mjj (flemmings) wrote,
mjj
flemmings

Farewell my concubine

I never remember my dreams but I always remember the (few, very few) with petronia in them. Last night had us all (us = work and various nonexistent family of mine) invited by her to a-- happening? cultural event? art installation?- at her college. In Montreal. That night. Which I and Z from work went to, wondering periodically about getting back for work in the morning given that it was snowing and we weren't sure if the trains ran every hour or not; while I roamed the empty diffusely lit tull-draped corridors of the college and wondered what the point of this installation was, since the students I saw when I saw students were just doing studently things, sitting at tables and jawing. The real action was elsewhere, vaguely heard in the distance but never findable by me. The story of my life, of course.

The dream was otherwise notable for having no babies in it and placing Montreal two hours or so away from Toronto.

The only connection I can think of was two friends writing stories for the last ss_bb. One somehow forgot to put a sex scene in it, so it didn't qualify. Funny, maybe, but I can very easily see how you might write a complete story and forget to put the sex scene in: because sex scenes frequently feel like gratuitous throw-ins, not intrinsic to the action. The other friend asked me to read her submission over. It had a sex scene, but I felt it really didn't need one, or not an explicit one. That sex happens is what matters, not the things the characters did during sex. And thinking this over last night I was struck by middle-aged melancholy: Ah youth! youth! when sex scenes are hot simply by virtue of being about sex! (Note that 'youth' in my case was 43, but to each her own.)

It's the law of diminishing pornographic returns, as inevitable as creaky joints and failing sight. Eventually the thrill of reading or writing what Mighty M called 'those words my mother wouldn't let me say' fades. Seen them too often: no more punch. So fen go to variations in the activity, reaching farther and farther from simple tab A in slot B-- assiduously working their way through Kraft-Ebbing's catalogue and being IMHO very silly while doing it. Rent boys, water sports, BDSM, scat, filching, blah blah blah. Sorry: seen it all before, no frisson there, and that little detail of *would* Hakkai have a Prince Albert inserted or not, what do you think about that?

Drawn sex should fare better. There are various angles (sometimes literal) that one can take to make the sex individual and arresting, whereas erotic vocabulary has a much narrower compass and a dreary repetitive sameness. But even BL palls. Sex itself no longer makes a satisfying story for me. Sex between strangers even less so: there's no reason at all to read it. Sex between characters I know occasionally still retains some interest, but it's the emotioal interaction that intrigues, not the physical activity itself. The screwing or sucking or whatever is now pure meh, and I go off to read straight shoujo instead. Sic transit gloria...
Tags: dreams, writing
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