|
2001-06-09 / 11:35 p.m. ~The Stanley Cup, and an anal 180~
First, thanks Kat, for reading some of this, and liking it. It's over, the Cup has been won, no more hockey until pre-season in September. Bourque, after 22 years, gets to hoist it, kiss it, caress it if he pleases, skate around with it held high above his head, balancing 35 pounds of it on his head when the weight becomes too much. His son cries, tears of pride and joy for his father, and tears well up in my eyes as I watch, for this is a great moment, in sports, in hockey, THE greatest, the only sport I watch, the best sport, and it almost doesn't matter who wins as long as they win fairly. Jersey had it last year, it was someone else's turn, and if you spend 22 years fighting for it and still don't win, there is no justice. I'm sad to see it end, and wonder if my lowly Thrashers can possibly make it this far next season..... Steve and I talked on the phone again, last night, not for 7 1/2 hours, but for 2 1/2 hours, still quite animatedly, still very much to say, still a strong connection, growing stronger all the time. I invited him to come here, Monday, to go to a special screening of "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", said he wouldn't need to make the drive back, that he could stay, crash, on the futon sofa, or in bed, not to promise us being together, but not to drive home either. He declined. He has no car, only a bicycle, and a motorcycle that doesn't run. He'd have to take Greyhound, wants to stay longer, not just one night and a morning, days he says. But I don't want days, not yet, I am not ready for that, now. I write more, this morning, because last night I wanted him, wanted him to be here with me, and it was almost overwhelming, this new desire for someone from before, someone who is surely someone totally different now. Maybe I don't know who he is. But, I write, and I send the porn pictures I said I would, I go through my file and choose 3 I really like, and tell him why I like them. We have tremendous sexual chemistry, on the phone, in writing, and I want him to know what I like. I write more too, about fears of intimacy, losing my independence, general thoughts, emotions, and I give him the recipe for Nam Sod I found because I think he wants to make it for me....... Three email letters, in a row, maybe one just a forgotten file attached. Another photo, a woman having sex with two men at the same time, on the hood of a race car. Should things be going this way, in this direction? Um, perhaps not. Because he takes it farther, and suddenly it's ALL about sex, and he writes two email letters, composes in some word processing program, cuts and pastes, it's long, it's all sexual, and in the long run, as I'm reading it, it's too much now, really. I started it though, or did I? I don't know now, maybe it's "snowballing", like William told me a year and a half ago...."snowballing", he'd said, but I thought we were doing great. Yeah, I see that snowball picking up speed, gathering more snow, packing it, rolling downward, faster, growing larger and larger, and it's out of control. Whew, I know what he meant. I do. Steve wants to explain the anal thing. Anal? Jesus, do I want to know this? Am I some kind of prude? Shouldn't I be open to the possibilty? No, tried it, it hurts, it's not designed for that, really, don't tell me it is, it's not a fallacy, my body is not made for that, my anus doesn't want penises in it. Really. Besides, what would make someone even have that desire? Does it have to do with an overall anal fixation? A fascination with one's own waste production and elimination? Why? But he wants to explain, tells me the story of the woman who had the boyfriend who only "took" her that way, so she wasn't "uncomfortable" (okay, but did she LIKE it? at all????) when he did it, and it was their birth control! Insert a Jesus fucking Christ right about here. So, he doesn't want to wear a condom, she doesn't want to use birth control, and I'm thinking this is a woman who has lost all respect for herself and her own body at this point, and he is capitalizing on that fact, and taking a kind of misogynistic advantage of her low self-esteem. This is what I'm thinking. So, he pulls out and enters her anus so he can ejaculate. I'm sorry, I really am, I do apologize here, but I find this repulsive. This has gone beyond mutual enjoyment, or am I projecting here? This is her giving in, being submissive, and him taking advantage so he can please himself. Why not just get a hooker? This is not love. This is sex in its basest form and even animals don't do this, not to my knowledge. The tone has changed, the colors have turned to grays and browns, and blacks, it's muddy now, the brightness dimmed, the feelings are of leaving all of this, of sudden disappointment, sudden abject disappointment. That's it, I think, forget it, he's no one I know, what was I thinking, this is horrible, he hates women, how can a 43 year old have this sex drive, shouldn't he be needing Viagra right about now? Why do I conjure up all these feelings of FUCKING, not lovemaking, not romance, but FUCKING, up the ass, hard, from behind, rough, blow jobs, taking his cock, doing as he pleases. What is this? All of a sudden, what is this? Is this even okay to write this here? In diaryland is this okay? I gave him the cues, I was so open, so he was open, he really, really, opened up, this is male fantasy type stuff, exposed, lying on the table, all the cards, face up, staring me in my face. And I don't like what I see. Ever ask a man about his fantasies? When he says, "I don't want to shock you" and you say, "Aw, you can't shock me, g'head", so he tells you, and you say, "Ew, that's GROSS!", and why did you say it was okay to tell you in the first place? But you want to know, don't you, you want to know who this really is, don't you? I don't know. I don't know this person. When I was 18 I knew this person, the person he was then, now, no, I'm fooling myself. But Bourque won the Cup, and that's enough email for one day. I got my Nam Sod, I tried the Beef Salad with cucumbers and tomatoes and onions and chilis too, and Tofu Garlic Pepper, and I watched the game, and Bill called, from some sports bar, but I didn't want to talk to him, and Robert stood me up, we didn't go to the zoo, did we? I knew we wouldn't. I won't meet his little girl. And I re-placed my personal ad, since it had expired, and I'm not giving up, I still want to feel, I still want to meet someone, and I just want to be alone, with the cats, I want to spoon with Gladys in bed, she loves that. I only need them, I will draw the men in, but I don't want them anyway, do I? I don't want anal sex, I want to be loved. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |