The movies we watch are replete with beautiful
people rapt in admiration of each other, climbing a steep gradient of
unrestrained passion to an explosive sexual fulfillment.
It can happen that way. To some. Rarely.
Yet judging by the movie industry, and
including the TV, as well as pulp-paper striptease-inspired book covers, it is
a constant, omnipresent course of true love.
Balderdash. Nonsense. Total hogwash.
More often than not, true love takes on quite a
different course. Most people are shy, particularly when encountering their
counterparts towards whom they sense, almost subliminally, an unexplainable yet
drawing attraction.
The problem lies in the total misconception of
what love is. For the vast majority of females (as against women), and
presumably an equal number of inadequate male counterparts (again in contrast
to men), love is equated with sex. Preferably explicit sex, often with dominant
or subservient partners bent on sating their hormonally stimulated deviations.
This speaks of majority, or at least 50% of
fifty shades of mentally deficient males and females. Far be it for me to suggest
that men and women do not on, often frequent, occasions venture into unknown realms
of the filigree of experimental physical role-playing. To each her or his own.
Both men and women partake in such games. They do not sink, however, to the roles
of unfulfilled voyeurs to make up for their inadequacies.
One thing is certain. After watching the
entertainment industry for some time, we must conclude that the so-called
“Western culture” is characterized by a passionate love affair with murder and
sex. The rest seems only coincidental.
It is not often
that I exercise my quill, (read WALL—Love, Sex, and
Immortality!) to write a love story. Yet sheer courtesy demands that I scribe a few
verses of a love story without resorting to exorbitant lust, abject visual nudity,
or explicit, preferably perverted sex.
Oh,
yes…
My lovers may well indulge in some departures
from ‘mama-papa’ ordinances approved by orthodox Rabbis, but they could not
think of a reason why the readers of their saga would enjoy their departures
from an established course of accepted standard of lovemaking, rather than
indulging in their own. Hence MARVIN CLARK is a love story, wherein two people
long to share their lives, their dreams and desires, to become one, to join not
just in body but also in emotions and soul.
Theirs
is a journey of great commitment. They both found that only total sublimation
of their respective egos offers true freedom. Perhaps, that is the price of
true love.
Enjoy!
A Love Story
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