Story 11 - Coffee Sex and Biscuits
"Would you join in?" I asked.
"I might. Can there be any shame involved, Peter, in a lateral flow where people touch each other in the flow of their honest self-love of the wondrous humanity that we all share? We shouldn't see any shame in that. So tell me, why shouldn't I want to share in that lateral sharing if the woman's offer were to extent that far? I even think, Peter, that in this kind of a lateral flow of love, sex isn't the main factor at all, even if the outcome involves sexual sharing. I think lateral love is about joy, about the joy of overcoming barriers, the joy of finding a response that echoes our own self-love. Should I shy away from that joy?"
"Most people would, Sylvia, as I did in my dream."
"And so we deprive ourselves of the wonders of our own love for the most silly reasons," said Sylvia. "I suppose we haven't been always like that," she added.
I told her a story from a long time ago. A school teacher friend had taken her first year class to the library. She told me how the kids had loved the books and the audio tapes of the children's stories they could listen to. She also told me about an incidence that happened the next day in her classroom when the kids talked about their library experiences. That's when she found out that some of the boys had discovered the adult magazines section. One of the boys exclaimed to my friend about their find, waving his arms about excitedly as kids do, "Oh, Miss Lisa, Miss Lisa, you should have seen those pictures! Those were..."
She told me that she cut the boy off before he could say anymore, and then quickly changed the subject. "Nevertheless, my friend couldn't suppress a great big smile when she related the incidence to me," I
said to Sylvia. I told her that I was about to reply to her that I would have loved to have seen those pictures myself. "But I didn't say that," I confessed. "Maybe if I had, she might have said that there was no need for pictures. It was summer time. She wore nothing but a thin shirt and shorts, which could have been easily taken off, and that would have been worth a thousand pictures. But none of that happened, nor is it likely to happen for as long as the Byzantine model of public opinion is in control of us, rather that scientific perception, love, and our honesty with ourselves."
"That's why jokes are made about sex during parties," Sylvia suggested, "because the Byzantine model that controls us, doesn't allow us the freedom to acknowledge our humanity. All that we are allowed to do, is to crack jokes about it, to ridicule it. That's sad, isn't it?"
"No Sylvia, it is not just sad," I added. "It is tragic that we find it so very difficult to step outside of the mold that has been cast for us. It's like that first step from the
Lunar Lander onto the surface of the moon, 'a small step for a man, but a giant step for mankind.' Becoming honest with ourselves appears to be an ever bigger challenge than going to the moon, which incidental, we
can't do anymore even we want to. We have destroyed the industries that once gave us the capability to go to the moon. In fact, we have pursued this destructive rampage with glee, within the sphere of the Byzantine model. Don't you think this has to stop before we destroy the whole economy on which our existence depends?"
"Indeed, this has to stop," Sylvia agreed.
Sylvia stood up after she said this as if she was about to refill the coffee pot. But she didn't. Instead of reaching for the coffee pot she reached down and lowered her night pants and took them off. "Do you love what you see?" she said with a smiling face and came across to my side of the table.
"Absolutely!" I answered.
This daring little gesture added a new sparkle to the brightness of the morning. Its brightness filled countless moments. The sparkle of it lasted till lunch time and beyond. In the afternoon we had the urge to explore some of the cliffs we had never explored before. We climbed down to the kelp bed, explored the shallow pools, climbed to the farthest point, a giant rock that marks the entrance to our bay. We watched the breaker smash against its steep face and then explode into a spay that shot high into the air against the afternoon sun.