that a darkness was lifting. I forgot about death.
The next day we went to go get lunch together and for the first time, we held each other’s hands outside in public. I felt so proud to be holding his hand, not only because he was physically beautiful, but because he was keeping death away. We talked about bonobos, how they are nonmonogamous and use sex to pacify all kinds of situations. Verbally I agreed that more humans should be like bonobos. But inside, I thought, I would be monogamous with you.
Or maybe I did not let myself think that. Maybe I wanted him to be mine, but also wanted to continue to be married and also to fuck other men. I brought him to an event that night where I read poetry. Other men I had fucked were there. And the first time he had ever seen me, a year before, before the Internet flirtation and sexting began, it was at a poetry event like that. Both times I wore black. Both times there were other men I had fucked in the room.
On the cab ride back to the hotel, the driver put on “Stairway to Heaven.” This would have been corny except that we were able to be corny together, as that is what children do together, and so it was not corny. We made out in the cab as the cab crossed over the Williamsburg Bridge. I cried in his mouth.
When we got back to the hotel we made love again. This time he came inside me. I said I’m in love with you or I love you. I don’t remember which. He said it back. I don’t remember which.
love (noun)—an assurance of affection (Merriam-Webster online dictionary)
love (noun)—unselfish, loyal, and benevolent concern for the good of another (Merriam-Webster online dictionary)
love (noun)—brotherly concern for others (Merriam-Webster online dictionary)
I felt that we were moving past only fucking, into something else. Over text, I told him that sometimes the harshness of our sexts didn’t fit how I felt anymore exactly. I asked if I could tell him the truth.
Me: when i say hardfucktalk, i’m talking about sexting i think. like, i really like it in the sheets sometimes (not like “skullfuck her till she is crying whore pig” totally degrading kind of stuff, but hot stuff). and i like it a lot in sexting too, as we do sometimes (i think we go hard sometimes and it’s great) but i guess i just mean that like once in a while i wld type something in to txt you and then be like, oh shit, that’s gonna sound too romantic, make it harder/make it funnier/don’t scare this kid.
Him: I don’t think I’d ever be scared by something you’d send me. Send me real feelings when you want to. I want to receive them unconditionally… You’re so beautiful I want to throw a land mine into a wall of cinder blocks and paint your lips with the dust cloud. Your face is like… So Hot… Bone structure… Eyes… Lips… And your body… Is… So, God… Shockingly good… I want to kiss and lick you spiraling into a drainhole to be spat into the first human epoch in which the majority of things are good…
That was as far as he would meet me. It was a beautiful place to meet me, but it wasn’t the impossible, which was what I needed. I wanted to see what was possible. I wanted to see if the impossible could somehow be possible. But when I asked for the impossible, the DNA dissolved. He became twenty-five again and I became—old. I became a woman again and he became a man again. I became the pursuer and he became the pursued, which for me was the worst of all.
Me: i feel… swept away by you… for a long time I have felt so hopeless… i don’t know. a dark cloud.
Me: when i am with you I feel an extraordinary sense of hope. that’s how i can best describe it. hope. like i have been in the dark for a long time and did not realize it until the light came on. but
Me: I guess what I am saying is that being with you has shown me there is something more beautiful than I could have imagined out there and I want the adventure of mad love and sexuality
Me: if i lived in new york wld u “date me”? :)
Him: Yeah I think so
Him: Yeah. Would I come see u