#festish

I write about catharsis like I know it, as if it’s a friend that I know all too well. As if I’ve felt that adrenaline rush from pure satisfaction over and over again, enough to be familiar, to talk about it with the intimacy of a lover. 

I’ve flirted with catharsis, but I’ve never tempted it into the bedroom. The power of it is still unknown to me, a tease that only titillates, shakes its stuff in my direction and I have no choice but to chase it down and try to find its source.

That’s what I’m doing here, searching. Exploring in the name of discovery, that I might find what I’m looking for, and know that purest of satisfactions, the sweet moment of catharsis. It means to purge, in ancient Greek, a sense of being washed clean, pulled away from everything before and made anew. 

It’s what I see in your face, each time we’re done. That moment of blissful void, a clear mind, clean of apprehension, anxiety, nerves and, wonderfully, thought. Just a body, breathing, happy, and spent. I’m chasing the dream, but you’re already living it.