We’ll get to the sex in just a minute. Let me set the stage:
I come home from work, throw on shorts and a tank top, and start running. 8.75 miles is the plan. It’s 85 degrees out. I sucked down a quart of water before I started, and I also stretched and worked out lightly. Just enough to start feeling like a well-oiled machine.
I take off around the property. It’s a mile and a quarter. It’s that time of year. Everything is full green and it seems every flower is thrusting it’s sexual organs in the air. I breathe in their pollen, and the smell of sex and a world in heat fills me.
Halfway through the first lap, I realize that I feel good. Yesterday I was a sore cripple. Today everything comes together, and I feel like my body is a turbocharged Porsche. The sweat’s pouring off me (I sweat like you wouldn’t beleive,) and my legs are urging me to pick up the pace. Deep in my center I feel my heart say “no fucking problem,” as it’s beat deepens. I’m breathing through my nose, like a racehorse. Every muscle is screaming it’s ache to go go go, and at the first hill Which is a steep quarter mile, I say “What the hell!” and give it all I’ve got. “You think you’re a big shit hill? Watch this!” I picture that scene in Rocky where he just sprints straight out.
Bah bum ba ba bum ba ba bum bum! go the trumpets in my head.
My lungs go like bellows and my heart is a staccato, each beat I can feel pulsing halfway down my arms. As if repenting it’s earlier braggadoccio, my body starts to whine that this hurts, and sends me signals to stop. For a brief moment they’re considered, and then it’s all “Request Denied!” as that part of my brain that I love the best, way down where I’m still a Crocodile sings out it’s joyful scream of rage and pain. This is what I love best about running! I punish the pain with excess and pound up the hill like I’m chasing a bear, and he better fucking hope I don’t catch him. I’m all sensation and will as I reach the crest, and slow.
Boom! Boom! Boom! goes my heart. In that moment, I beleive that it’s a mighty heart. A great heart, in a powerful body, with a strong-willed and highly intelligent mind. Privileged, whatever it is that is me sits in control of all this wonderful apparatus of body and mind. And I know secrets. Secrets right out in the open, that the vast majority of fools in this world never know, or guess at.
I have a daughter. My flesh will go on. There is a great care and freedom that comes from that knowledge. I am no longer the most important. I can die, and I’ll still go on.
I’ll go on, different, and almost assuredly better. That is the secret of life.
Want another?
Drugs? Why bother? This is the ultimate. Push yourself to your limits and your body will give you endorphins. They’ll stay with you for hours. You’ll feel invincible, and powerful. You’ll feel the heat pouring through your veins. Better than that first cigarette, better than cocaine, better than those ice cold beers. They only hint at what your body will give you. If you let it.
Feeling strong, invincible and sharp as a razor, I ease down the hill at a slow jog. I take inventory, and everything came through that sprint ok. Heart and breathing come back into normal operating ranges, a slight wind cools the sweat from me as I wipe my face on my shirt and settle into my run.
I round the first lap and realize that no fantasy has come yet, just an awareness of strength and good feeling in the hot sultry pre-dusk.
What to think about?
Sometimes I just replay aspects of my day. Sometimes I relive old memories. Sometimes I make up ridiculous scenarios, or when the run is hard and the body not in tune, I picture violent scenarios (all where my hand is forced by the forces of evil, of course,) to try to get my blood going. All kinds of things.
I start thinking about how good and strong I feel. It’s a hell of a day, and I feel like a superior entity blessed in the humble knowledge of his own perfection. The aches and pains of a bad shoulder and knee, a sore back. These are proof of experience. Here I am, just past my prime. While those a little younger may be slightly stronger or faster, my experience more than compensates. Oooh yah. I’m dangerous. I’m tough. I’m a bad mother… shut your mouth. But Cher, I’m just talking about Scylla. Age and guile, baby. Well-seasoned. Damn I’m good. Look at me running. Here I am. I could go for days. There’s a giant amongst men here…, and naturally I segue into the fantasy.
[fantasy]
Mile 10 here I come, and I’m still going strong. I feel like I just started. Damn near world class time, and I’m no runner’s physique. I’m big and well-muscled. Fortunately I’ve been able to hide my superiority from the jealous masses of the rest of humanity. Is it a mutation? Genetics? Pure luck? I’m in the body of a God with the mind of a genius. Laying low though. Not showing the rest of the world my innate greatness and surpernatural strength. No, can’t do that, that would dishearten the rest of humanity by giving them an unrealistic archetype. That would be cruel. In fact, I’m not even really human, but some kind of superman…
[/fantasy]
Allright that’s getting pretty fucking stupid. Delusions of grandeur you don’t need. Come up with something a little more realistic. Ok?
[fantasy]
ohhhhhhh when my baby, when my baby smiles at me, I feel like Tarzan, of the jungle!
[/fantasy]
Isn’t that a song? What are you doing?
Allright
[fantasy]
I am Primal Man. No thought, I am sensation alone. Running. Thump! Thump! Thump! Boom! Boom! Boom! Concentrate on feet and heart. Eat the miles. I’m a creature of instinct. My will can never be denied! I run, I hunt. I am a manly man. I like to do manly things, with other men (Blues Brothers?)
I run I sweat I leap I jump When I go to the toilet I take a mighty dump! Oh Yeah!
Muscles and strength, I’m me. Me in my fantasy. Just a better me. Stronger, better looking, smarter, more primal.
Oh yeah, it’s really me. I could pass for a Cro-Magnon. Big bones anchor more muscle. A physical specimem. I breathe in the floral sperm all around me and run run run. I am a force. Just a force.
When I’m done, I run up that last hill at full speed. Sweat pours off me like a river. I peel off my shirt as I walk to the house and mop my mighty brow. I go into the house and over to the water cooler, and pour myself an enormous glass of water. My wife, as beautiful as an angel watches me while my daughter sleeps deeply. I drain the mighty glass in a few quick gulps and walk upstairs. I wash my face in the sink to get the salt sweat out of my eyes and peel off my shorts and shoes. I turn the shower on.
But, before I get in, I hear a noise behind me. I recognize the step of my wife, but I don’t turn around.
I feel a tounge low on my back licking up to my neck, tasting the salt. It pauses and nibbles at my ear.
“MMMMMMMMMMM!” I say, as I feel her hand come around and clasp me close. As she presses up against me, I can tell that she’s naked. Her hand goes lower, teasing.
“Oooooo,” she says. “You’re so manly and hot. I love the way you look and taste when you’re all hot and sweaty.”
I turn around and kiss her insistently. I pick her up and she wraps those long legs around me as I take her to our bedroom. I drop her onto the bed, and she looks up at me, all intelligence gone from those huge brown eyes of hers as she stares at me with pure naked animal-lust.
I fall on top of her, and stretch her arms over her head, kissing her all over, as she moans and moves beneath me. And then, we’re doing what people have done for millions of years, yet seldom as well-executed.
We’re both letting go completely. Two healthy sweaty animals who happen to have found their perfect mates, exercising themselves on one another’s body. It’s primal (I am Primal Man, what did you expect?)
My muscles strain as we grind and move, and, Oh Yeah! I’m getting that Mandingo Warrior feeling!
Maaannnn-Diiinnng-oooooOOOOooooOO!!!
Damn, I’m a human pile-driver!
[/fantasy]
Hey that was pretty good! All the best fantasies are based on elements of life. That could happen. Oh yeah, I love that Mandingo Warrior feeling!
I play it back a few more times as I run, improving or changing it here or there as my whim takes me. The miles and the time pass pleasantly.
The run is done, as I walk up to the house, I say “why not?” and peel off my shirt, wiping my semi-mighty brow.
In the house, I see that my daughter is asleep. The wife is futzing around. Hmmmmm.
I pour a glass of water, and drink the whole thing down. I turn around and my wife is staring at me strangely with those big brown eyes.
“You look good. How far did you run?”
“8 3/4 miles. Felt great.” Hmmmmm. This is going well. Just like the fantasy.
I go to wash my face. Nobody sneaks up and kisses me from behind. Damn. Oh well, sometimes you need to jumpstart these things, even if you are Primal Man.
Carefully, I sneak up behind my wife. I wrap my arms around her from behind and lift her off her feet, nuzzling her neck insistently.
“Ewwwwww! What are you doing.” I put her down. “Get away from me Stinky, you’re all sweaty and gross.”
“Oh, sorry.”
I go upstairs and take my shower. Cold.
Primal Man.
