Tuesday, November 29, 2011

vanessa

WOMEN 63
Hm. Putting her name in caps doesn't seem sufficient. Is there a caps-exponential option? In my first year in New York, my brothers set me up with a newer computer, and at their insistence i relented to finally joining this thing called the internet. Before long, i was glad i had. On Craigslist, a site i surfed for jobs, i came across a "platonic only" personals section. I'd always thought personals a touch pathetic, but this was a twist, so i explored, and answered some ads. Vanessa was very sad, just looking for honesty. We wrote back and forth for a couple months, much of it about the misery she was enduring with her boyfriend. He lied to her, cheated on her, accused her…she sounds like a sap, but she was no dummy. Born and raised in Chinatown, she was very Americanized (she had gone to college in the Midwest), but her parents were first-generation, and many if not most of her problems stemmed from old world guilt. She spoke Chinese in her parents’ home. A freelance web designer, she'd had one long-term romance in her college years, which ended in harsh betrayal. For the past few years she'd gone from one dysfunctional relationship to another. Asserting her own needs and self was where she always came up short. We finally met one early evening at a Virgin Music Store cafe. Before a word was spoken, there was a whooshing inside me, and three little words flashed in my mind, "i’m in trouble". We discovered that talking in person was as nice and comfy as our letters had been. If she were taller she'd have been called willowy. She wore lots of black. She was in good shape, with some muscle tone. In two obvious ways she wasn’t my type - she had died a section of her beautiful beyond-shoulder-length hair red, and had a navel piercing. I was no fan of jewelry in general, and navel rings in particular (so embarrassingly derivative...but an African lip disc wouldn’t have kept me from her). A month or two swirled by in which we phoned or wrote almost daily, and saw each other once a week or so. Walking along the Battery Park waterfront one evening, we stopped in a little courtyard. I was climbing a stone structure behind her. The wind was blowing off the water, and she spread her arms as it flowed by. I knew in that moment that her arms were the most beautiful i’d ever seen. I came down behind her, and raised my arms to match hers. We meandered on. Then as always, her demons were never far...and they usually summoned her through cell phone. Demons of parents or boyfriend. We ended up in a playground, two interlopers with a world to ourselves. We came to rest eight feet off the ground on a net, looking up at the sky. Finally our hands brushed, and a brush became contact that didn’t break. I broke the mood by suddenly tumbling away, making her smile. I said i wanted to hold her. She said that would be nice. We cuddled until we were rousted by a flatfoot. I dreamed of returning one future night, to make love with her on the net. I soon told her that wanting to hold her was becoming one of the driving forces of my life. She started visiting me in Jersey City. I picked her up at the Journal Square PATH station, and drove her two miles to my home (she was a night person, and the shuttle busses were usually done running by the time she crossed the Hudson). Her first visit was during a rainstorm, and we arrived at my home soaking. The rain became a minor motif in our relationship; it seemed the skies turned on the waterworks so often when we were together. That first night her demons found her almost as soon as she was in my door. She took the call, and argued tearfully in Chinese with her father for half an hour, looking out the back window. At one point i lightly hugged her from behind. I broke off after a minute, because i suddenly had the kind of erection that arrives fully stiff in the space of a breath, which was not the hug i'd intended. Finally she came into my room, where i waited in candlelit darkness. She lay down, put her wet head on me, and before long her tears flowed onto my neck. I wanted to stay in the moment forever. On another visit, there was a more torrential downpour, and i kept circling in my car, unable to spot her. I parked illegally, and ran through the storm, searching. Finally there she was. I grabbed her hand and we ran. With the car in sight, we came together in an embrace. The profound violence of the wind and rain was so beautiful, as i held her with a need i was only beginning to understand. In the tumble of those months, clothing dropped away from our nights together, and on that stormy night, her tears on my chest, i knew i was in love. She said she had never been unfaithful, and couldn’t be now. I said that was fine. On those many nights we shared my bed, i searched for ways to express the blinding feeling inside me. Embraces gave way to baby kisses over every square centimeter of her. The first time her bra came away…i'd known that her chest was small, but wasn't prepared for how small. I grew to desire her physically like nothing i had ever known. My closed-mouth kisses evolved into open-mouthed...timeless explorations with lips and tongue. I still held back from any fluid swapping, but every piece of exposed skin on her, i found. She said that no man had ever given her attention on that scale. My mind reeled as she spoke, knowing how much i was holding back. I wanted to ingest her, devour her, pour myself into her. The word "worship" had always seemed perverse when applied to human loving, but that word slammed into my existence as one of the few that began to capture what i was feeling. One night i took her big toe into my mouth and worked it over, not sure whether i was going too far or even if she would like it. It was the first toe i ever sucked. She liked it. I explored and caressed with hands, arms, fingers, nose, and face…i spent hours kissing her pelvis, front and back. I grew weak at the sight of her ass. I didn’t realize it the first time (as i had with her arms), but as time wore on i knew that every tushie i'd ever seen or touched just paled in comparison. I wanted to put a tent on her tush and live there forever…although in truth part of my relationship to her ass may have been about more than just her. I had never before related to the ass as an erogenous zone, and remember laughing at some of my drunken floormates in college who talked about rimming or wanting to rim. But through my taoist training, my anus view had been changing. Putting a finger in my own while pleasuring myself was interesting, and not unpleasant. One of my artist friends told me that a rim job done right was one of the most exquisite pleasures to be found. I suppose these factors placed me in a growingly receptive state of mind, and...one night, as i kissed and nuzzled her behind, i suddenly knew that i wanted to plunge my tongue into every orifice she had. How i restrained myself to the extent that i did during those months…it's partly a mystery, as i’d never tasted anyone so perfect and true. But i knew it was important to her that we wait. Because of that, resisting the purest desire i’d ever known was in a sense, easy. To love her, and love her right…i began having thoughts of changing my life, of sacrifices and such, to be with her. This wasn’t as mind-blowing as it should have been, considering that no woman had ever even vaguely affected me like that. With Vanessa, so many of the controls and walls i'd acquired in a lifetime felt irrelevant. Things like pregnancy or safe sex…if she had an STD, i wanted it. If there were an experience to be had, be she by my side, then bring it. I know, a lot of my reaction can only rationally be called…not rational. But there it is. Perhaps the single most brain-scrambling moment with her came in the apartment of her closest friend M, who was interning at a downtown hospital. M was great, tiny with big expressive eyes and an irrepressible personality (Vanessa called her an anime character). M hated Vanessa’s boyfriend. M liked me. One night, Vanessa invited me to stay with her at M’s, who had an all-night shift. Vanessa drew a candlelit bath, and sometime that night i broke one of our barriers a tiny bit. I was holding my head to hers, nuzzling her face for an eternity. As i held my closed lips against hers, my tongue came out and licked her upper lip. Then the lower. Then very slowly across them both. I stopped. Her lips had parted. My tongue crept inside her just a bit, and i lightly touched her teeth. I held my tongue still. From between her nearly-clenched teeth, her tongue came out and slowly rolled across mine. And my brain promptly flew...apart. One night, she took me to a nice restaurant and showered me with gifts, chiefly a beautiful journal that had her poetry on the cover. She hoped that i would fill it with words for her. I said that i suspected it would stay empty until the day when her love was as free as mine (i was writing poems about her, just not in the journal). I told her i imagined sitting with the journal on an ocean cliff someday, where computers and phones don't go. One night we strolled through the city hand in hand, with me wearing a four-foot wide Sponge Bob costume. We talked about moving to Alaska, or upstate to New Palz, or opening a little bookstore in the Rockies. Getting away from her parents would bring her nothing but good, i thought. I imagined how unbearably cute she would be in ten years, or fifty, when all that heavy weight was lifted from her head. All these bizarre life-partnering ideas, and thoughts of taking a regular job, i had never even begun to entertain them with any other woman. Would i have done them? It’s a tricky question, but one that took a backseat to doing what was right to get her healthy with herself. Living life on my own terms and chasing my dreams had long been so enormous a part of me that…i can’t say with certainty what would have happened had Vanessa been able to be with me. Nor can i say that her inability wasn't ultimately the best thing for me, in terms of living my life optimally. But what is certain is the paralyzing comfort i felt around her. Hormones? Of course. I couldn't know what our true togetherness would be like, but i kept getting windows into her that revealed how like-minded we could be when it came to day-to-day living and worldviews. That was perhaps the most mind-blowing thought of all, that after thirty-six years i knew what it was to desire another human without reservation, and maybe just maybe that same human was also startlingly compatible?? I’d never known any woman who was startlingly compatible. Of course, her depression was not startlingly compatible. Depression had been a part of her life for just about as long as she could remember. I forget how young she was when she first tried to take her life…she hadn’t tried in a long time, but the figurative and literal scars were there. One day she decided that we could never be compatible, as any man wanting to love her would have to have known clinical depression himself. Maybe i never did see her at her worst, but never once did i see any behavior that frightened me or made me think she needed anything other than the loving all humans need. If any of this sounds like it can’t have been fun for me, disabuse yourself of that idea. My time with her was never anything other than sweetly, joyously, profoundly humbling. I did grill myself from time to time over why i had such a strong reaction to her, and whether it were just another beautiful manifestation of the lifelong attraction i’ve had for the wounded ones. She said she had done little or nothing to earn my love. Even though i told her she would have plenty of opportunity to earn what had been given, and that i wasn’t the type to stay in an unbalanced relationship…i also said that maybe sometimes things come our way that are pure and unconditional, and don’t need to be earned. She said she feared that if she couldn’t be with me now, she might never get a chance again. She talked about the possibility of past lives when we had been lovers. She had a little eye twitch, and i joked with her about passing an unfortunate gene on to our children. I was being glib...but also not. I wanted to share every fragment of life with her, from the most profound to the most mundane. I wanted her to know what it feels like to hold my penis while i peed. I wanted her to pee on me (not regularly, understand). When our relationship ended, i needed to remove physical reminders of her, but i kept the journal. Sometime during those many months, i said two words to her that i'd never said to another woman. Understand, i am not a pusher. Not. A. Pusher. If there is a school of thought that says that each person must find their own path, i sit in the front row. But one night as i held her, my lips whispered the words, "Leave him". I never met him nor the parents. So many nights i would talk to her on the phone as she sat locked in her own bathroom (their arguments would often culminate in her running to the bathroom and locking him out). Sometimes she would strike at him, when he was forcing his presence on her. He would pin her to the ground. He'd been living with her for many many months, without paying rent. During this time, she wasn’t working a great deal, as she needed to go back to school to get on the cutting edge of web design. I told her to kick him out, and i'd move in to share her rent load. Not even as a boyfriend, i said, because she suspected that when she finished with him she might need to be away from romance altogether. I said i would be whatever she needed. The only profound moment of hurt i had with her was when she said that the time it took to travel to me was a burden she no longer wanted. She did finally get him out of her home. By that point, she had broken off our romance…over being unfair to me, or being "clean" when they broke up. Whatever she needed, i responded with love. On our last morning, we woke up kissing and cuddling, our heads at the foot of my bed. She had been wearing black panties. I’ve never been a fan of lingerie, but these panties had the cutest windows on the sides (in the months that followed, i so wished i had kidnapped them). I rolled her on top of me, and our naked genitals came together. Up to that moment, i had avoided all but the most incidental genital contact...but as i held her, it felt so blissfully perfect. The closest thing my life had ever known to sustained perfection. At that moment, and on earlier occasions, i was sure she would have let me inside her, choosing to deal with the unhappiness and guilt later. As her labia rested on my half-erection, i was a little surprised i wasn't more stiff. But maybe psychologically my penis was smarter than i, because i’m not sure we would have resisted penetration, had i been at full mast. On that final morning, there were signs that we were becoming closer. She was considering going to the shore with me that very day. But perhaps a part of me sensed that our growing closeness would push her to run away. Maybe that put a tiny seed of desperation in my spirit, and maybe that seed would have made me act rashly. This is all a lot of analysis for a single moment when there was NO such overt thought going on. Before that, the number of erections i'd had from much less intimate contact with her was pronounced. In any event, i felt just a touch limp and off-balance as we parted. As time went by i became glad (for her, and probably for me too) that my penis had chosen that moment to be at half-mast. After she broke with her boyfriend, we kept in touch, though only once a week or so. A month or two later, she talked about me visiting her home. But then the strange thing occurred. She told me that more and more she wasn’t thinking about me romantically, and was becoming sure that we were not going to be lovers. I accepted it peacefully, but realized that a world in which she and i weren't together was not a world i could make any sense of. I sent her all the love i had, left the door open for her to find me again, and said goodbye. Not trusting myself to be strong enough (me!) to not contact her some lonely year, i destroyed all records of her contact information. It took me the better part of a year to banish her e-mail address from my conscious thoughts. I still remember pieces of it...fragments. It's funny the places your mind can go, in the wake of something so profound. You search for blame, where blame isn't appropriate. Could the greatest love of my life have been foiled by bad breath? I had been dealing with it for a couple years, and hadn't yet acquired my current complex oral hygiene habits. A very silly thought, perhaps. I'm content to know she loved me as much as she could, and if turning from me was what she needed to start healing...that thought keeps any demons of regret at bay. The demons are caged, through the strength born of loving her.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Drinking in Fort Myers Beach


DRINKING IN AMERICA
THEATER 56
-spring 2001
At Tony's prompting, i had started reading the playwright Eric Bogosian. A modern writer part Shaw and part Lenny Bruce. I fell in love. He was famous for one-man shows in which he plays a series of extreme characters. I held auditions, and the chief talent to emerge was Michael Steen. He was very sorry about how he had dropped out of SEXUAL PERVERSITY. I'm a sucker for redemption, so decided to take one more chance on him. The flip side of the risk was his talent and passion. He called me his brother, and i felt the same. Had there been other actors cast, i wouldn't have exposed them to the risk, but Michael and i had been the only clear Bogosian talent. We turned it into a two-man show, distributing the monologues. I fiddled with the lineup, dropping two pieces and adding one unproduced "orphan", as Bogosian calls them. I asked Michael to choose his own pieces, and our selections balanced, except for a piece we both wanted called "Our Gang", wherein an Italian punk recounts "amusing" anecdotes of drug-induced violence. I decided we should audition it for each other. I went first, and when i was done, he said he'd been convinced (i was very happy, as it was probably the part i'd wanted most). My other pieces were "Journal", in which a middle-aged man finds a college-era journal filled with long-forgotten ideals, "Wired", in which a coked-out Hollywood agent wheels and deals, "Confession", in which a drunk confesses his sins to God, and "Melting Pot", in which an old Greek cook abuses the restaurant staff (i had only to look to the kitchen ten feet away for inspiration, and hoped Tony's brother Jimmy would be flattered). Rehearsals went wonderfully, because of the delight in working with someone who is at your level and very simpatico with you. We often rehearsed at Michael's place, as his transportation was unreliable. We directed each other. He told me i always had a place to crash, should i ever need one. He looked into other venues where we could tour. As opening approached, trouble began brewing with the Mallous's. The edgy content of our plays again had some of them upset. Family discord was S.O.P., so i didn't get overly concerned. Earlier that year, one of the wives had even calmly threatened me with mafia-style bodily harm. And then...on the eve of our opening, we were kicked out. It wasn't the show per se, because earlier pieces had been just as edgy. I think it was just a matter of the family being tired of Tony getting his way. At a time when he was weakened from dealing with a divorce, they banded together and insisted "no" to this show. With posters and press releases out, we suddenly had no space. I accepted that Tony could no longer be our protector and that we would have no show that week, and went to find a new space. In my postering activity, i had developed relationships with many of the businesses on the beach. Paul Longua, owner of the Scope Shack, a photo shop/art gallery, had always told me that his place was there should we ever need a space. I went to him and asked him how much he had meant it. He said how soon, i said next week, and he said "cool". I issued new press releases and put up new posters. Charles Runnells, the county's top reviewer, ran a piece about our ousting, entitled "Orpheus Descending". He interviewed both Tony and i. Tony lied, claiming that the decision had been his. I spoke openly, and family anger at me was increased when i aired their dissension. Over at the Scope Shack, we walked into heaven. Not having to fight restaurant noise, being able to schedule whatever whenever...at the Orpheus, we had never had our own key, storage space was at a minimum, and we had to break down the set every night. Opening night (with a bonus week of rehearsal) was very solid. The Scope Shack was off the main drag, so we had less walk-in traffic. We played the first weekend to small (10-15) but very happy crowds. Shane had passed on stage-managing this one, so we did it by committee. Paul's friend Kalli did it the second and fourth weeks, another friend Jenn did it the third week, and Melissa from sex, lies, and videotape did it the first. She and Michael, both veterans of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, made a nice connection. She was fun backstage, and i incorporated her doodling on my "journal" into my character history. Paul arranged for wine to be offered to the patrons, and was there for every performance. And then...as we came into our second weekend, Michael hadn't returned a couple of my calls. 7:30 on show night came, and he wasn't there. I called his phone machine again, and continued to set up. At 8:20, there could be no more waiting. I told the audience that we were one actor short, that i would perform my half of the show, and half-refunds would be available afterwards. I performed, the audience had a wonderful time, and no one asked for money back. Michael called later that night, saying that his motorcycle had broken down and that he was having personal problems. He said he wouldn't be back for the rest of the run, and was going to move in with a friend where he couldn't be reached. Charles Runnells, the county's top reviewer, was in the audience that night. He hadn't been able to fully review all of our shows thus far. He had been prepped for a full review, but didn't feel he could do so for only half a show. In his column, he did write about Michael's being missing in action, and spoke well of the show. I prepared for the rest of the run alone. I pressed Paul into service to do the intro with me, in which we come out in robes and boxing gloves, spar a moment, then shadow box with liquor bottles. Paul was a great guy, fun and intelligent, and a painter. I took over one of Michael's pieces, "The Law". It was a minister's rant advocating the shooting of muggers, bombing of abortion clinics, and nuking of terrorists (this was pre-9/11, too). It was an easy piece to add, for i could tape the script into a Bible. I had a great time with the rest of the run. One of my favorite rewrites was in "Confession", wherein i fantasized about the pubescent Olsen twins naked and making love to one another. I also added a great rewrite in "Wired", about how Hasselhoff wasn't available because he had been eaten by a shark. Audiences remained small and very appreciative. Amanda never made it to the show, which made me sad. Derek came, and thought it was wonderful. His being there meant so much to me, particularly with how disappointed in me he had been during SPEED-THE-PLOW. I had chosen as a show song "Pray", by M.C. Hammer, partly in honor of his Hammer moves. We also used many tracks from the inexpressibly brilliant Tom Waits album SMALL CHANGE. During our original opening week, we received news that Leela, our Joan from SEXUAL PERVERSITY, had been killed by a drunk driver at a Jimmy Buffett concert. It was a profound blow to all of us, particularly Amanda. The week before she died, Leela and i had been discussing doing another project. Hers was the first corpse i ever kissed. At the funeral, the whole SPIC crew was there (except for Shane, who didn't deal with death). I'd had thoughts of getting up and doing a tribute to her. I had one worked out in my head that was in keeping with her quirky spirit...i had planned to sit on the casket to talk. But i figured it wasn't my place, as Amanda had been closer to her and Will had been her lover. When the moment came, none of us stood, and Amanda gestured to me to stand up. Caught off-balance, i didn't. I wish i had. Her death put an end to talk of a reunion run of SEXUAL PERVERSITY, or of doing the show with the same cast but reversing genders. One of the funniest moments of DRINKING IN AMERICA came when a jaunty patron didn't realize the front gallery wall was a glass plate, and plowed right into it, falling to the ground. He may have had a little nip or two, which resonated beautifully with the show title. Also, we had fairies one performance. Dozens of little spots of light, dancing on the wall, for which we could find no source. They are very visible in the videotape of the show.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

M*A*S*H, season 5

FOUR STAR
-Bug Out
The camp must relocate in the face of a Chinese advance. Hawkeye, Margaret, and Radar stay behind with a spinal patient. Potter and B.J. move the unit to an (almost) ex-brothel. Klinger gives up his dresses in exchange for the new building, a writing choice that almost turns prostitution into a disrespectful joke.
-Margaret's Engagement
Margaret returns from a wild weekend in Tokyo, with an engagement ring. Her crassly insensitive treatment of Frank is a human twist on their relationship, which was never ideal for her. Frank's phone conversation with his mother, talking about how Dad never liked him, is brilliantly executed...for just a second, you cry for this noxious fool. Alda's observation that the greatest performance of the series belonged to Mr. Linville, is a thought worth pondering. At the end, all the Swamprats enjoy their first shared laugh ever.
-The Nurses
One of Margaret's most enduring moments, as tensions mount between her and her staff. She tightens discipline, and they hiss back. Lt. Baker gets confined to quarters, as her new husband arrives for a 24-hour honeymoon. The Swamprats conspire to get them alone. Margaret bursts into tears when she confronts the nurses, saying that all she ever wanted was to be included in their fun.
-The Abduction of Margaret Houlihan
Margaret goes off in the night to help deliver a Korean baby. Klinger, the only one who knows she's gone, goes to sleep. Frank goes into hysterics, and Radar goes into the women's shower. Col. Flagg shows up, and he's never better (as Italian officer or Vegas showgirl). They took an idea and went the perfect way with it...the episode would have been abysmal had Margaret been actually abducted.
-Dear Sigmund
Sidney drops in for an extended stay, burnt out from work. He writes a letter to Freud about the lunatic 4077th, which is currently under siege by a phantom practical joker (who turns out to be, of all people, BJ). Beautiful little moments of anarchy, and Allan Arbus is priceless as always. Plus a lovely appearance by Sal Viscuso (Father Tim, SOAP).
-Hawk's Nightmare
Hawkeye starts sleepwalking and having nightmares of childhood friends dying. Brilliantly rendered work by Alan (and Gary), and another irrepressible appearance by Sidney.
-Hanky Panky
B.J. falls off the fidelity wagon, while comforting a nurse whose husband is divorcing her. As a child, this episode hit me indelibly...it was just inconceivable that B.J. could stray. The performances by Mike Farrell and guest Ann Sweeny are tender and nuanced. On another level, this episode is a testimony to the debilitating effects of culturally-enforced monogamy, and a maudlin endorsement thereof...but at least it's a fantastically-made maudlin testimony.
-The General's Practitioner
A near-seamless slice of perfection. A hard-nosed general (Edward Binns, TWELVE ANGRY MEN) sets his eyes on Hawkeye as his personal physician. Hawkeye resists, making the general want him more. The B plot is towering. A G.I. returning home asks Radar to look after his Korean girlfriend...and child. Gary's sensitive, touching performance belongs on any Radar top-ten list. The G.I.? Only Larry Wilcox (Jon! Of CHiPS!).
-Movie Tonight
Potter tries to raise camp morale with a viewing of MY DARLING CLEMENTINE. The clips of the movie are a delight. Everyone entertains themselves during the (literal) breaks. If you think about it too closely, this episode is just a vehicle for a bunch of actors to show off performance skills that are more polished than their characters would be capable of. But somehow, it all comes together in priceless delight. The roundtable impersonations of Mulcahy? Iconic.
NOTEWORTHY
-Hawkeye Get Your Gun ***
Potter and Hawkeye help out a frontline aid station, and on the trip back come under heavy fire. Hawkeye comes up with an alternate solution to shooting back. The driving and drinking scene is too classic, in no small part because it would never make it onto the air today.
-Exorcism ***
Potter allows a Korean spirit exorcism after a rash of bad incidents. It's always fun to see guest actors re-used. A double-dip in this case, with Philip Ahn (the father in Hawkeye's concussion episode) as a superstitious grandfather, and Virginia Ann Lee (Yung Hi, the most adorable moose ever) as the sweet, sensible granddaughter.
-The Most Unforgettable Characters **
Radar takes a writer's correspondence course. It's unfair to come down too hard on a single episode for not clicking, but...if there is any legitimacy to the charge that M*A*S*H (particularly the later seasons) occasionally descended into saccharine sentimentality, this might be the first place to look.
-End Run **
A star college football player loses a leg. See the previous entry's note, and wrap it in a Hallmark card.
-Souvenirs ***
Michael Bell (Groppler Zorn! Sabrina's ex on CHARLIE'S ANGELS!)! And...Brian Dennehy! Woo woo!
-Post Op ***
As breezy and fun as three stars gets. A parade of interactions with recovering soldiers in post op, including another helping of Sal Viscuso (SOAP), a standup routine of a come-on to Margaret by Andy Romano, and a shot-in-the-butt Jack Baker (KENTUCKY FRIED MOVIE).

Monday, November 21, 2011

dear almeria 2

Dear Almeria,
I'm not saying it's inconceivable that you and your family are in some heightened state of grace, free of all untruth. I'm just saying i don't think i've ever met any family or group who had ascended to that level.
It's not about truth. It's about manipulation.
People use lies to manipulate. People also use truth to manipulate.
Sometimes a considerable level of non-manipulation is possible. This happens because we all gravitate to people who affirm some part of ourselves (and generally avoid people who don't). But there may be moments in your life when you have a flash of insight over the subtle ways we all manipulate. You may observe a friend interacting with someone else, in a moment when they don't know you're watching. It may strike you that your friend is behaving in a way you don't recognize. It doesn't mean that they aren't truthful when they're with you, just that they like certain parts of themselves that your company affirms, so those are the parts they constantly re-affirm with you. With other people, they seek different affirmations (or similar affirmations differently-flavored).
Is this dishonesty?
Or you may have a flash of insight into yourself...you may meet someone you want very much to like you, and you may realize that how you present yourself is flexible. In your choice of word and action, your mind is capable of incredible subtlety in how you present yourself, in order to be treated the way you wish. The way you present your truth, or the aspect of your truth you choose to present, has an enormous manipulative effect on the world around you. We're all too broken and scared to not take complete advantage of that (even when we don't realize we're doing it).
An example...when i gave my description of why i'm anti-religious, it was entirely truthful. But i could also have talked about invisible rabbits. If someone says there is an invisible rabbit who speaks to them, just about everyone would agree that there are no such rabbits. But if someone says they have an invisible father figure who is going to make them immortal, far fewer people in this society would call them a lunatic. Strictly speaking, both people are equally lunatic. Did i give you my anti-intolerant religious views instead of the invisible rabbit story, because i suspected the rabbit story would make you defensive and lessen the chance i had of ever hugging you? Probably. Were both equally truthful depictions of my thoughts on a certain topic? Yes.
Here's a more subtle example. Did i just go back four sentences, and change the word "holding" to "hugging"? Yes. Why? Because "holding" is just a little more intimate, and even though my naked revelations to you have perhaps dashed any chance i had of holding you...i still can't quite let go of that dream. So i changed holding to hugging, because it's more innocent and less likely to make you defensive.
Was "hugging" a dishonest choice? How can it be, when i do desire to hug you?
I realize, however, that the word "hugging" makes it imply that we've never hugged. Sigh. A flawed sentence not easily fixable. That's what happens when people use words to manipulate (which is virtually all the time).
So if you think your family operates free of lies or manipulation, you're perhaps underestimating how complex each of them are...and how deeply-ingrained lying is in this society. The average person commits dozens of lies each day, and hundreds of selectively-honest manipulations. And what of truths that are unspoken? Can you be so sure there isn't some hidden aspect of just one member of your family that might alter the way that person was perceived?
There's a part of me that hopes you will be made immortal, so that one day in another life you may realize that no one was ever truer for you than me.
love,
wrob

Monday, November 14, 2011

monmatpar

Think of the best friend you ever had. Now imagine that for the rest of your life, you will cleave to that friend. Living together, eating together, sleeping together. You will forsake all other friendships, for the sake of this one. How many years would pass before you felt unendurably lonely and horrifically smothered?
That's all i got to say 'bout monogamous matrimony.
Think of the most likeable person you ever knew. Now imagine that you are responsible for their life for the next eighteen years. Responsible for their food, shelter, and every conceiveable need. You will be held accountable for every action they take. For two years, they will be bedridden and incapacitated, unable to handle the most basic bodily functions. Caring for them will dominate your days and nights. It will be many years before they are able to function on their own. You will get one helper in this undertaking, who will leave after 8.5 years, in the most painful parting of your life. This person you are responsible for may be nothing like the person i asked you to think of. This person may love the things you hate and find you the most loathsome human ever.
That's all i got to say 'bout monogamous parenthood.
That's all i got to say 'bout that.

dear almeria

Dear Ameliara
Armelia
Almeria,
Forgive my fuzzy brain. The excuse i might offer is that on days i spend in that costume, the exhaustion and heat make for a fuzzy feeling...but it's probably just as accurate to say that being with you makes me a bit inebriated.
Do you want to know how much you affect me? Physically affect me? After we parted and i returned to my lentil soup, i almost couldn't eat. My mouth felt...i don't know the word, but "dry" is the closest. Holding you was such a profound experience, i almost literally couldn't eat.
There's a physiological reason, of course...holding you produced a spike in some chemical in my body, a chemical which dampened my hunger so i wouldn't be distracted from what i was doing with you. Clearly my body has an agenda.
I'm sure you still don't appreciate how much our hug last year touched me. At certain times in my life, i've been a touchstone for human contact and love. As the monkey, i've had uncountable thousands of hugs...and a significant number of them (with children and occasionally women) have gone beyond simple delight to a very heightened realm. Your hug was beyond any of those...it's the only time i've ever actually been jealous of the monkey. I achingly wanted it to be me whose hug was making you feel what you were feeling. It was so beautiful that even now i'm speechless. I wanted holding you to be my job in life. Not only was it the best monkey hug i ever had, it was nearly my best hug ever period. There's only been one in my life that was more special, and that one had the benefit of lasting twenty minutes (without twenty pounds of monkey costume). It humbles me to even think of being able to hold you as just me...in stillness, without the swirl of humanity only inches away.
And then today, for a few minutes in the center of a whirlwind, we held each other for real...my chest feels funny thinking about it. I felt myself getting weak from the beauty of it. Much longer, and i wouldn't have found the strength to let go. I want to hold you as time and space fade away. I want to discover a million ways to hold you. Then i want to find a million more.
Now that we've figured out that you're literally a drug to me, i hope we have fun with it. Laugh at being human, and all that. Of course humans are constantly driven by chemical reactions, in ways that we don't realize...steering us to like certain things and feel certain ways. But i honestly can't remember ever being so concretely, obviously aware that someone was a drug to me. Have you?
I can laugh at it though, and also be aware that something else is going on. A chemical reaction could explain what happened yesterday, but not last year. Last year, the connection i felt the moment you were in my arms was electric and instantaneous. Especially under that suit, there's no way it was chemical. It must have been what you were talking about...the energy connections between people. Our auras must have been in some sort of amazing synchronization.
Whatever else, know that i will be "twitching" (that is the street term, yes?) until i feel you again.
wrob

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

untoned

My lover is unhappy that i called her "untoned". I'm not sure whether she's unhappy with me or unhappy with herself, or unhappy with..?
She's a beautiful woman. I want to cradle her spirit and hump her leg.
That said, i'm pretty sure she doesn't have to deal with the burden of coming up with witty or thoughtful responses to the question, "So...you work out?"
Yet isn't it arguable that my attitude puts her in an ideal situation? Wouldn't any sensible person be thrilled with being desired when they're in less than tip-top shape? Can't they then assume that they're being desired for who they are, not some shallow conquest? If they should subsequently fall into even less great shape, or have their looks altered by industrial accident, wouldn't they have some peace of mind about not being abandoned? Isn't the more common female complaint being loved only for their bodies?? There's no way to win with these blithering ovary-machines!
I'm kidding. If women are contradictory, it's because men have systematically assassinated their self-worth for ten thousand years.
The saying about men learning to love the woman they're attracted to and women learning to be attracted to the man they love...that's just a sexist, noxious relic of a time when women were property and men were encouraged to fuck as many as they could. In the world of truth, men need emotional connection as much as women, and women want eye candy just as much as men.
Is it possible that this is a case of her wanting it both ways? Is it possible she wants me to desire her for the person she is beneath the skin, yet also have a flaming hard-on from just a glimpse of that skin? There's a slippery slope in that, as the only constant in life is change, so any relationship based on visual desire is going to be severely stressed when we no longer look like we did last decade (to say nothing of the aforementioned industrial accidents).
It's hard to imagine this scenario in reverse, of course. Try to picture some man in less than great shape being in ANY way unhappy if an athletic woman offers to get naked for him.
So again, i gotta say...isn't she in the catbird seat here, yet finding a way to be unhappy about it?? Furthering her sweet deal, i myself am in great shape. The kind that gets comments from strangers and gets her engines revving a bit (if you know what i mean, and i think you do). If my love chose to be in better shape, i wouldn't offer a peep of complaint, but...my desire for her isn't about that. Is this just a symptom of body dysmorphic disorder? Sarah Michelle Gellar recently opined that no woman alive isn't thus damaged. Or...is this all part of the unnatural desire to be all things to one person? Or just ego-driven nonsense? Has this competition-based society created a world of people who all secretly yearn to be the most beautiful, intelligent creature that ever breathed?
Let's get this comment box buzzing. At the risk of birfurcation, i'll pose the question of the day. Do you want to be loved for your looks, or for...you?

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Revenge of Khan

It's interesting to ponder whether the STAR TREK franchise would have ended had KHAN not been a monster. Certainly the movies would have ended, and NEXT GENERATION mightn't have been born, or at least not in the incarnation we know (which also might have ended the party). Would the swelling of TREKdom have slowly faded, or would the franchise have been given another shot (on big screen or small) sometime in the 90s, perhaps?
The fact that KHAN saved the franchise cannot be doubted. Nimoy only agreed to do the film on the condition that it be his last (a fantastic death scene didn't hurt, either). It was a curious enterprise from the start. Not many people realize that after the over-budget, under-brilliant STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE, roddenberry was in essence fired by the studio. He was given a consultant position, and the producer's reigns were handed to harve bennett, a man whose importance to the franchise has never been properly celebrated. Several decades of producing TV movies and shows prepared him for KHAN. The role of producer is one that is generally dismissed and misunderstood by the public. Many have minimal creative input, but all of them have complete control once the shooting stops (a fact that has caused no small number of outraged directors to have their name removed from the finished product). Harve was hands-on all the way, including the writing (a dual role he would continue through STAR TREK V). It was harve and nimoy who set up spock's resurrection at the end of KHAN, a choice that director nick meyer had no part of, and would have fought.
And mr. meyer? So many top-tier directors were banging down Paramount's door to do this one (ahem), that the position was given to this man with one directing credit (he had also written the novel THE SEVEN PER-CENT SOLUTION). But it would be hard to overstate how much this dedicated storyteller meant to the most crucial and compelling TREK movie. He would also return to helm the excellent UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. I'll quibble over a couple of his choices (would i be a trekkie if i didn't?)...his belief that STAR TREK was about gunboat diplomacy was wrong on any number of levels. He made KHAN more militaristic, an effect that unfortunately rippled. And his desire to have a "no-smoking" sign on the bridge was fortunately shot down by roddenberry. But in the big picture, meyer took a pittance of a budget and turned in a blazingly sharp film that set the TREK standard. He steered both montalban and shatner past bad acting choices. The budget went from 43 million for TMP, to 11 million for KHAN...which then grossed 97 million. It remains the smallest TREK film budget, and the biggest success.
Curiously, the title was changed so as to not copy a space fantasy that was being filmed at the same time, REVENGE OF THE JEDI. Another unplanned consequence that now feels so much better than than the original idea.
Khaaaaaaaaannn!!!

Monday, November 7, 2011

dear N 2

Dear N,
One thing this is not going to turn into is some e-mail romance-in-waiting. For selfless reasons, i did a couple of those in recent years, and they absolutely shattered me, one tiny wound at a time, because all i've needed for much longer than i care to remember is someone to hold. I've been deprived of that healing for so long, i'm literally starting to go insane. Just about everyone you'll ever meet is similarly a bit insane.
One of the fundamental things about this world is that basically, no one gets what they deserve. Good things happen to bad people, bad things happen to good people, and no one ever gets the love they need. There may be times in your life when a person or people choose to love you. If that happens, N, i promise...IT WASN'T BECAUSE YOU EARNED IT. We all do what we do for reasons that are our own, and if someone else benefits, it's mostly dumb luck. The opposite is most certainly true...the times in our life when we are alone, missing the loving we need, it's NOT because we deserved it. It's just how this broken world works.
So if you question why i want to love you, there will be a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with you. That's going to be the case any time someone offers to love you. Most people are too scared or dumb to understand that.
In my life right now, it's a challenge to not lie to someone (even just a little) to chase them into my arms. For whatever reason that neither of us will ever fully understand, N, i feel HAPPY when i'm holding you. A part of me wishes i could feel that with just anyone. I want to love the hell out of you, you sweet fool. If that terrifies you, then run away. But if you do that, it may haunt you. In the million and three lonely moments that are likely ahead of you, you may someday want to slit your wrists for your cowardliness at this moment.
I want to hold you and listen to you...learn about every step you've taken in your life, understand the child you were, understand why you cry and laugh when you do...is it even vaguely possible that that's not something you need?
There's a part of me that's rooting for you to self-destruct yourself away from me. The imbalance in what we're each ready for is pretty staggering. But i'm willing to carry you for a while, while you catch up. It may happen sooner than you think.
And even if the romance part of our love proves too imbalanced to work, all i ask is that we try to not fall prey to the most insidious dysfunction of this dysfunctional world, the tendency for lovers whose time has ended to throw their entire relationship away. Of all the people we will ever know, the ones who will know us most deeply are our lovers...and those are the people we lose forever, once hormones and societal expectations have had their way. You already tried to throw us away once. All i ask is that you never try to do that again. It is the bonds of friendship, not romance, which are most true.
At times, your fears paralyze you. There are few people i've ever met who have confronted and hounded their fears as much as i. It's the most crippling, destructive force in the world. However much you are able to overcome your fears, just so much will you find your own healing. If you are able to lie nakedly with me ten more times, your ability to love yourself will always be just a little better. If you are able to lie nakedly with me 100 more times, your ability to love another human may begin to stand out from those around you. If you are able to lie nakedly with me 1000 more times, you might be on your way to being what you were born to be...one of the most beautiful people any of us will ever know.
All of these words stupidly complicate a very simple idea. I want to hold you, then hold you some more, and when it's all over, come back and hold you again.
love,
wrob

Saturday, November 5, 2011

dear parents

Dear parents,
When i was a newborn, you allowed that my genitals be mutilated. Your society called it circumcision. My subconscious trauma from that act can never be fully tracked or measured (although a good place to start is my ability to trust). And my capacity for sexual pleasure will always be only a part of what it should have been. The fact that you were morons who didn't know any better excuses you, to some degree. But only some. Some small measure of penance can be had, if you never again let any opportunity go by to prevent genital mutilation happening to any child, boy or girl, ever again.
love,
wrob

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Dear N

N,
It took me immersing myself in memories of you, and the words of your spirit you shared, to have a moment of clarity about what this moment of living means.
You made it so hard for me to see what an exceptional, beautiful human you are. You filled the air with fears, and i couldn't help but be swept up in them.
No more.
I refuse to be afraid of you.
I accept that i can offer you a kind of loving perhaps not one person in a million can...and that you need loving so bad you're dying.
I refuse to be afraid of you loving me too little, or loving me too much.
I refuse to be afraid of being hurt.
You once chided me, saying how dare i try to climb your bullet-proof walls.
I dare.
Keep me out, i dare you.
The next time i am inside you, you will know what a centered human feels like.
No longer will i hold any part of me back. If you try to slip a lipstick kiss onto my lips, i will say "yuck". I may even bust your chops about that hair, and whether you're afraid of your own beauty.
The next time my tongue glides into your cunt, you will reach out and touch fearlessness. Our last night together, my penis was happier with you than on our first. Is that something to walk away from?
I'm not your dream man, and you're not my dream woman. And that's not the point. A lot of those dreams are idiotic, and this is about something much more important than romance.
Someday you will laugh, and ask me why i wouldn't let you throw me away.
I wonder what i will say...
You can, of course, run away.
I'm not afraid of that either.
love,
wrob

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

anari

WOMEN 81
She offered honesty without openness.
Befitting a happy fool, i accepted.
There is a profound hesitation in trying to project any understanding of Anari. Knowing that so much of her was hidden behind walls, i'm sure that any explanation of mine will be feeble at best.
Or not.
We met online. She'd posted an ad looking for two men. There was a bit of ambivalence as to whether she wanted two men in her life, or two men in her bed. I didn't think i was necessarily a good candidate for the latter (only imaginable under personality circumstances so rare as to make a lightning strike seem commonplace), but was open to the former (being all about female empowerment, and opposed to the ridiculousness of monogamy). How long in human history have men had far easier access to multiple partners, despite the fact that females generally outperform them by a country mile?
It turns out Anari was looking for two males in her bed...but a conversation had begun. For myself, curiosity was based on the fact that any woman who wanted two men might also be more likely to understand a wildflower living outside the parameters assigned him at birth.
The fact that she was African was also compelling. While this isn't necessarily anything to be proud of, the fact remained that i was AWARE i had never had a fully consummated sexual relationship with a woman of her pigmentation. My spirit is a human rainbow (and unlike Mr. Mayer, i knew my cock was too).
She had been born in Kenya. At sixteen, she moved to England and boarding school. At eighteen, she set out for America and college. One year earlier, she'd graduated with a master's in music business. In a depressed economy, she had been searching the past year for a job in her field, while living alone in Brooklyn. In our letters, it was sometimes easy to forget that she was intelligent...she was so good at hiding her spirit, her smarts often disappeared too.
In a number of surface ways, she wasn't my type. She straightened her hair, wore makeup, believed in (eventual) monogamy and marriage...
And i wasn't the most likely threesome candidate.
But bit by bit, she was becoming fascinated by me. In her words...
Once we embarked on our email conversations and I finally delved into your blog I was, initially, consumed by apprehension. Apprehension towards allowing myself to be in the presence of, or in any way open to, someone who is so real. And naked. And then content of our emails grew in depth and sparks, while the interludes between them diminished. It was all deliciously scary. Then we met, and my fears were completely confirmed. Not at all in a negative way towards you.
The fact that early on she declared, sans any inquiry from me, that she had no hangups whatsoever about the prospect of being written about by me, endeared her to me more than i can say. She made fun of the silent "w" i had added to my name, but embraced it completely. She was a long way from my kind of openness, but if there were voices telling me to hold back, they couldn't hold a candle to my loneliness and sexual rawness.
The night we met, we walked around the Village for a couple hours, then had dinner in a lovely vegetarian restaurant. By the end of the meal, i wanted to reach across the table to touch her hands. I sensed that she understood that, but chose to ignore it. We walked some more after dinner, and when we got close to our parting point, she hesitantly asked whether i had been disappointed by her. I told her i found her enchanting. I finally knew that she was attracted to me as well. Still, i thought she might come up with any number of reasons to walk away forever. When i asked for a goodbye hug, she came into my arms with surprising gentleness.
And suddenly kissed me.
Did not expect that.
I felt a rush of blood to my penis. We soon stumbled across the street holding hands, as she realized we'd been at the wrong station entrance. When we got underground, she almost ran to the waiting train. As it pulled away, i stood on the other side of the gates, leaning against the bars. I stood there for minutes, wrapped in the beauty of life.
I slowly walked away, not knowing whether i'd ever see her again. At home, my slightly euphoric buzz took me into slumber's arms.
I awoke with a start, around 2AM. My phone was ringing.
It was Anari. She apologized for calling, and almost hung up before i reassured her that she was allowed to call me any time. I asked whether she'd gotten the sweet e-mail i'd written when i got home. She hadn't, so i stumbled to my computer. I was naked and cold, and didn't care. I read to her, and she told me how she couldn't stop thinking of me. She told me she wanted so much to feel me against her. I told her that i was hers. I began shaking all over from the center of my chest, from the cold and the emotion. She asked whether i was naked, and when i said yes...the urgency in her voice became a palpable thing. I was feeling lightheaded urgency myself, and finally said we needed to either get together, or hang up and take care of ourselves. She tried one last effort at being coy, then stopped.
Suddenly i was on my bike, heading for Brooklyn in the middle of the night.
It was a surreal ride. A surreal time of night. She kept calling every few minutes. On the far side of the Manhattan Bridge, i came face to face with a flat tire. My own. I knelt under a lone street light, patching away. Back on the road, i arrived at her apartment quickly.
In her building's foyer, we hugged, the blood once again flowing to my loins. We stumbled upstairs. I told her i wanted to shower. She started to undress me, but gave up on my belt. I came out of the shower, and she never found the towel she'd offered me, as we were naked and wrapped in each other in moments. She took me in her with an immediacy that took little heed of foreplay. We spent the rest of the night in whispered words and sexual loving. I told her i'd always moved slowly when it came to sex, but that i couldn't say no to her on that night. This was as much about my loneliness and rawness, and need to reclaim my identity as a sexual being, as anything. Neither of us made any mention of safe sex. We just carnally took one another. Her own urgency ultimately did belie my inability to say no, when she told me to come inside her. I found the strength (or fear) to resist...though in the weeks that followed, i fantasized about being in that moment and holding nothing back.
I bemusedly noticed that we might not be entirely compatible sexually. She wanted hard fucking, while i was doing my best to slow it down and make it last. She also seemed to be into pain...several times she bit my lip until it hurt, making me go "Ow".
But mostly it was very beautiful. Her lips were amazing...i'd never kissed any so full and soft.
We managed, however, to not see each other again for nearly a week. I wanted sooner, and wondered whether it was one of the "relationship rules" that if you go a week without seeing each other after your first sex, abandon all hope immediately. She was lapsing into e-mail and phone silences as well. She had given me warning...
See from a young age I’ve built and worn, at times proudly but at all times seemingly necessarily, a bullet-proof armor. When this armor has grown weak my memory recalls hurt, rejection, judgment and pain...I’m guarded. I’m extremely private, and at times I have a wonderful ability to easily shut out the world. For all, various, and no reasons. That’s simply a layer of me, but a layer that nevertheless exists. Thus far I’ve done a pretty good job at hiding that layer, or rather overlapping it with the more favorable ones that most seem to agree with. Albeit, those who I allow to really, truly get close to me will eventually uncover it, and the darker layers beneath. And out of those who have uncovered my true layers, I can name less than I care to admit who have simply accepted not judged or shunned.
Our second night together was much like our first. We didn't plan it well, and were only able to have a few hours. But we made love as urgently as on our first night, again following a towelless shower of mine. She whispered of how amazing it felt having me inside her, something she hadn't felt with any lover in a long time, and how she adored my body, all smoothness and muscle. Her untoned physique wasn't my ideal...but i think we can and should be able to love everyone, even though this world of broken, needy people makes that virtually impossible. The most singular moment of the night was when she again asked me to ejaculate. I asked her where. She told me to pull out and come on her. It was far more than either of us expected. I shot all over her, and kept on cumming and cumming. Rainbows. Afterward, she whispered that she had never experienced that. Looking back, i wish i had crushed her to me as the ejaculation ended, face to face, reinforcing the "us" aspect of the moment. But i was already walking on eggshells a bit, realizing that it was an almost impossible line i had to walk, to not make her run away. Loving her too much was as dangerous as not loving her enough. There were plenty of outcomes i was already afraid of, not least of which was her falling for me in a Disney way. So i was off-balance, a part of me holding back.
She told me how beautiful my penis was, and we got into a discussion about infant genital mutilation, one that carried on for days and even became a point of contention, with her arguing that male mutilation was of an entirely different category than female, and me arguing that the eyes of the future will make no distinction between the two when humanity looks back on this epoch of barbarism, and that psychologically the damage is comparable for both genders.
There were more silences from her before we were together again. She wrote of being full of fear and hesitation. Fear of being hurt, or not being able to offer me what i deserve. She wrote:
This all makes me sound so self-absorbed, so selfishly closed in my limited, and probably very distorted perspective. Which I hate to admit, but currently am. I'm in survival mode and certain things need to turn around before I will feel out of the woods.
I did my best to manifest patience and equanimity, but in the face of silence it's so hard to not eventually think of worst-case scenarios. She been judged and shunned? What could be so ominous? Drug-dealing? Prostitution? An internship with Karl Rove? Had i perhaps been rawly impulsive with one who could give me an std? While i had early on told her that i hadn't had a lover for over a year, we'd never broached the question of her own status. When i proposed monogamy, she was disappointed that it was for safe sex reasons, not cinderella reasons. After acknowledging that she currently had one condoms-only lover who seemed to prompt only shame in her, she embraced the idea of our monogamy. This was in e-mails, and it felt a little bizarre to not have that conversation in person. She was also doing one of the few behaviors that actually drives me nutty, ignoring direct questions. I don't mind a question unanswered, as long as the person acknowledges what they're (not) doing. But she was silently ignoring a number of questions, virtually none of them profound or threatening.
She also informed me she had gone on the pill. I was delighted, though a part of me still feared her developing a huge case of ever-after, forsake-all-others desire for me.
Our third night was our first at my place. At the station, she greeted me with a big, lipsticky kiss. I almost shouted "Yuck!" She wore a cap like my grandfather wore, to protect her straightened hair from the rain. We got takeout and watched a move, STILL CRAZY. We both loved Bill Nighy. When we ended up in bed and started gently kissing, she told me she was having her period. I was happy to have a night of platonic cuddling, as the fact that sooner or later we'd have to spend time together without having sex, had been on my mind. It evolved into one slow, long caressing embrace. An urgency stirred in her, one tiny eternal kiss at a time. She could no longer endure it, and asked for me inside her. She was very self-conscious about getting my sheets bloody, though. I assured her that her beauty was amazing, and that i was hers to do with whatever she wanted. She climbed onto me, and for the first time in my life, i was inside a menstruating woman. It felt the tiniest bit strange, but i was quickly swept up in the force of her desire. I discovered that being under her was my favorite position, with her so-soft breasts near my face, or just lying back. Something about that night's chemistry gave me a very stiff erection, yet one that allowed her to ride vigorously. She just rode and rode, lost in the moment. It was so profound that it actually took me out of the moment, something that probably couldn't happen if our relationship had been in better balance. But eventually, i just needed to clap or laugh at a woman enjoying sexuality (and me) so utterly. I did so, and it may have taken her out of the moment as well. But that was a barely noticeable pause in the proceedings. A few hours of sleep became morning caresses, and again she couldn't resist a beautiful erection.
And yes, for those of you who didn't catch Martha Stewart's blog today, Shout! is an amazing product fully capable of handling menstrual sex sheets.
So ended our last night. As she dressed to go, i dressed to break concrete. She asked me to walk her to the station one block away. I was ready to work, and had thought she could find her way alone. But when we said goodbye at the station, she gave me long, loving kisses, and it was a beautiful moment, made moreso by the awareness of the world's eyes on us...two people of different skins, just loving. I think i was more proud of her in that moment than any other.
I went off on a weekend business trip, ready to address our relationship concerns when i returned. I was going to suggest that we remove all expectations, and just enjoy each other.
When i got back, however, she said in a brief e-mail that some part of her was rejecting me. I wrote back, but she had gone down the rabbit hole. Two weeks of silence later, i realize that we got what we deserved, as we both fell victim to fear. In the face of her overpowering ones, i was unable to keep my own at bay. Despite my objective awareness that i was a million times better off without her, a part of me didn't want to let go. I loved her as i would love any lost child. Am i not a lost child myself? Is there a single one of us who is not?