In Session (23) - Sapio Sexual
The Lay Psychiatrist comes out of the library closet
An easy way to seduce your sapiosexual is to get to know them for who they are. To do that … peruse their bookshelf, social media feeds, or even their Netflix queue to learn the kinds of content that stimulate them. (mindbodygreen).
“I thought it was the way the legs and ass are shaped, that rounding effect, but after a little while I’d be lonely in spite of it.” I was making constant eye contact with the woman now dominating the yellow chair. She wasn’t fat, she was big boned, big long legs and a womanly ass. “One of your thigh bones would be highly prized as a war club,” I mused out loud.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her breasts radiated kinesthetic intelligence and I connected with the rosy nipples on the edge of materializing in memory as so many times before, and you’d think it would habituate, that all the honey would be sucked from the imagining, but it’s eternal spring there. It’s life being life.
“I know just what you mean,” she said, aligning with me like I was magnetic north. “The reason you get lonely is that you are like me, Layman, you’re a sapiosexual. Look at me when I’m thinking at you.” I looked, and she entwined her mind with mine.
It was like drinking fine whiskey.
I turned and knocked a pale blue vase from the desk. I recoiled and took out an antique telephone which rang in alarm as it hit the floor.
“People say Pete Davidson has a big cock,” she said, “but it might be to fuck with Kanye’s head. It would explain Kanye’s countering his wife’s brilliant move by becoming a white conservative.”
“When you think like that, it drives me wild,” I said, “but I don’t know why.”
“Sure you do,” she said. “Intelligence turns you on. You think what you see along the way is what turns you on, but you know better, Layman. Pure intelligence is purely objective. Perfect alignment for moments at a time. This is tantra.”
I felt it now as a consciousness of emptiness. “You have to trust it,” I said. “Like with Schwarzenegger, the maid was a big woman like he was a big man, and she gave him a son that is a big man. The society pages are ignorant of the sacred.”
“I knew a woman whose dildos were made of glass,” she began, and I thought she was going to recite a poem. But she continued in prose form.
“She was a woman’s woman, who lived with a dress form which had a very narrow waist flaring into a mermaid’s hips. A plastic cock with imitation flesh did not please her because she was not that interested in men, but in the elevation of art in a place where there is no religion. On her pillow there was a two-headed serpent made of glass crystal, with streamers of colors, like veins, in the depths. She said the glass is cold, but that she likes making it hot. It’s a kind of alchemy.”
“Like blood into wine and bread into fish.” I said.
“Fish pairs with a white wine,” she said.