Samid Sexual Milestones in the Life of Samuel Soul

The Heart is Autonomous
1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-6678-6880-6
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 286 Seiten

Reihe: Sexual Milestones in the Life of Samuel Soul

This is a book about a lifelong search for meaning in the emotional grip of intimacy and sexuality. Chasing a sexual mirage, lost in a labyrinth of passion, Sam moves along a destructive path that unravels page after page. Faithful to his philosophical instinct he never climbs down from his search for meaning and a noble cause. An upstanding successful engineer, wife, two kids, Sam remains committed to his unresolved yearning for constructive intimacy until circumstances undermine his wish. Deflated, he resigns to a quiet unassuming life as a hard-working engineer. It is then when Sam is picked up by a most gentle woman - a perfect fit for his ability to project and receive intimacy. Hidden gates are opened. So much inside him was waiting for the woman with the key. And so in his older years Sam flares up with creativity that had never bloomed before. His instinct to invest himself in cross gender excitement pans out.

Gideon's writing is like a prayer, a sacred exploration of what breathes and hums below the math, under the technology, deeper than the engineering that occupy most of his waking hours. During the day Professor Gideon Samid (PhD, PE) is a front line engineer, building and designing stuff, planning: facilities, constructions, tools. With technology one creates comfort -- comfort to do what? With engineering one builds tools of convenience -- convenience to support a life lived for what purpose? These are questions that Gideon raises with the written word, with his unbridled literary pen, not shying from sharp, explicit, word pictures. Alas, this book is not a list of answers, but a tally of a succession of struggles, a list of frequent enigmas, a story of unreasonable hope, a sequence of persistent illusions. This book is a roadmap of trying and trying again. This is Part I of the series 'Consequential Milestones in the Life of Samuel Soul'. Here, the story points to milestones of sexual intimacy, and the emotional volcano that comes with it. Gideon was born in Jerusalem, was raised and served in Israel, and then developed his engineering career in the US (NASA, Exxon, The Pentagon, University of Maryland, Case Western Reserve University) where he presently lives. Gideon's grown children and grandchildren are spread out in Israel and in the US. His wife left him after 27 years of marriage, yet a gentle soul lifted him up from his misery into a most beautiful togetherness. Dolores' love and commitment unleashes a dormant creativity. Momentum builds, light shines. Gracias!

Autoren/Hrsg.

Samid, Gideon

Leseproben

    Bouquet
    Now that this youthful experience is committed to paper, many years after the events, it’s hard for Sam to remember his exact age: thirteen, maybe fourteen. It was spring vacation; that much is certain. The word around the busy neighborhood was that the best way to make some jingles is to deliver flowers for the flower shop. The shopkeeper pays, the recipient tips, and if you get lucky, you meet a nice and interesting beauty that may be home alone when the flowers are delivered, and bound by that old-world etiquette, she invites you in for a cold drink, a chocolate, some gifts maybe. Now, this was the above-board version. Moussi, who was a year older, experienced and cosmopolitan, has let it be known that his good fortune led him to some unspeakable encounters. The eager young lady that once opened the door for him was scantily dressed, and rather adventuresome. Moussi’s story got better and better as it was retold and re-elaborated, and Sam believed every word of every version, sensing that puberty-turbined excitement in his loins. Eagerness produced daring; his shyness stepped back. The first day, Sam, who traveled by bus to the listed addresses, had come home very tired, and very disappointed. On one delivery some archaeological old lady opened the door, and barely tipped him. Next, a gruff, rumbling man barked at him from behind the shut entrance, instructing Sam to leave the bouquet by the door, and get lost. A family with half a dozen noisy, sticky kids was the third encounter: not good. The second day was as bad, and so was the third. Sam’s spirit of anticipation had diffused away, a sense of unluckiness crept into his chest, and so he quit, and took a job at the local library, helping with rebinding torn and abused books, and lugging them about. Thursday evening, everyone who lived between the park and the rock assembled near the old bench. Moussi again. He mesmerized the gathering with his believe-it-or-not tale. That morning, on his very first round, Moussi was invited in by a housewife, so he said, who was dressed so loosely that he could see her brownish nipples, and he was apparently still so unmanageably excited from this experience that he did not know what to do with himself. That was enough to impress upon young Sam to give the flower shop another try. The first two days were disappointing, like the previous week. And then came the last day of the school vacation. It was the third delivery of the day; seven huge roses, all red, to one Mr Abramson. When he rang, the door was opened, definitely not by Mr Abramson. The impeccably dressed middle-aged lady smiled at him invitingly: “My, my, what do we have here? Come in, young man, don’t just stay there, come in!” Sam walked in, feeling queasy. “Glass of soda, would be okay?” “Sure, thank you, madam,” and he followed her to the kitchen. This very pleasant lady handed Sam a fizzling glass of soda, checked the note that came with the flowers and stepped out of the kitchen with the glowing flowers clamped to her breast. Sam was left with this huge glass of soda, staring at the utensils in the kitchen; they struck him as expensive. The host lady returned without much delay, and Sam felt that she took a close measure of his person. This felt odd. She offered him a seat, and insisted he take it. Then came the questions. Inconsequential and mundane. Her staring, though, made Sam uncomfortable. It took too long; so, Sam rose and excused himself. He planned to rush back to the flower shop to pick up another bouquet before the day was over. “Thank you again for the flowers!” “You are welcome!” And he wondered, is Mr Abramson her husband? “I am Nora,” his thoughts were interrupted, “and you are —?” “Sam, Sam Soul,” answered the boy. “How old are you, Sam?” “Fourteen and a half.” “And a half, my, my. Where do you live?” Sam told her. “I bet you have never seen a jacuzzi, have you?” “No, madam, I don’t even know what a jacuzzi is.” “Come, then,” she motioned, and Sam followed. There it was, a bathroom larger than anything Sam had ever seen, dominated by what looked like a large round bathtub, with some water openings that have now been spewing jets of water, Nora having just opened the jacuzzi pump. “Would you like to try it?” she said. “Try it…?” A sudden sense of bewilderment washed young Sam. “Yes, hop in and enjoy! When you are done, here is a towel, come right out. I will wait for you outside.” And so saying, Nora stepped out and closed the door behind her. She wants me to undress in her house? There was a whoosh of vanishing innocence; a pleasing tickle brewed in the dark basement of his young boy’s heart, a surprise gush of percolation, not yet identified as manifest sexuality. Sam was about to be iron-branded by one random stranger, very much a woman. His psyche was about to be etched, stamped and marked in the ‘forever’ category. Pleasure got its definition that ordinary afternoon of the last day of that spring vacation. Now, it must be told that by the time this adventure happened, Sam was not clueless. He first lost his innocence as a teenager. But that was too early, too ugly, and with much less traction. The perpetrator was the old shriveled lady who was employed as his house cleaner. Dad was at work as usual. Mom went for a doctor’s appointment with Sam’s little brother. How did the old cleaning lady know that Sam was getting into his pants, that was always a mystery, but as it was, the door to Sam’s room was burst open as if by mistake, a voice uttering: “Oh, sorry… Hey, look at you, so sweet, what cute underwear you are wearing…” and so saying, she was there by his underwear which was instantly stretched as a hot, curious, blood rush boiled in his groin. Before Sam could offer any reaction, verbal or otherwise, he was introduced to the delightful sensation of well-versed feminine fingers pulling him through a rip tide of gripping sensations of a totally new kind. The stir was magnetic, and that old maidservant right there owned the boy. Exploiting every interval of aloneness, she imposed her desire on the thrill-arrested youth. She was old, old; her intimacy wrinkled, and when unfolded and spread, it smelled embarrassingly private, and offensively dirty. Sam was lamb-led, curiously excited, and dimly disgusted, all in the mix. It did not last long. A few days after the initial assault, there was a big argument behind closed doors. Sam heard the cleaning lady and his mother arguing, but he could not make out what they were saying. The door finally flew open, and the old cleaning lady darted out, red faced, seething with anger. She left the apartment, never to return. Sam did not find out what that row was about, but he somehow suspected that it all had to do with that shameful, ticklish, secret pleasure he experienced with the maid. Not the same now, Sam concluded. Here in the elegant, even plush apartment of this sophisticated up and up — not old — lady, it was going to be different; Sam knew that much. He also knew it would be shameful. The door was closed, and the water was bubbling noisily into the jacuzzi. Sam debated with himself for a few seconds, but his sense of compulsive adventure took precedence. Well aware that he should not be doing this, he undressed butt naked and jumped into the water. Watching his tight erection, Sam was still wondering what happens when he gets so tight, why is this so exciting, so fulfilling, so forbidden? No sooner did Sam seat himself in the bottom of the jacuzzi than he heard Nora’s voice behind the door: “How are we doing out there?” “Fine, fine…” Sam answered. “Do you want me to rub your back? “ Sam was frozen with goosebumps by this question. Interpreting his silence as affirmation, Nora opened the door and walked in, standing before young Sam, examining his body inside the water. She leaned over and held his face. “You are a cute little boy, Sam, a cute little boy!” Sam lost it, right there. He felt like a trapped animal led to the altar. A total shameful surrender, soaked in the sense of exit-of-life pleasure. Death drama, eternal submission; a shake-up of every stress of his imagination, so extreme that whatever would excite him from that moment on would be faintly compared to this sensation of having been trapped and condemned. Sam was so thoroughly victimized, but it would take many years for him to realize it. Nora knew her hunting trip was successful, and she squeezed from this forlorn boy everything that her unbridled imagination guided her to. And what she did to him paled in comparison to what she made him do to her. Sam had no sense of time, but he knew when she finished with him and pushed him out the door like a used-up tissue. At the time Sam had no expectation that he would end up replaying this very scene in his mind’s eye, taxing his imagination and memory until it was rusty and then some. The scene, the excitement, the shame, the mystery would be his trigger for sexual excitement for decades to come. What was it about this early experience that took hold of Sam’s sexuality? “How can you do it?” Sam would be asked as a young adult and especially as an older one. Sam never shared his virility secret, his mind’s eye replay of a very early choking experience. It took quite some ripening of years for Sam to realize that that early childhood scene, while giving him the sizzle, denied him the chance to properly focus on who he was with. But that life-long sentence was totally unsuspected that adventurous afternoon. That...