is a kind of voyeurism. A perversion which lacks orgasm but is filled with electrical excitement. There is always the erection. It is a natural reaction. Symbiotic and a symbol of transgression. When I notice the stranger that I want to get really close to- my erection is what points me in the right direction. My mind and body work together to free my desire from the confines of flesh. Even though I am met with disdain from the person I am trying to get close with, it is not the reaction that I am concerned with but rather it is the chase I covet.
I walk the city streets. Whenever I have the time. It is the way I blow off steam. I don’t enjoy cardiovascular exercise because of the intensive stress to the body. So I walk. I search with excitement for the one whom I want to get close with. I identify and then I walk past them and take a deep inhalation. It is the smell or scent that is the trigger. If my nose delights and my heart is stimulated to rapidly beat- then I get close. I slowly, gently maneuver my self up against the stranger and stand there connected. Symbiotic. A state akin to bliss. Orgasmic. My erection is pulsating with glee. And then it is over. There is nothing surprising about the strangers confusion or violation. A natural reaction. They try to make sense of what is happening or they erupt violently. I walk away as calmly as I came and go about my way without a word exchanged.
How close you can get to a stranger without them knowing you are there. In the Orient this is an art form that is thousands of years old. Was once a training meditation for Zen monks of the Zegati sect. They were all eventually put to death because of the great offense and terror they caused the people. I have heard that the art of being a fraterist is making a comeback in contemporary Japanese society. I have read a few essays by prominent authors- in which they discuss fraterists. They are always described as eccentric individuals who lack connection with others. They long to be close in a world in which they feel out of touch. The fraterist is normally highly educated, civilized, well read and a threat to no one but themselves. A victim of desire.
This is comforting to me since mine is a lonely sport. The feelings of confusion, elation or longing can be shared with no one. My wife or colleagues would not understand my passion. I would be considered deviant-unfit for society. It is always the most civilized passions that are incapable of being understood. How could I expect to be understood about the elation that warms my body as I smell the small hairs upon a strangers neck or rest my hip against theirs. This would not be possible. Condemnation would rise up. Sirens would go off and I would be confined inn a rubber room. Spinal tapped. I have seen this happen before.
Don’t look for me because you will not see. I am like the wind. Calming. I am close to you when you are unaware. I am not a threat but rather a lover of the personal spaces of the other. The smells the sensations and the erotic stimulation- these are my assets. Without them I am broke- a reader without a book. I am a nicely dressed man who does not like to play by the rules. My anarchy is ancient- a custom. I am not the man you would expect to be offending you. If you see me you feel safe. It is only when I touch you with my presence that confusion sets in. By the time you respond or react- I am gone. On my way. Walking through the city.