x.X.x
Forbidden Fruit
The bed feels very soft when we tumble into it, and the silk sheets are so soft and luxurious. The pillows are always fluffed to perfection and the quilt is heavy and warm.
So most of the time, we don't go to bed until our eyelids are drooping. We're too used to things like that—luxury and perfection and never wanting for anything. It feels good to break out; just to fuck right against the cold wall, with goosebumps scurrying over our naked bodies. The wall is rock hard, and it's never comfortable, but his warmth and the feel of his body and his love keeps me happier than I could ever imagine.
That's another thing that feels good—to swear. That word, fuck, it feels wonderful in more ways than one—both on the tongue and in the body and in the heart. Proper boys don't fuck, they make love, and it's never with each other, it's with girls. Proper girls. Proper boys don't say the word fuck, they don't even think it. And proper boys don't fuck their brothers.
That's why it's so good. We aren't supposed to do it, so the moment we do it's like this burst of ecstasy, the thrill of disobedience, and it makes us drunk and dizzy with pleasures. Our love and desire for each other is our forbidden fruit, and we have never tried to resist it.
Who needs Eden anyway? Eden was perfect, the way I hear it. But we don't need perfection. Maybe Adam and Eve enjoyed it, for a while, but Eve grew restless, didn't she? She had seen everything there was to see, had tasted everything in the Garden. Everything except the apple. And just like Pandora, she had not been able to resist the temptation of doing the exact opposite of what she'd been told. She'd been given everything, but it didn't make her happy. So she was booted from the Garden, just like that.
I bet that apple tasted real good.
Our life of luxury doesn't satisfy us. But we aren't greedy—we aren't asking for more. Conversely, we want less. Less of everything. Less money, less clothes, less useless accessories and less food. Less pampering. Harder mattresses, colder rooms, rougher clothing, messier hair, burnt meals. Nobody needs perfection. Because if you have perfection, then what's there to wish for? You'd get bored. It's good to have hopes and dreams and to want more—or less—than what you have. It's human.
I know millions of people who disagree with that, but I don't care. Humans aren't supposed to be perfect and saintly—they make mistakes and they hurt. They cry, they laugh, they're greedy and mean and they're generous and kind. They fall in love. They're born and they die. They're weren't made to be perfect.
I'm probably the only one in the whole world who'll say this, but I don't see anything wrong with succumbing to the forbidden fruit.
Life outside of Eden can be wonderful.