It's a brilliant quote. It's
vintage
Erhard.
Transformation
is an experience. It's everything. It's nothing. It's
everythingnothing. It has no components. It has no
texture. It doesn't feel, smell, sound, touch, or taste like
anything. You can't get it with ESP either.
And yet you could say it does have a sensation. I assert the
sensation of
transformation
is often mis-associated with pleasure. So it's almost on
the
money
to call it
erotic
... but that's not quite it, simply because the connotations of
erotic
bring in associations and meanings which aren't useful here.
I assert the sensation of
transformation
is ecstasy. In
my dictionary,
ecstasy is
eroticism
without any sexual innuendo.
Ecstasy and
eroticism
may indeed occur at the same time. And they don't have to.
The sex manuals are written in order to try to get to
ecstasy from erotica. But they'll all have to be
rewritten because they can't account for people already coming
from ecstasy.
Nights in ecstasy last forever. They also always end too soon. Too soon
it's time to leave.
"Last touch" I whisper, reaching over to caress the dimple line on her
cheek. She closes her eyes tilting her head back slightly, sighing, her
lips parting.
The dryness of my fingertips on the soft blonde
blonde
peach fuzz of her face crackle with a kind of static sensory
electricity. I gradually back away, my fingers stretching out until
they can't touch her anymore, eventually breaking contact. I turn and
walk away toward the door.
"Hey you!" she calls out after me. I stop and turn around.
"Last flash" she says smiling, a mischievous happy smile, slowly
reaching up to grab the lapel of her loosely tied white terry towel
robe, suddenly pulling it open.
The sweetness. The playfulness. The surprise. The ... "Oh
Wow!" ... The gift ...