Authors: Michel Farnac
“I
am
reminded
of
an
old
Greek
legend
that
I
always
liked.
There
once
was
this
fellow
named
Tiresias.
He
would
become
famous
for
telling
Œdipus
he
was
bedding
his
mother.
As
a
young
man
he
saw
two
snakes
copulating
and
did
a
very
stupid
thing
by
separating
them
with
a
stick
during
the
act.
It
turns
out
that
one
did
not
do
such
things
back
then
without
severe
consequences
and
he
was
instantly
turned
into
a
woman.
Seven
years
later
and
surely
after
much
searching,
he
found
another
reptilian
spectacle
and
quickly
separated
them
and
was
turned
back
into
a
man.
Fast
forward
to
Zeus
and
Hera
having
their
usual
explosive
disagreements
about
just
about
anything
that
remotely
reminded
her
what
unbearable
swine
Zeus
was.
This
time
they
are
arguing
about
who
of
the
male
or
the
female
has
more
pleasure
during
sex,
Zeus
pointing
out
that
none
of
it
would
add
up
if
the
female
did
not
receive
a
far
larger
portion
of
the
joys
of
orgasm
than
the
man,
and
I
would
tend
to
agree
since
that
is
the
only
explanation
for
the
fact
that
you
can
even
endure
the
presence
of
men
in
your
beds.
So
they
decide
to
ask
Tiresias,
since
he
has
been
both.
I
suppose
that
during
his
tenure
as
a
woman,
he
had
not
been
adverse
to
being
with
another
man.
Anyway,
they
go
to
see
him
and
ask
him.
He
thinks
about
it
a
little
and
then
says
‘If
the
pleasure
of
sex
were
to
be
divided
into
ten
parts,
the
male
would
get
one
and
the
female
nine’
upon
which
Hera
instantly
removes
his
eyesight.
Feeling
a
little
bit
sheepish
before
the
now
blind
hermaphrodite,
Zeus
gives
him
second
sight
to
compensate.”
“Well,
you
see,
if
the
pleasure
of
the
male
in
sex
were
divided
into
ten
parts,
man’s
hand
would
get
one
part
and
his
woman
would
get
nine.
There
is
really
no
common
measure
between
the
two.
This
might
in
fact
explain
why
the
manufacturers
of
inflatable
dolls
and
other
gadgets
do
brisk
business.
But
ultimately,
what
I
want
to
describe
for
you
just
does
not
happen
with
self-‐induced
orgasm.”
This
left
Catherine
a
bit
melancholy.
She
had
had
her
modicum
of
orgasms
and
in
fact
considered
herself
lucky
that
some
of
them
had
been
brought
on
by
men,
unlike
a
large
number
of
women,
but
never
had
the
presence
of
a
man
in
her
brought
her
to
climax.
When
Michel
finally
fulfilled
his
commitment
it
was,
as
always,
nothing
like
what
she
had
expected
though
in
this
case
she
would
have
been
hard
put
to
describe
what
she
was
expecting.
I
have
finally
completed
the
long
awaited
description.
It
wasn't
easy,
but
I
am
fairly
happy
with
it.
Maybe
not
quite
as
good
as
I
had
hoped
at
first,
but
a
really
hard
topic,
you
will
concur.
Anyway,
I
am
just
piling
on
the
excuses.
You
will
be
the
judge.
I
guess
part
of
the
problem
is
how
much
there
is
to
talk
about,
and
wanting
to
put
too
much
into
one
piece.
But
that
is
a
pleasant
aspect
of
our
affair,
that
we
will
never
run
out
of
things
to
talk
about!
So
here
goes…
If
we
define
a
sense
as
a
vehicle
of
physical
sensation,
then
there
are
indeed
more
than
five
senses,
and
the
sixth
is
called
proprioception.
Akin
to
the
sense
of
balance,
it
gives
us
the
perception
of
our
body
with
respect
to
itself.
If
you
know
where
your
arm
is
when
your
eyes
are
closed,
it
is
because
of
proprioception.
It
is
proprioception
that
informs
a
man
that
his
phallus
is
not
inside
his
body
yet
somehow
part
of
it.
This
physical
paradox
is
essential
to
the
sensations
engendered
by
an
orgasm.
My
member
hangs
from
me
and
I
have
no
control
over
it
directly.
When
it
is
in
repose,
I
have
no
way
to
move
it
other
than
by
exerting
great
force
on
my
belly,
thighs
and
groin
in
hopes
that
it
will
respond.
It
is
a
limp
appendage
dissociated
perceptually
from
the
rest
of
the
body.
The
normal
feelings
that
emanate
from
it
are
always
vague,
never
precise:
discomfort,
warmth,
even
pain
is
somehow
always
diffuse
when
it
comes
from
there,
however
intense.
Unless,
that
is,
the
member
is
erect.
Then,
things
are
a
little
different.
Now
mind
you,
it’s
not
as
if
there
were
only
two
states
to
the
penis:
flaccid
or
erect.
It’s
more
like
three
states:
rest,
en
route,
there,
but
the
there
part
is
hard
to
define
or
rather
hard
to
feel.
As
I
said,
inner
sensations
are
only
indirect,
and
so
you
know
you’re
hard
only
when
you
feel
the
hardness
against
something
else:
a
hand,
stretched
clothing…
But
once
the
hardness
is
established,
it
is
as
if
the
member
were
fully
part
of
the
body,
as
if
it
could
be
controlled.
This
is
partially
an
illusion,
since
it
possesses
no
muscles
of
its
own,
but
now
it
feels
connected
to
the
main,
a
part
of
the
whole.
The
tip
of
the
phallus
reacts
to
warmth,
to
humidity
and
to
touch.
The
shaft
reacts
mainly
to
touch,
and
at
that
mainly
to
friction
against
its
skin:
the
more
taut
the
skin
(the
harder
the
phallus)
the
more
sensitive.
Fast
forward
to
a
moment
following
a
period
of
stimulation.
Without
specific
warning
I
enter
a
‘zone’,
a
plane
of
perception:
the
orgasm
is
close
at
hand.
Nothing
is
decided
yet
but
soon
will
be.
It
is
as
if
a
reversal,
a
subtle
shift
has
occurred
and
now
sensations
emanating
from
the
tip
of
the
cock
shoot
back
into
my
groin,
and
over
the
next
few
seconds,
as
these
lance
of
warmth
fire
into
me,
they
begin
to
trigger
responses
from
my
groin,
small
contractions
that
start
out
vey
subtle
and
quickly
grow
in
intensity.
The
rhythm
of
the
pulses
starts
out
every
three
seconds
or
so,
and
once
the
interval
shrinks
to
roughly
one
second,
the
die
are
cast.
The
true
moment
is
signified
when
a
deluge
of
warmth
flows
from
the
tip
into
the
shaft
and
the
testicles
start
to
glow
with
pleasure:
as
it
turns
out,
their
temperature
is…
decreasing.
At
this
point,
only
a
painful
physical
maneuver
of
near
garroting
could
prevent
the
semen
from
exiting.
The
abdominals
are
beginning
to
enter
the
fray
as
the
balls
have
begun
shifting
the
load
into
the
pump
at
the
base
of
the
cock.
The
contractions
which
were
up
to
now
very
much
internalized
become
muscle
spasms
combined
with
the
thrust
of
the
pelvis.
The
first
of
these
is
the
official
beginning
of
the
orgasm
though
the
ejaculation
begins
only
at
the
third
or
fourth.
It
is
always
a
surprise
to
feel
the
hot
semen
flowing,
no,
pulsating
through
the
shaft
in
the
sense
that
everything
seemed
to
indicate
it
was
already
happening.
The
testicles
remain
a
pure
locus
of
dislocated
pleasure,
still
unattached
to
the
body,
but
now
irradiating
it
with
waves
of
pleasure.
This
is
where
I
take
a
path
quite
different
from
most
of
my
colleagues.
Soon,
there
will
be
a
dislocation
of
spirit
and
body:
the
little
death.
Exerting
control
over
the
body
at
that
point
not
only
immediately
ends
all
true
pleasure,
it
is
also
so
uncomfortable
as
to
be
painful.
The
macho
ones
will
choose
to
regain
physical
control
before
this
happens,
get
up,
go
have
a
cigarette
or
something
to
stimulate
sensation
into
the
wanting-‐to-‐die
nervous
system
to
counteract
the
orgasm.
The
others
will
place
themselves
into
a
position
of
stable
equilibrium
usually
not
involving
physical
contact
with
their
partner.
This
is
like
dawning
a
primitive
armor,
retreating
into
a
cave
to
pass
the
little
death.
Me,
I
go
surfing.
Surf
the
wave.
Make
it
last.
Make
it
roar.
Amplify
everything,
make
it
resonate
until
I
explode.
The
waves
emanating
from
my
groin
turn
into
contractions
of
my
muscle
groups
each
in
turn,
shoulders,
arms,
legs,
feet…
Usually,
one
foot
is
oscillating
at
high
speed
(think
Thumper
in
Bambi),
I
am
punching
a
pillow,
a
wall,
or
a
mattress
with
one
fist,
my
breathing
gets
faster
and
louder…
I
can
see
nothing,
hear
barely
a
thing
as
the
blood
rushes
through
my
ears,
pounding
in
joy.
And
finally,
my
abs
seize
in
violent
contractions,
every
few
seconds,
in
decreasing
intensity
over
a
couple
of
minutes,
my
breathing
slowing
down
as
I
gradually
bring
my
heart
rate
back
to
‘normal’.
When
almost
all
the
contractions
have
occurred,
I
let
out
all
the
air
in
my
lungs
in
one,
long
breath.
There
is
a
point
of
balance
there
that
I
reach.
When
I
resurface
for
air,
it
feels
as
though
that
very
air
is
thick,
strong,
powerful.
Not
hard
to
breathe,
just
slow
to
breathe,
more
potent.
My
spirit
is
at
peace,
radiating,
slowly
coming
back
into
my
body
as
said
body
rids
itself
of
the
last
few
minor
contractions.
Every
inch
of
my
skin
is
hypersensitive
and
will
be
for
a
few
minutes.
Contentment
pervades.
Motion
is
undesirable,
as
would
be
contrast
at
this
point.
Soon,
time
will
coalesce
again
and
space
will
retake
its
shape.
Until
then,
my
universe
fills
with
the
presence
of
the
one
who
has
created
this
bliss:
you.
My
hand
reaches
out…