Saturday, January 08, 2005
Day for Night
It's a late afternoon in the early 70's on the Upper East Side of New York. I'm walking on Fifth right alongside Central Park. I stop in at a townhouse owned by someone whose name I can't recall. How I met him I can't remember either. Or what he does. But he's generally available in the late afternoons for a fuck. He doesn't want to admit he enjoys it as much as I do. He connects joy with loss of "masculinity" and hence loss of power. Silly of course, but I tolerate it because I love fucking in the afternoon.
In some ways it's just like fucking late at night. Time stands still. Context vanishes. Just bodies moving together for pleasure that is at once mutual and distinct. What is he thinking? Does he care that i wonder what he's thinking? Possibly. For a moment sex makes him present as it won't be once the moment passes. In that moment he's alive. And real. And provisionally mine.
It's late afternoon on the Lower East Side and I tumble into Allen's apartment for a quick fuck. Allen's much nicer than the Upper East Side guy, but his apartment's much tattier. And in a funny way he's just as remote. No "masculinity" games with Allen, but power games nonetheless. He wants to think of himself in control of the situation, and I don't protest. Why? because he's so pleasant. At least superficially. For subtly he pushes me around in his mind. And with his body too. It's like wrestling in many ways. I pin him. He pins me. And he laughs all the while.How can I object? Still he recedes. Much like the Upper East Side guy-- whose indifference cum hostility is at least honest.
But one gets what one doesn't pay for: a nice fuck. They remain "inviolable." I maintain my solitude. I drift off into the city, and the next thing I do -- which can be as banal as buying a book (a Huxley novel, a collection of Mallarme prose poems) -- seem exciting. It's like the sudden rush after a good meal -- but without the slight sense of bloat. I am satisfied and I am alone in the half-deserted city.
Thoughts race. To love without being "loved" is not without value. O you who've "given yourself to me" without really doing so -- my love. Stay as you are, "untouched." Inviolable in your "power." I love you all the same. Just as much.
Now it's night.
In some ways it's just like fucking late at night. Time stands still. Context vanishes. Just bodies moving together for pleasure that is at once mutual and distinct. What is he thinking? Does he care that i wonder what he's thinking? Possibly. For a moment sex makes him present as it won't be once the moment passes. In that moment he's alive. And real. And provisionally mine.
It's late afternoon on the Lower East Side and I tumble into Allen's apartment for a quick fuck. Allen's much nicer than the Upper East Side guy, but his apartment's much tattier. And in a funny way he's just as remote. No "masculinity" games with Allen, but power games nonetheless. He wants to think of himself in control of the situation, and I don't protest. Why? because he's so pleasant. At least superficially. For subtly he pushes me around in his mind. And with his body too. It's like wrestling in many ways. I pin him. He pins me. And he laughs all the while.How can I object? Still he recedes. Much like the Upper East Side guy-- whose indifference cum hostility is at least honest.
But one gets what one doesn't pay for: a nice fuck. They remain "inviolable." I maintain my solitude. I drift off into the city, and the next thing I do -- which can be as banal as buying a book (a Huxley novel, a collection of Mallarme prose poems) -- seem exciting. It's like the sudden rush after a good meal -- but without the slight sense of bloat. I am satisfied and I am alone in the half-deserted city.
Thoughts race. To love without being "loved" is not without value. O you who've "given yourself to me" without really doing so -- my love. Stay as you are, "untouched." Inviolable in your "power." I love you all the same. Just as much.
Now it's night.
# posted by DavidEhrenstein @ 8:03 PM 
