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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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26 August 2006


III. The Dangling Conversation

Friendships like ours are funny.

We’ve known each other for 18 years, more or less, and I can’t tell you his middle name. He scowls. He is cranky more often than not. He disappears for months and doesn’t explain why when he returns.

Not that I require much in the way of explanation.

We don’t talk about our feelings.

He’s said he feels sexually proprietary toward me. I’ve said that is a problem. He knows it is.

We check in on mundane things: Work, health, travel.

Occasionally we’ll talk about sex.

He regularly annoys me.

But then he is a sympathetic and realistic voice when I need to talk about my divorce or my children (usually both, actually).

Late one night I was awake, upset by something my former husband Daniel had done or said. We chatted and, because I was clearly upset he called me. He called Daniel a douchebag and that made me laugh, because I hadn’t heard that word in forever.

And aside from that one conversation a couple years ago when he told me I’d hurt him by sleeping with his roommate in college, we have never discussed anything close to a topic of “us.”

He’s known me over half my life. I like having that connecting thread.

A few days ago he phoned. He’s been working on a new project which is very exciting and he was in a talkative mood.

Me: So I wanted to just say, again, that it really was fun seeing you this summer.

Him: Indeed. What was the most fun?

Me: Besides the coming? I guess the familiarity and comfort I felt. We were cool, and it was nice to not have any performance anxiety.

Him: It felt safe.

Me: Yeah.

Him: Question:

Me: Yess?

Him: Do you do Kegel exercises?

Me: Why do you ask?

Him: Curious.

I thought about it for a second. I don’t schedule Kegel sessions on my calendar, but I do some serious pussy clenching during sex and masturbation. Hmmm…

Me: Every day.

Him: Because—(truth?)

Me: Truth.

Him: I was preparing myself for a blown-out pussy.

Me: MINE?! What? From babies?!

Him: It happens.

Me: Not to me, it doesn’t.

Him: Yours was anything but. How do you ever get fisted?

Me: Oh, you know, it stretches. Just takes a little time. But, um, thanks for the compliments; first my ‘little girl nipples’ and now this. I feel a rush of blood to my cheeks. By the way, what did you enjoy the most?

Him: Fucking you. And the blowjob. That was nice.

Me: Uh-huh!

Him: Why do you like that so much?

Me: I like the effect cocksucking has: Seeing and hearing the way your body responds, knowing it’s because of what I’m doing. It’s hot.

Him: Indeed...

I don’t ask him when he’s coming to town again.

He doesn’t ask me to come to the west coast.

There’s always a hesitation, a holding back, like we know better than to talk about those things. It's much easier to keep it superficial.

I think maybe he reads this blog.

I wonder if he does, in fact.

I’m not sure I want to know, so I don’t bring it up. I probably won’t.

I don’t think he will, either.


Blogger Meg said...

like a poem poorly written
we are verses out of rhythm,
couplets out of rhyme
in syncopated time.

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank you for writing. You pull me out of the Deep Green Sea of my imagination.

Anonymous said...

walking pass

Blogger Deep Lust said...

hi there, I love your blog, it's always fresh and fun.
I'm new to blogging and just
made my first blog.

Drop by whenever!

Blogger Camilla said...

I had a fuck buddy for about one year, and I thought the telephone conversations were even better than the sex. To have him ask me a series of yes-no questions at work. Incredible!


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