My week of rock n roll helped me sail through my heart break, but after nearing orgasm with an unsuitable suitor, my body and all of its various parts were revived and wanting to open for business.
Mostly, because gas prices were astronomical. My feelings on the matter are best described in an exchange I had with a middle-aged black man over a pump:
Man, at Pump “How are you doing over there?”
Me, “Just fine, I am getting really good at this.”
Man at Pump, “You’re telling me. Gas is ridiculous.”
Me, “And I know its just a way to influence the election, like any of us are going to vote for Romney. PLEASE!”
Man at Pump, “I can’t stand that man.”
Me, “I know he must have a publicist advising him, but the patronizing shit that comes out of his mouth.”
Man at Pump, “What did he say? ‘‘I like being able to fire people.’ What the hell?”
Me, “He thinks we are impressed by that. He is so used to people around him being impressed by it, that he thinks we are going to be impressed by it. Go fuck yourself!”
Man at Pump, “That’s Right” (high five) “Have a Happy Sunday.”
Me, “You too.”
The other reason was I felt like Alan was forcing himself to be sexual with me. I don’t take it personally, since I believe he wants to have sex with me. But for whatever reason, his body is not keeping up and, as my friend Jerry puts it, “No one wants to push rope.”
Perhaps its because the fetish is now off-limits for me, and for him it remains essential, despite our verbal decision to go without.
I did have that conversation with myself, “Self control is what separates us from the beasts.” But then I thought about where I would be 10 years from now, when my sex drive putters out. I thought about where I will be in a month, stranded in Washington with no sexual outlet- just the corner of my bed pillow.
My day off was coming up, and I hadn’t recovered from my night of Sham Rock N Roll aboard the Queen Mary. I was exhausted. My neck still had a kink in it. I hadn’t sat down for a proper meal I could enjoy in some time.
So, on my day off, I drove down to Costa Mesa.
I am not proud of this, and I thought about excluding it from my blog. The point of the blog, however, is to be honest- no matter how pitifully human I am.
I called Abe, over and over. There was no answer.
I knew he would see me, so I fought through afternoon traffic and arrived at his apartment around 7pm.
I knocked on the door, his roommate answered and seemed happy to see me. I just noticed, for the first time, that he had freckles.
Abe opened his bedroom door and saw me standing at the front door.
I said, “Dude, do you know how to use a phone?”
He said, “Um. Yeah. I know how to use a phone.”
I said, “You pick it up and answer it.”
He looked at his phone, “Oh. Its on silent. Why didn’t you leave a message?”
I said, “I did!”
He said, “Oh . . . huh. Whats going on?”
I said, “I just quit smoking and I need a cigarette. I just spent three hours in traffic.”
He ushered me out the front door and handed me a cigarette.
He said, “So how long have you quit smoking? Two weeks?”
As I popped a fresh cigarette into my dry mouth, I said, “No, a day.”
Then he said, “Good to see you.”
I said, “Yeah yeah yeah. I need food. I am starving.”
He said, “I . . . uh . . . got band practice.”
I said, “Come on! That’s why you have to answer your phone.”
Abe, “Oh, well . . . I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
Me, “I know, I am disappointed in myself. But I need sex and food, like immediately.”
Abe, “So you just came down here to . . . lay me?”
Me, “Um, yeah. I need to keep my focus around everyone else and not get into trouble. So I can use you as an outlet to quell my frustration.”
Abe, “That doesn’t seem normal.”
Me, “Its called a booty call. Except I want a bath, a massage and food, too.”
He leaned over his steering wheel and laughed.
Abe, “And you just think that I will give all these things to you.”
Abe parked the car, “Ok, I have to talk to you about something I have been thinking about. The tablets, the sacred tablets look like this (he scribbled on a piece of paper) and there are layers to the tablets, Fa, So, La and Te. It goes up like this . . .
I am trying to explain this . . . but I am really stoned right now.
. . . and the palm trees bend like this, which looks like the top of the tablets. And the pope’s hat looks like the top of these tablets.”
Me, “Um, I am trying to stay focused, but can we just make out?”
Abe, “No, we can not. I have to explain this to you.”
Me, “I need vegan cheeseburger pizza!! Come on . . . “
Abe, “She wants pizza. Ok.”
He started the car and drove us over to Native Foods, where we were for my birthday. The parking lot was full.
We waited to pass a large black SUV.
I snorted through my Midwestern septum, “Get out of the way!!!!”
Abe, “Ok, calm down.”
I said, “This isn’t a parking spot. You can’t just park in the middle of the lot.”
He drove around, there were no spots.
We circled around again, and he pulled to the side to wait for a large SUV with its lights on to back out.
I said, “Seriously, I am really hungry. If I don’t eat immediately, I am going to lose my mind.”
Abe, “Be calm. We can’t go anywhere, so we should just wait right where we are.”
Me, “We can go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I don’t care, I just need to eat.”
Abe, “Hold on.”
We sat there.
Me, “That car isn’t moving.”
Abe, “I know. They aren’t leaving, they are doing something else.”
Me, “If you know that, then why are we parked here?”
Abe, “Because another spot will open up. Just wait.”
Me, “Ughhh, lets go to valet. I will pay for it, please.”
He circled around to the other side and backed into a small section of parked cars.
Abe, “Maybe if I turn out my lights, the spot will appear.”
Me, “Oh my God.”
Abe, “Be patient. A spot will open up.”
A car passed us and pulled in front of us, waiting with its lights on.
A parked car pulled out of a spot in front of us, and that car easily pulled in for that spot.
Me, “We have our lights off. That person just took our spot.”
Abe, “Thats ok. Another spot will open up.”
Me, “Are you fucking with me?”
Abe, “No, its only been about 8 minutes. I am sure another spot will open up soon.”
We sat there.
Another SUV pulled in front of us with its lights on and engine running. From the other end, a car pulled in, also with its lights on and engine running.
Abe, “Uh oh, a stand off.”
Me, “We are not going to get a spot.”
Abe, “Yes we will.”
Me, “We are waiting for a spot and so far three cars have pulled ahead of us with their lights on and engine running. How are we going to get a spot, when everyone keeps pulling in and grabbing a spot?”
Abe, “ . . . hahaha”
Two women came out of the complex holding yoga mats. Each went to a different car.
Abe, “Hold on”
Lights came on.
Reverse lights popped on.
Cars started moving out of their spots at the same time.
Abe, “Whoa, double time. Pulling out at the same time.”
Both cars, now ahead of us waiting, pulled into those spots, just as a third person came out with her yoga mat and popped in her vehicle.
Abe, “There it is, there is our spot.”
And sure enough, it was.
I ordered my pizza and a beer. Abe got a beer as well with chicken fingers and we sat across from each other as I devoured the pizza.
Around us, yuppies shopped and chatted. They waved their freshly painted nails in the air and walked out of yoga class without one bead of sweat or one strand of hair out of place.
Two men walked by.
Me, “Pretentious assholes” then I belched a cloud of gas that shook our table.
They looked over at me.
Abe, “Good job.”
Abe sat across from me in the dark and watched me. I told him about the Hollywood Stones and the Queen Mary, work, whatever came to mind.
I wasn’t angry at first. I was just happy to have my friend back.
We went back to his place and he ran a bath for me. As I disrobed he said, “Hold on, wait a second! I found something. (combing through my hair) There it is!”
I said, “A grey hair?”
He held it up happily, “Yup!”
Me, “Bring it on. I have been waiting for you.”
I slipped into the bath and he sat next to me, but was restless.
He said, “What did your Mom say?”
I said, “She said you are the type who would leave me at the alter.”
He groaned an “aww.”
I said, “I am moving back to Washington at the end of next month anyway.”
He hushed a “What if I didn’t want you to move back?”
I coldly responded, “You have lost all right to speak on that matter.”
I felt hot and tired, so I got out and went to bed. He dried me off, as I sleepily and restlessly fought to climb under the covers.
Then we had sex.
When a man gives you an orgasm or two before penetration, you close up like a virgin. So when he entered me with his head down, it felt like the first time again and again.
His kisses were dead, closed mouth pecks without my tongue, and without my trust. That said, my pelvis came alive and set fire to my breasts, my neck and every other part of my body.
We woke around 1am and I was satisfied. I remember climbing on him again for another round.
The way he crumpled his brow and his mouth fell open, it made me feel powerful. And when he breathlessly says, “I am going to cum” I wait for him to make me dismount, and he explodes alone, on his side of the bed.
It was that moment, when he whispered he was losing control, that brought me back to him two more times.
I had to go home to the dogs and he walked me out to my car. Since he is in a gated community, I drove him back to the entrance to save him a walk in the middle of the night. He forgot the clicker to open the gate, and ran back inside after a group of three kids.
When he came running back out, with a smile on his face, he jumped in my car.
He said, “You are back in my life and I am back to running around again.”
He meant it in a positive. I know when I am gone, his life slows down to a winter.
He said, “So those guys I passed, when I ran back in, the guy said, ‘Hey, is that your girl back there? Fuck her right tonight.” And then he laughed.
I said, “A stranger said that to you? Fuck her right tonight? And what did YOU say?”
He calmed down and shrugged his shoulders, “Ok.”
Me, “Men speak that way to each other? To men they don’t even know? Fuck her right? I should go back there and say, ‘Yo, I am gonna ride his cock ALL night long. That’s right, wax that pole like we are in a competition!’ How would that sound if I spoke like that?”
Me, “Funny? Ok, I guess its funny. I don’t like that. You should have told him not to speak about me that way.”
Abe quieted down, and then he started talking about the tablets again. It was 3am and I was exhausted.
I said, “I have to let you go, Abe. I am tired. I have to drive all the way back.”
He hung his head and nodded.
“Ok” and he reluctantly got out of my car.
2nd Booty Call
I arranged for Mitchell to stay with my dogs after my 48 hour Poor Girl Hollywood Marathon last week. I wanted to sleep in a bed where I could extend my legs and roll over without a 70lb pit bull sitting firmly in the way.
After over an hour in traffic, I arrived.
I took a bath.
And I fell asleep in his bed before he could finish his cigarette.
In the morning, we turned on the shower. He laid a towel on the floor and I hoisted my body just off the floor with my elbows and ankles.
He entered me from a sitting position and I was forced to look at him during intercourse. When he came, I felt myself start to cry.
Never in my life, have I cried more after orgasm than I have with Abe. I don’t really understand it.
I briefly googled it, and phrases like “hormonal fluctuations at orgasm” or “releases some form of cathartic emotion” or even:
“about one-third of women have had negative feelings after sex at one time or another, and it had nothing to do with how satisfactory the sex was. These were usually ‘feelings of melancholy, anxiety and tearfulness’ and they call it postcoital dysphoria.
They also only found limited correlations between past sexual abuse or psychological distress and postcoital dysphoria.”
A great deal of men, including Abe, associate crying with a negative. And even if you tell them it has nothing to do with a negative, nothing to do with pain or discomfort, bad memories or trauma, it doesn’t stick. They just can’t grasp tears of ranging emotion.
I can use my words here to describe what it is, but even then it would be free association: beauty, release, love . . . its a rush of emotion.
As our shower was running behind us, he came and I turned my head to hide the crackling of tears. He got up and didn’t notice.
We bathed each other and he asked me if I was alright.
I said I was.
He said I was different.
I said, “Well, of course I am different. You shattered my dreams. I use the word shattered only because that’s how my therapist describes it.”
He laughed, uncomfortably, and said, “I don’t know why you were so hurt by everything.”
I said, “Read the blog if you need a break down.”
He said, “No . . . I heard its . . . intense.”
I said, “You took everything away from me. If you can’t understand that then I just don’t know what to say.”
He scrubbed my back and I waited for something.
Does he pretend to be stupid to get a pass? Or is he really that stupid?
Abe will hide his head in the sand to avoid confrontation. He doesn’t pick up the phone when there is a job he can’t make it to, he doesn’t call when he is going to miss band practice to make love to me instead, and he doesn’t inform his family of when he is running late, much less pick up the phone when they call trying to find out how much longer they have to wait.
Abe says, “You know me, I am always an hour behind.”
It’s the life of a child who will not take responsibility for his actions. And its the child in both of us that are still in love. But you can’t survive my life as just a child, so there is the shrew, the woman who is more a soldier than a lover.
And she could never respect Abe.
3rd Booty Call
After our morning together, I texted him that it was a bad idea we are still seeing each other. I missed him already.
He said he would come up for Thai Food that night.
We met for Thai Food and then rendezvoused back to my place. He brought three pints of Tecate, chips and rubbed my back.
I had him look at a spot on my back that has been bothering me for 4 months now, itching but instead of red and irritated, the skin is black and blue.
He said, “My Dad once had this hair growing out of a mole on his back. The hair was so thick, my mother had to go in-”
I said, “I can’t believe you are telling me this story for the third time.”
He said, “I have told it to you before?”
I said, “YES. The hair was thick and it left a hole when she pulled it out.”
Abe erupted in laughter. He said, “I can’t believe I have told you that story. There is no excuse for even telling you once. Oh my God, that hair was so thick, you could feel it between your fingers like bristles on a hair brush.”
We were getting familiar again. This was no longer a booty call. We were intimates. He rubbed the kink out of my neck the way I wanted Buddy to.
He laughed at my jokes the way I expected Buddy to. And I felt like this shitty little room on a hill was some kind of home for a night.
He confessed that his boss wasn’t happy with his performance. Abe used to brag that he could nap while videotaping legal depositions, and no one would notice. Well, they did notice and someone complained that he was unprofessional and didn’t want him on their depos anymore.
I confided that Dora united with the clique at work, and they were doing everything they could to alienate me and Sascha. Its petty and irrational, but it got under my skin whenever they invited everyone in the room out to a party and ignored me. I have very specific memories of childhood that were coming back in full color, listening to the bubbling joy of manipulative, little shits as they did their best to make me feel small over a social event I would rather skip anyway.
Abe said, “You have to stop feeling victimized by everything.”
I said, “I know. That’s a problem I have. I am trying. I just hate them, no matter how silly it is. It hit a nerve.”
My suspicion is that just as when I stopped driving Dora around and she made me uncomfortable where I lived, she was scared and resentful of my promise to move out and wanted to make me uncomfortable where I work, too. I now hate my job just because of the people there. My only alliance is Sascha, and she only works there 3 days out of the week.
Dora has completely pushed me out of her life, when I believe the only intention she had was to punish me for not doing what she wanted me to.
Abe and I confided in our problems and comforted each other in the hue of my computer monitor, as the dogs snored and the scampering in the upstairs apartment slowed down and finally stopped.
We woke up and he suggested we try a position where he could rub my back and enter me from behind at the same time. He propped a pillow underneath my stomach and we made love while he rubbed my shoulders.
I had more control to squeeze and pull, and I felt him slowly ache, gently rocking in and out until he lost control. We both collapsed over each other, his eyes closed, mine open. The sex is always phenomenal.
I was having magical sex with a stupid kid who refused to grow up. Someone who made my walls warm with laughter and told me the same stories over and over again.
This had to end somehow.
I can’t go back again and again and pretend it’s about orgasms and back rubs, when the truth is it’s about having a home to visit.
I have been criticized for being a strong woman who is also addicted to men. I think that is a cosmetic diagnosis.
If I had my family to drop in on and visit when I was feeling down or sick, if I had a friend’s backyard to slip into and cry over a glass of wine with familiar company (as I used to in Em) would I feel so desperate to have an intimate connection with a man? Probably not.
That said, my friends and family haven’t been as all accepting of my quirks and flaws as my lovers have. So, in a world of logic and pattern, for better or for worse, I can tell you with confidence that a lover is my safeplace.
There is nowhere for me to go and call home. Except with Abe. Wherever he goes, the color changes, I feel warm and well fed.
But, it’s an illusion. He will leave me again.
His texts messages grew from sexually playful to gloomy put downs, claiming “That’s all I am good for.”
And my chumminess towards him soured more and more into resentfulness for not being the man I needed.
The cycle needed to stop.
Time needed to stop.
And for one weekend, everything stopped . . . in Joshua Tree.