Sex is such a taboo topic.
One of those “oh let’s sweep it under the rug” sort of conversations.
I love talking about it.
I love reading about it.
I love researching it.
Sex is wonderfully awkward.
Yet tantalizingly amazing.
All your limbs are stuck here and there.
Twisty tied into knots.
Lips smushed together.
Trying to taste the soul of one another.
Pulling, smoothing, gripping.
Your breathing increases to a rapid rate.
Each exhale releasing more excitement.
Last year in one of my classes, we were asked to write a poem about something unusual but still emotionally powerful.
So I hopped on google.
What the hell did I want to write about?
I typed in London and buried deep in the back pages of Google, I found Erika Eiffel.
Erika Eiffel is an objectum sexual. She has intense sexual feelings towards inanimate objects.
Including….the Eiffel Tower.
“We feel an innate connection to objects. It comes perfectly normal to us to connect on various levels, emotional, spiritual and also physical for some,” Eiffel said.
She felt such an attraction to the tower that she held a commitment ceremony and changed her last name.
“I just, it’s almost like I heard her crying out, saying, ‘Somebody, notice me. Somebody, really notice me. Here I am in the crowd crying out, somebody, somebody, hear my voice,'” she said.
It’s a fascinating concept. ABC did an article on her that delved into the depths of how she views objects.
One part I found particularly fascinating was when she said that she first found that she was different when the kids around her were dating each other…and she was dating a bridge.
Dating a bridge.
How the hell did she do that?!
“Say mom, I’ll be back late. Me and Golden Gate have to talk.”
Or did she have picnics underneath it?
Tenderly paint over the inevitable graffiti?
How do objectum sexuals actually have sex with these objects?!
Or is it merely like porn?
Where you sit and stare and having yourself some “happy time”?
These questions led to my poem.
Now mind you, my professor read all of our poems.
It was great.
He read it and got all red in the face.
Did that little *cough cough* thing people do when they are embarrassed.
He even tugged on his collar a bit.
And there I was smiling.
I was damn proud of this poem.
And now I shall share it with you.
La Dame de Fer
Through the edges
Of my cocktail dress
Tearing apart the seams
Working nimble fingers
Over my sensitive
Tasting the curvature
Of my thighs
Dragging me higher
Until my knees part
With a gluttonous need
Blood red urgency
As my tongue glides
Over the tangy metal
Arched rods and
Into the underside
Of my arms
The pale skin
Buttons of pain
Electrifying my breath
Of white hot
The hard core
Between my palms
To stroke and pull
Into my molten
The veins of Adonis
My adulterous lips
Now this is sex with the Eiffel Tower.
Hot as hell.
Gets me all riled up when I read it.