I wonder if pleasure is to be with the body in the body beyond the body. But without ideas. Pure feeling.
And that’s why we can feel pleasure as well when we are swayed by waves, or caressed by the wind, or distractedly scratched in an almost tender manner in our thighs by overgrown bushes when we run in a forest whose path has not been run in much, early in the Spring and the forest welcomes us. And we welcome the forest and a butterfly leads our path.
Panting. We breathe her air.

(Sorry, I heard women don’t necessarily like to be equated to elements of the natural world like oceans, wind, forest and so forth. However, those were experiences I had within nature, when I had my body but I lost my body. I could talk about being carried in the interesting shape that is an airplane and surfing the waves of the air, [the airplane, so phallic in its exterior, nevertheless when I’m inside I can only think of it as a uterus that carries me lovely to my destination, a new life, a new dimension] but it is not necessary and the comment is getting long enough.)