I see many far-out ladies leading the way in many frontiers. I find a strength in them that supports, rather than separates me from them. In so many ways, the torment of my insecurities grows dim in the light of seeing women as pilgrims instead of pictures.
This awareness, a quiet feeling that something was wrong, was with him at the age of 3. At 46, he resolved the conflict and became a woman. James was a traveler and, as a professional correspondent, crossed continents and scaled Everest. Yet it was Jan Morris who completed the most important journey, that to the woman hidden inside the man.
(after the pain, the pain)
Like many men, I’ve been changing. Making love has become preferable to fucking and sharing preferable to manipulating. I’m realizing that every time my penis gets hard it doesn’t need (nor does it have some instinctive right) to be inserted in a conveniently warm place.
It is possible that we are looking out there, over yonder, when we ourselves, or our sisters or mothers or daughters may be secretly squirreling away some of the most direct, honest, intense “news” around about what being a human being is — and not even know that it qualified as literature and might stand the test of time better than much that is presently coming out of the big N.Y. publishing companies.
I am a creature bankrupt of desire, save one — LUST. And what am I to do now, while in the experimental “foregoing of fucking” stage? If I deny my prime desire, and if I have no others, how am I to act other than at random, which I also refuse to do?