cycle
11:22 p.m.<>2001-04-15

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i was thumbing through a magazine recently when i came across an interesting little fact. apparently, sleep researchers have determined that human beings undergo cycles of arousal during rem sleep. every 90 mins or so, whether you're aware of this or not, your body exhibits signs of sexual excitement while you're sleeping.

what that means is this: whether you're male or female, once every hour and a half your breathing will become somewhat shallower and more rapid. your nipples will harden to some extent. your external genitals will become engorged. you might begin to undulate your pelvis slightly, in unconscious mimicry of the motions of intercourse.

barring disorder, pathology, or the sort of psycho-physical anomalies brought about by stress or sickness, this cycle of arousal occurs to all adult humans. your body goes through this every night, without regard for sense of propriety. it doesn't matter if you're a prude or a tramp. teenaged or middle aged. coupled or single. it makes no different if you're a snoozer in the sack, or if you're the sort of lover that people should be writing sonnets about. so don't worry. it happens to all of us.

for some reason, i continue to take comfort in that little random fact. there's something reassuring about knowing that at the end of the day, when we lay aside all our modesty and our moralizing and our resentments and our inhibitions and our prejudices and our self-image, we're left with this: the body, hungering. craving orgasm. without shame or anger. without intellectualizing or measured debate. without worrying about what you look like, or how well you're doing, or what other people or thinking.

just this. the breath, coming shallower and faster. the nipples, hardening and darkening. the penis, thickening and lengthening. the clitoris, swelling with blood. every 90 minutes, like clockwork. like the seasons. your longing for climax, as regular as the moon and the tides.

jodie and i have slept side by side for many, many nights now. sometimes, when we're especially fortunate, our 90 minute cycles will be perfectly in sync. we'll surface from rem sleep to a half-dreaming state, only to discover that somehow her nightshirt has gathered under her neck, and my hand is cupping her bare breast. she'll look down with heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes to where her fingers are wrapped around my member. we'll fumble against each other in the dark, our movements clumsy with the thick residue of our dreams.

my tongue in the warm cavern of her mouth. her tight little nipple under my palm. her wetness surrounding me. the tiny, stifled grunts and gasps we make as we come. then to drift back off to sleep, having fulfilled the compulsion of our 90 second cycle, without ever having uttered a word.

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