I put this up with the smallest belief that you'll see this one day, to know everything that occurred during this period of time within me, for better or worse, and for those who come by here- so you may see another side of my personhood and judge me as you will. For the unusually personal nature of this post and just as much for its 'crass' descriptions of a sexual setting, I don't expect to leave it up for much longer than the week, whilst I engage in the cathartic action of writing other things. The name, your name, has been omitted, as is only fair- though I wouldn't fear that anyone I really know knows of this page in any case.
This is to you, with all my love...
The last that I saw 'Her',
our life of sex had been such a strange affair. In the time proceeding she had
admitted her inability to achieve orgasm- either with me or by her own hand, a
really rare thing, for since our start, we had been so veritably sexed that at
times we mused it were unhealthy. Oftentimes I found that I would have liked it
could we, she, hold out longer, but
the way that she did ask of me, oh- how I did love to oblige her.
As I say, the whole ordeal had been a ‘strange
affair’- at once despondent, fragile, immense, alive, full of love and so much
more that the whole of it was entirely mystifying and almost brings a tear to
my eye now, as I recite it. The fact is, the start of our night began with the
end of us…
I had been unable to give her up, not as
was, for, since her return from her voyage, we had hardly met, hardly spoke and
not once did we lie together. I was saddened to think that she could, or would,
no longer come, and all the more that she would not even open up her soul, in that
way, for me. It had been I that first made her orgasm so many years ago, and
thus, opened her up to a many greater enjoyments to be had within the world of
sex, and likewise, it was her that had first inducted me.
When I saw her, I couldn’t help but bring up
this book. It had been her idea, originally, to collaborate on it- detailing
our own stories, in turns, of such situations after she’d been inspired by her
readings of Nin. Upon my expostulation, she retorted that I was never faithful
to the idea! I retorted that I yet eagerly awaited her own productions, but
they were too private, she declared, even for me. This collaborative practice,
this combining of our energies, to think it would never be! And what direction
will it take now?
Together we made the bed, her bed, and sat to drink and
discussion. The conversation of our ailing relationship could not be avoided,
as much as I’d tried to steer clear, in such circular motions it ensued and I’d
immediately known I’d done wrong in my being there, but I just could not end it
as was.
After her tears had dried, she arose from
the bed. All the while she had lain there, propped up by a pillow, her dress
down to her waist, her bra revealing her figure, her tan, her beauty. I could
not stop staring, enjoying so much my entrée and not knowing how or when we
would ever come to sleep. My body was listless. I wanted to be closer to her,
to clear the gap between us and make everything right, anew- make our history
irrelevant. She must think me delirious, how I wanted to claim her but knew I could
not. Deftly, as she turned out the light, she dropped her dress to the floor,
and seeing her there so wholly for the first time in so long, after all of my
woes that she had shared the visage of her body with so many people, but not I,
I could not help but to exclaim: “You’re not wearing any knickers!”, helpless
and foolish as a child. Her own answer was quick and cutting, as if I had
incited scorn, and with the room now darkened, I swallowed a few gulps of my drink
and hastily undressed to follow her lead.
In bed, at last, I ruminated on the things
she had said. Whilst my desires for her were never dulled, she told me that she
no longer felt the same need for me as she had, as though she were encased in
glass. This was already so hurtful to my self and my conviction that I could
ever hope to have her back. In the past, ‘She’ would always move to me, un-helped,
unhindered, we always came together in such agile movements that never a doubt
did ever exist that we were not truly so unavoidably, unshakeably, in love. In
addition to this, she had made clear her intentions of not wanting to lose her
energies to a sexual union; she spoke of the matter as Samson having his hair
cut by Delilah, making me the devious women of the two. She was now, and had
been, so keenly poised upon living a free life and so purely for her art that sex no
longer existed, no longer had its home with her, and at first I was so
confident- could I only get so close to her, could I only cause her to feel the
need for me again, could I only make her come, would we not have a chance of
restoring our faith? And as she continued to decry that she had no wishes to
allow me that power over her body, (What power? What could I ever create that
she did not willingly allow me to create within her?) I so humbly, mentally
assented that I would not stir to make love to her, and with that, my hopes were
crushed.
As it was, I could not sleep. My hands moved
about her body and always I was so taken by an unbearable lust that it almost
moved through me (and very much did begin to) of its own volition. How
surprised I was then, that when I asked to kiss her, she told me to do as I liked.
I tried to stick faithfully to my vows, and so I tempered my greatest urge and
kissed her neck, only for her to turn, and there I received her mouth. This was
now as it always had been; she coyly moved her mouth about, evasive so that my
next kiss would not find its target, all the while we grew greater aroused and
we writhed, legs apart and over each other, towards one another unthinkingly,
and forcibly I grabbed her head and planted my mouth upon hers where we
embraced so fervently, fervidly, that in that instance I so believed that
everything between us was no longer an issue, no more a threat, that her
worries that we would rekindle our relationship if we fucked (As we always did),
were waylaid; because at last her body cried for me, and here we were- she
asked for permission to remove my underwear, “Of Course” I uttered in between
exchanges of hands and tongues, and there, my great dick aching in her hands, I
could have died, so happily, if it had all only gone so right.
She was quick to put me in her as she
climbed on top and it all, every reach inside of her, felt so curiously new. I
ran my hands over her body, her breasts, and squeezed her as I pushed my hips
further towards her and away. It had all been so new, so long since last time, I
felt I had forgotten and noticed she didn’t move so lasciviously as she once had. In
the past, taken by the promise of the orgasm, she would shake her hips from
side to side, she would jitter, recoiling and pulsing with an electric charge
that excited us both like eels, swimming finely together, against one another,
in a violent torpor of waves and crushing ocean. Now she seemed to have
forgotten. Though I could not escape how wet she felt, how easily I had slid
inside her, she did not harbour that same energy that left us both so equally possessed.
I beckoned to her to try for it, she grew close, but seemed afraid (or something
so much more feminine and mysterious that a man will never understand, so that I
can only suppose to think of it as alike a fear, though it truly exists in a
realm so vastly different and so much the greater force) of pushing herself
over the edge; of relying on me, a physical body, to achieve such satisfaction;
of me taking something from her, like some incubus, and so, crying, she tore
away and there I held her, ushering her to be calm, to not worry, until we fell
asleep.
In finally achieving sleep, I only dreamed
of her.
First I dreamt of roses. I dreamt of wild
geography, volcanoes and hot lava that existed in the core of the Earth. It was
all so clear- I dreamt of penetrating her
core, of reaching the nucleus that made her electrons thrive and of finally
releasing that incredible, spiritual, pressure that would again unite us and
leave us conjoined. These were my wishes, but as I spoke to her, trying to make
her anxieties subside, it became so much the clearer that these wishes were not
hers.
These dreams then took on new form: I saw
her through a TV screen. She was so far away but we could talk through the
screen, freely, and I saw her open herself up to take me, laid upon a fine,
red, silken sheet- the walls draped just so, and all but her merged and
disappearing. From somewhere (Taking hold of the impossible is never such in
dreams) I had grabbed a computer console, and knowing the transference of data
to be real, I opened the disk draw so that I could insert my penis into it, and
immediately upon doing so, I felt the pleasure of being inside her. Direct to
drive, as it were, her body was electronically mapped, so I continued to fuck
the grey, cumbersome, computer like a black hole that bent my light and
transported it right to her body. I was in such supreme pleasure that I really
think I would have awakened to ejaculate if it weren’t for that I should
suddenly have been teleported, right on the verge of climax, to a tent, on my
own, where I merely found myself masturbating, thinking of her, and here I woke
up.
This deliverance was at the cost of my own
actual masturbation. The shock of the transportation had made me realise that I
had been justly thrusting forth and back at the crevice of 'Her' arse. By now I
was so determined to come that I, hazily, contemplated raping her. I placed my
hand on her pubic bush for my own tactile enjoyment and closed my eyes whilst I
flexed the muscles of my penis to attempt bringing what seminal fluid I had to
the forefront, where upon its vacating, I would at last, restfully sleep. This
ordeal lasted a short while and slowly, ‘She’ stirred, turning her body and
allowing me new vantage to feel her exposed cunt. If she were wet, I decided, I
would put myself inside her and lazily shift so I could come as I slept.
Shamefully, I began to lightly touch her, rubbing her clitoris and feeling for
any wetness, always trying not to become carried away and wake her by being too
vigorous. My eyes closed, my hand continued unperturbed until she shifted again
and I, finally decided with reverence of my wrong, let her sleep.
I was not long after awakened by a
thunderous crashing and smashing of glass like a poorly piloted automaton demolishing
a warehouse. Eventually the noise subsided and again I slept. It’s strange that
with sex, acted successfully, one finds their place in such oblivious rest, but
when placed sexless, or unsuccessfully, next to a partner, so often do both
awake at different hours throughout, wanting something, desires waning, and
then to rest again. Repeated, ad nauseum.
So it was, we two often awoke, embraced and
sluggishly I would begin again to caress her breasts or kiss her neck, only
stopping when I would be too rough for the mood and she’d tell me it hurt,
where upon I would kiss her softly and apologise. Then we would sleep, wake an
hour later and talk a little, or change places and position. I told her my
dream, “how lovely”, she thought, in all seriousness, that she was so close to
being smeared in my sleeping come, and how unlikely it was- the practical
efforts of trying to fuck without waking up. I spoke freely of it all because
we often did, because I thought she’d be aroused by my desires, and because I believe
she would never judge me of them.
Again, we slept and when we at last did
arise, she hastily dressed and we talked, I, still in bed. She made us tea,
which I drank and she did not, and thinking it best I left, I went for my
things. She told me she was about to lay down again and so I stayed. We were
close together when she asked me to take off her clothes. “Oh!” I was abuzz
again with love for her and I slowly stripped her, kissing her so solidly all
in between. Before I could take off her top she had me in her hand and pulled
me on top of her, and again, so wet she was that I easily slipped inside. We
gazed at each other, heartily, I employed all my efforts in a frenzy; moving
fast, now slow, pushing in different ways and from varying angles, kissing her,
groping her, and always telling her how much I wanted, nay, needed, her come, her love, asking how
it felt and where she needed it, vociferating that it was all in her power. I
got close, myself, a many times at her request before, uncertain that it was
right of me; I pulled away and thought to try something else.
I put my head between her legs and gently
lapped with the whole and the tip on my tongue, swirling her clitoris or
applying even pressure to her inner labia but she showed no signs of arriving
any closer, not even with my hand once more upon her breast while I worked with
my tongue. All to no avail! She was upset again, though she had claimed she had
come a little, I was in fair disbelief. Again we embraced and waited a while-
my testicles feeling fairly upon the verge of exploding.
Interlocked and kissing, we tried once more.
She put her leg over me as she touched my cock with her spittle-drenched hands-
what delight that was- and I moved one hand down to assuage her own aches. She
shook as if on the precipice of climax, a most welcome sight, and then, still
in her hand, she swung on top of me, her legs both wide open as she pressed her
chest to mine and our lips together. I stretched an arm over her back and began
manipulating her pussy from behind. There are so few things in life that excite
me as much as the combination of visual, auditory, taste and tactile sensations
during such moments when ‘She’ puts herself in this position, splayed perfectly
for my entry, howsoever I should choose.
Holding her down hard against me as I delved
into the once familiar routine of rubbing, kissing and fucking her to bring her
to climax, she asked me to come with her “Now… now… now” but as I sped up my
lunges I all the while sensed that she had not come but “a little”, as before.
Exasperated, she begged me to stop. At first I thought of really raping her
this time as I held her in place and replied in the negative, but seeing her so
upset, I grew instantly tender and released her. I held her, brushing her hair
aside and doing my very best to remedy what sorrows she felt, as I saw them to
be, but how bravely she smiled and kissed me back. How badly I ached to release
myself and her too, with me.
Another short period of time elapsed and
soon her hands were on me. She brought me so close and then told me to get on
top. I did as asked and all over was caught in the motion of it all. Like
purgatory we senselessly fucked but never arrived anywhere new, but this time
as she beckoned me, I was certain to deliver- yet all the time I was wrapped
with concern for herself and my own sadness at her inability, which was then my
inability, to move her so.
It all became too much and there, painfully,
I came inside of her as she had previously asked only to hear her words, too late, not to put it
inside, (She was not taking contraception as she was before, when we were ‘together’)
and there, pulling out, I came tremendously over her thighs, vagina and
stomach- yet still felt so full and hard enough to do so again. Awkwardly, I apologised
profusely, knowing what would entail; a trip to the pharmacist, like an ill-advised
(or better advised, as the case may be) teenager and I would not be there to
accompany her this time. We had split, and with severance, she would now have
to go about such ‘shameful’ business alone, as if the single and sole cause of
all grief.
Then we slept, and I: only a little, but so
restfully. We awoke a little before noon and bought food to share a lunch that I
prepared for us both. She moved to eat on the stairs outside, and after I arrived,
left me there with the approaching dog that she feared, that I was only too
grateful to share the company and sandwich with. Finishing my meal, I joined ‘Her’
in her room. Silently, I thought about the issues at hand; leaving for good,
and thought how I wanted to stay but knew the longer I waited, the more of her
time I wasted. Reluctantly, I gathered my things, painfully, (and now regrettably)
I asked for some trinkets and with a rubbish bag in hand, I left her indefinitely.
Perhaps the greatest sadness is that I thought:
“One day she will need to come again, and that day, she will not choose me to
let her”, the sadness was of my own ego- a sadness of rejection for someone
else, and then the only thought that occurred afterward: “If we could just try
again, if you could just move a little like this… here… now, like this… this…
yes, there… yes! YES!” and then all will be fine between us. But alas; the
greatest sadness is simply that for all I want and all my own selfish desire,
she did not want what I wanted of her, and that, I just couldn’t understand.
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