Complexity is the Majestic - Book 2

Perceptually Yours

Fighting comfort.

The comfort zone is an expression you hear about alot when you move into your 30's. It starts to become the defacto way to say you're fucked, your disabled, your inability to recognize your spiral of demise.

Get out of your comfort zone- they'l say, perched on their high horse of glee. Everyone is a judge, self included. Its easy to be a critic, its always harder to deal, or create.

I stand in the flawed of night, its easy to see the faults we share. We're common in our comfort, emboldened by our shared destain for comfort seekers.

Another night at the club.

My comfort, my zone of distraction, my escape. I recognize the flawed nature of it, I welcome its shameful embrace. Take my sins away one dollar at a time. Here we're all flawed.

Estella looks at me with pain. She's been dissed by another patron- the Sade Spanker, a coveted regular, rewarding girls in the VIP with an ass load of pain.

"I want him to take me back there and make me sore..." Estella said with depressing eyes.

"But nooo.. he's back there with a bitch, robbing me of what i'm owed." she said painfully.

Another night of the gloom. She sits by me, not to seek me, want me, see me, but to get a drink and bitch about the wrongs of the night. No cash, no spanks, whine oh whine.

The waitress appears.

"I want a quad yager bomb..." Estella blurts out, looking to erase herself on my dime.

"Ya know a double is fine..." I say as she repels me.

The waitress accepts the quad and I decide not to ever buy Estella a drink again. This game of depression and loss is the opposite of what i seek in the club. Dragged into her web of mind games, nope, next.

"Ya know he was spanked as a kid.... and thats messed him up.." Estella rambled on perched on her horse, as i watched Vera dance on the main stage.

Save me Vera, I think to myself.

I think back to being alone. Loneliness, surrounded by it. I sometimes can't easily bare it, uncorking the cork in my mind, the jitters and embracing the flow of despair, total loneliness, a crushing aspect of it fills me, bringing me to tears.

Feeling is good.

I need to feel. I need that release of feeling. Tears makes it more mindful, apparent that its happened, evident, obvious.

Ally fills a gap sure but we're not connecting again.

Back to the club...

"When was the last time you had sex?" Dixie asks me perched on a chair. She is welcoming, engaging, wanting to talk, wanting to connect, know me, see me, hear me, be with me.

"I can't really recall- " an honest answer really. Sex, how do we define it? Intercourse, miss it- been awhile. Everything else, now and then. The romp, dream about it. The unexpected, want it.

"You gotta talk about that stuff... its been a month for me.." she continued on, consoling me, comforting me, making me feel heard, noticed, known. Odd that a stripper can't get sex any time they want it, or do they want it? Does the act of stripping take away some of essence of wanting sex? Sex always comes at a cost, even if you toss it aside- oh you super human.

Dixie is therapeutic all without a dollar or dime of exchange. She's better to me than Vera at times, least I'd think that. But the glue between us is different. I don't desire her like I do Vera. But she reaches in, continues to fish for that connection. I recognize that. But want never occurs. Maybe with Vera I want too much?