Elevation

ballerina-in-the-city-1388702_1920

 

Between the useless seconds, I peer down her top and glimpse the ocean. Brushing against her, she turns to face me and breathes in my beer breath. She’s not repulsed, in fact, she rather enjoys it. Makes me a man, she says, but I’m not a man. I don’t know what I am, but it’s definitely not a man. When she pulls down my pants and handles me, she looks me in the eye until it points to the ceiling. It’s so raw and tender, and when she bites, I’m forced to grab her by the hair and yank her away to make it stop. And then there’s the way she treats my balls- she knows I have sensitive balls- and yet she smacks them about and squeezes them as if they were toys. She makes me curse her- makes me call her names no lady should be called, but she’s no lady. Far from it. When I spit into her mouth, she looks at me wanting to know why, but there’s no reason I can give. When I stain her with my seed, she both hates and adores it. When I walk the streets at night, she wants to know where I go, but I go nowhere. When I look into the distance after we’re finished degrading each other, she asks what I’m thinking about. My response is nothing in particular, but really, I’m thinking about the shed in my grandparents back garden from when I was a kid. There were always spiders in there, and during the summer months, my grandad would do his best to hunt and destroy them. Goading him on, whenever he caught one I would jump up and down then run as far from him as possible in sheer panic and elation as he clutched their crushed bodies within a few sheets of tissue paper. In the bin they would go, but even then, my heart would still be racing. Bouncing around and snatching handfuls of air, I would howl and scream in excitement. Those childhood fears, they made me come alive in ways my innocent mind couldn’t explain.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

16 replies »

  1. at some point you, Candice and I should talk about the Unbearable Lightness of Being. This makes more sense than it sounds– this piece fits perfectly into an ongoing discussion Candice and I have been having about how undignified and even ugly sex can be sometimes even while it sustains us.

    You and those damn spiders!

    • You know, I’ve never read that book. Terrible, isn’t it? It’s one of those I keep meaning to but never get around to. I shall make more of an effort from now on. The more I explore sex, the more laughable it all seems, so I’m in complete agreement. Succumbing to carnal desires is a most tiresome and embarrassing thing.

      • Sex serves a completely different purpose for me at this stage of my life than it did in my 20s and 30s. Its partially about comfort but mostly the only place I can kind of let go of self for a time and quiet my monkey brain. Definitely a function of age and monogamy. Hmmm. . . I may have depressed you further!

      • Okay, you describing sex and love in your early 30’s as a chore is a little depressing. Speaking strictly from my own experience, sex got better again in my 40s and now in my early 50s than it was in my 30s. Partially because I laugh at it (and myself) a lot more and I can enjoy it as a creature comforts that gets me out of my head. In an odd way, it is finally okay for me at 51 to be selfish about sex.

        Love is also feel very different to me at this age. Love is less the intense obsession/in love with one (or two — my 20’s were interesting) people. I have strong feelings of love for a larger group of people. I have more to give I guess, and I value my friends differently.

  2. You are allowed a little cynicism as long as it doesn’t keep you from allowing yourself to be surprised by life sometimes. I have walked a little too often over the years with depression and intrusive suicidal thoughts breathing their darkness down the back of my neck but I things I have valued is that although I am capable of feeling great pain, I also capable of feeling joy. Joy may be more fleeting, but the memory remains and is the kernel of hope. Boy that sounds so much more philosophical than I was going for here!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s