[There are two characters in this story. One is a young man house-sitting for some friends of his parents, and the other is a middle-aged woman home sick from work. I’ll keep the details of their personalities intentionally fuzzy so you can better imagine yourself in their place.]
The house has a small pool in the backyard, and from the moment the boy steps into the empty mansion, he fully intends to go skinny dipping. He wants to be a trustworthy house-sitter, but he can’t shake the small thrill of being alone in this space, imagining Mr. and Mrs. N (who have no children) fucking in every room. As he steps into the master bathroom upstairs, he imagines Mrs. N bathing behind the wall-to-wall glass doors of the shower, the way her generous breasts might look as she soaps them.
The house is so large and so quiet, an empty space still charged by unknown activities, like a school in the summertime. He feels like an outlaw, somehow — and this is how the boy ends up taking off his clothes, folding them neatly on the twin bed in the guest room, and continuing his tour nude. The house is very open, with large unadorned windows looking out at the neighboring houses in every room, but the boy isn’t modest. He resumes his tour in the master bedroom.
The woman isn’t feeling awful, but she feels under the weather enough to justify a quiet day alone at home. Besides, she’s woken up extremely horny the last few days, and hasn’t had an opportunity to get herself off lately. Nothing like a sunny afternoon in bed for that.
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One thing is for sure: they all come because they are hungry. How they are hungry! 1
Some of them are broken in one way or another, some of them invincible — but they all have a hunger burning just beneath their soft skin. It surfaces often when they’re together, manifesting as flushed-cheeks, lock-eyed gazes, or a desperate writhing dance. Once each of them has put his or her hunger on display in this way (or other ways, there are so many!), the hungers become a sort of pure sexual energy, which our hedonists share with one another in all manner of ways.
Through the air:
He presses his body against hers, letting his hands find her wild, bucking places. Through her hair, he utters a few electric words into her ear.
Through the air, silently:
His eyes are locks that she gently inserts twin skeleton-keys into, turns them in unison. She does this with her eyes, across the dance floor.
Through the skin:
The two girls meld into a sort of many-armed goddess, two bodies made into one through a complexly syncopated constellation of mirrors, it seems.
[That’s all I have for you today, but there will be more.]
What can I say about the hedonists? I can say that the joy they take in truly turning one another on is a prize, a moving target that increases in value with its obscurity. I can say that their parties are soaked to saturation with the giddy surrender of pursuing that prize.
They map one another’s turn-ons like half-mad prospectors with the taste of gold on their tongues, like sleepless painters. At the end of the night, they receive these maps from their peers and carefully file them away with the rest of the maps. All in the name of pleasure, cemented and documented, ready to call up and reanimate next time.
And how could I not say something about their youth? That cult, running like a mineral vein through history, taking stranger forms than it used to. A cult that our hedonists simultaneously reject and embody. They are unwilling patron saints. But their youth! It glows from just beneath their soft skin, amplified by the lens-to-the-sun of eroticism and horniness each of them has inside.
[More to come on our hedonists.]
Glad to see you’ve found our new home. Have a look around, we’ll take your coat. Stay a while. Please excuse the wet paint, we’re still getting settled.
We’ve been working on the new design for a few weeks now, and we couldn’t be more excited to share it with you. First and foremost, we sought to make the Observer more readable. You’ll notice that the type is bigger & sexier, and if you visit the site on a mobile device (iPhone, iPad, etc), you’ll see the layout adjust for an optimal reading experience in every context. Also, we won’t be posting pictures with the posts any longer, which makes the site safe for you to read on the train, at work (naughty you), or at the park. Any letters to the editor detailing an experience reading the Observer in one of those places will be received with much excitement and published immediately.
In all, we feel that the new site matches our aesthetic quite nicely. Let us know what you think, and happy reading!