Extending the Metaphor

This is a place of my making; the metaphor serves but no longer completely satisfies.

To be by the sea has always recharged me. It doesn't matter whether I am flinging myself into the waves on a burning summer day or wrapped up against the wind and walking along the water's edge, lost in my thoughts.

My cabin on the beach is my refuge. It is also my loneliness and disconnection; a place for one. In the past I have imagined a shared cottage, a large bed and the sound of the waves accompanying noisy, unrestrained (or restrained) and joyful lovemaking.

My small cabin can seem more of a prisoner's, or hermit's, cell than a refuge and I find myself there less than ever before; solitude is not an escape from loneliness. Of course, its not as if I am imprisoned there in any sense. I walk to the edge of the beach and seldom further but there is no barrier except that which I make for myself. I can and do leave this place and enjoy the pleasure of valued company but it is a peek through a door which has to be left ajar and then closed firmly behind me when I return. And I must always return.

Why this reflection now? It is partly seasonal; I am always wistful with the shorter, misty days. But I sense another autumn and it gnaws at me. This really does seem to be as good as it will get and the thought weighs heavily upon me and makes me out of sorts and even, sometimes, irrationally angry. I had higher hopes for my life.

I yearn to love and to be loved; to hold and be held. I yearn to be kissed and caressed and Fucked. I yearn to kiss and suck and taste a lover's cunt; to observe her pleasure and drive her on to even more intense waves and also to throw ourselves into the summer sea waves to refresh ourselves... together.