Thu, 19 May 2005

Experiments
It has long been my belief that the definition of one’s erogenous areas need not be located specifically on the body. For instance, while I consider myself as sensitive physically as most people, my most sensitive area is in the corner of a bathroom in a two-story house on 108th Street, Indianapolis Indiana. For years I would, without any specific physical stimulus, have incredibly powerful orgasmic experiences, which occasionally led for fairly embarrassing situations (I have a confessional story that would make you cringe). At first I thought of this as some sort of neural misfiring, so I went to Student Health, who gave me an aspirin and sent me home. In the waiting room I started talking to this girl I knew from my freshman Consumer Responsibility class, who told me she had a cousin who had the same condition I had, who discovered he had a pleasure-locus (her words, not mine) located along a section of telephone cable leading to an elderly woman’s house; this cousin befriended this old woman, and would call her for hours, completely naked, with bottles of water and towels at his side. The question, ultimately, is if the entire universe can be considered a vast lattice of potential orgasmic nerve-endings, which one connects to you, a silver strand tied straight to your crotch. A year passed, during which these events slowed and then stopped entirely, when in the back of this xerox zine I had sent some goofy story about magic poop or something, I read an ad from this group called Aethereal Joy Foundation, which not only nailed the same thing this girl was telling me about earlier, but offered help in finding my “pleasure-locus” so long as I later assisted others in the same manner. I was taking a lot of drugs at this time, and would become totally obsessed with random things I had read being coded messages directed specifically to me in order to assist my discovering the Final Wisdom, so I took it for granted that this group was part of the Secret Imams or the Swarm Angels or whatever, and that I should drop them a note. Two months later, with help from AJF, I took a bus ride to Indianapolis, where I met an AJF member and realtor by the name of Holdus III, and Holdus drove me to 108th street, an emptied house he was attempting to sell, and through techniques I don’t exactly understand he led me to the area he had locked in as being directly connected to me. He left me alone in the bathroom, where I felt around for a while, until I found the corner, which I fondled in a rather disgusting way for hours on end. I had hoped to be able to buy the house, but since I had all of eight dollars to my name, Holdus told me not to worry, he’d see what he could do for me. A month later, I began having the orgasms-at-a-distance again, much more powerfully and regularly than before. I got a postcard from Holdus with this spotless, gleaming 50s-style ultramodern bathroom on the front. On the back, he had written “Two obsessive compulsive cleaning fetishists! You’re welcome! -Holdus III agent of infinite delight”.

Should any of you be AJF members still seeking your center, let me know; I’ll see what I can do.
(12:07.05.19.2005) [/alpha] #