I've no desire to disappoint, but I am not a necrophiliac. Well, I've no desire to disappoint in that regard. If you're looking for necrophiliacs I can probably help you find some (I have seen Necromantic, it pointed out both my lack of interest in that regard and that fact that there must be those...), it's just not my thing. What is my thing then? Well, since you asked:

I imagine that if you found this site you are well enough educated in the subject matter to be acquainted with the french concept of le petit mort. It's an orgasm, yes. Children leave the room; jeez, what are children doing on a site devoted to my thoughts on death anyway? Where's Net Nanny? Alas, I digress. Yes, anyway, orgasm. The little death.

Heart rate, irregular. Breathing, labored to non-existant (a clue, a clue!). Autonomic nervous responses in general, haywire. If we were male black widow spiders or praying mantises that would not be the end of it. Or, rather, it would be. But I digress again.

I gave it away when I spoke of the breath. The most magical of our interactions with our environments. We live by it, we are poisoned by it (not only do I live in NYC but I am also a smoker) and we are dead when it finally ceases. But I amuse myself playing with it. Do you? I'm not recommending it, Wiserman than I (lil BDSM joke there) have said -forget it. Forget about it, don't do, don't think about it, don't look at people who might be capable of possibly thinking about it. Good advice, all of that. If, for some reason you must do it, please be careful. If you enjoy it then you're damned like me. You will die! Of course, everyone will die, but that's beside the point.

Sex and death are truly inextricably entertwined, the continuation of the species and the cessation of the individual. Do be careful, I'm not kidding about that, but if you're like me don't feel too bad. I may have caused myself and my lovers irreperable damage (somehow I doubt that), but at least I haven't