Tuesday, 20 October 2009

A Few Words on the Subject of Sex

I wrote this a few years ago. I find it moderately amusing. It is entirely fictional. But no one believes me when I say that. Some of the grammar makes me shudder but I am reprinting it as it was originally written.

I don’t have sex with other people. It is messy business both literally and figuratively. Coming out of a five year relationship the prospect of never having sex is equally daunting and comforting. It does little good for ones self esteem, but neither does the average sexual experience, so there’s no real loss there.

There are moments, however, when one may feel weakened, seduced and drawn into a situation that will inevitably lead to a sexual experience with another person. You may very well find yourself in this situation if you are not extremely careful.

It usually occurs when one is attending a rhythmic ceremonial ritual. The mind clouded by various toxins and inebriants, the vision obscured through the thick smoke and darkness, one will invariably gaze across the room and see a person that they believe they would enjoy a sexual experience with.

At this point one may find themselves walking across the room, taking a pull from a cigarette, sauntering over to the prospective partner with a look of - one hopes - cool emanating from their being. Conversation ensues, more inebriants are purchased, anecdotes and interests are shared.

As the nocturnal activity progresses one tends to find themselves huddled up in a corner with their prospective partner, chatting and gazing into their eyes. It is obvious to all others in attendance that they have now “coupled up”, despite the fact that the couple at hand have not made this explicit to each other. But it is only a matter of time.

What’s this? One may now find themselves with their prospective partners’ tongue in their mouth. A pleasant feeling in most instances, one reciprocates and the rest of the world vanishes. The people, the smells, sights and sounds slide away as the couple become completely enveloped in each others seemingly insatiable lust.

By this point it is quite late and the people that provide the inebriants set in motion the preliminary steps of closing the establishment that one has found themselves in. Outside one stands with their prospective partner. It is cold but she smiles and one feels all warm inside. At this point one may be feeling “wild” and “crazy” and the dark streets of London witness two kooky kids dancing and laughing in the middles of the street. Joy.

One now finds themselves with their prospective partner on the N29 bus heading north to Green Lanes. The “wacky” behavior out of their system, the couple talk quietly, occasionally kissing each other softly on the lips. Loud, crazy people get on and off. One makes wise cracks as their prospective partner erupts with laughter at ones’ witticisms.

Back at the house one suggests to their prospective partner that there is a pizza in the fridge, if she is hungry. Or one could make her a sandwich, perhaps. She says, “maybe later” and takes ones’ hands in hers and gazes into ones’ eyes. They kiss, softly at first, but it builds to a climax as they stumble towards ones’ bedroom.

Once inside one may very well put on his fairy lights as the main bulb is oppressively bright. The fairy lights are red which gives it all a bit of a Soho vibe. One makes a self conscious joke about the sleaziness of it all and turns around to see their prospective partner laying back on the bed, smiling and biting their bottom lip.

One climbs on top of their prospective partner and they kiss passionately. Clothes are torn off, flesh is kissed all over. One runs their tongue all the way down their prospective partners’ stomach and kisses it as one removes their prospective partners’ undergarments. In most instances one will kiss along the inner thigh of their prospective partner and slowly move towards the genitalia that one will breath on for a moment before engaging in oral sex.

The first orgasm out of the way, one makes their way back up to kiss their prospective partner. In most cases both people involved are either very near, or completely, naked. The prospective partner may reach down and grab a hold of ones’ genitalia and give one that satisfied and impressed sort of look that makes one feel like A Man. The prospective partner will usually enquire as to whether or not one is in current possession of any prophylactics.

There is then that awkward, but often endearing, moment when one struggles to apply a condom to ones’ genitalia. The couple giggle, but once fitted one climbs back onto their prospective partner and both wear an expression of seriousness on their faces. The prospective partner lets out a breathless gasp as one penetrates.

The couple begin to copulate. Things start slowly and carefully, but the couple become more accustomed to each others bodies. One is actually impressing himself at this point and, if the prospective partner groaning like an animal and chewing the pillow like some sort of famished cave girl is any indication, he is not alone.

Both now nearing orgasm the groans, gasps and shouts grow louder and more intense. One stares directly into their prospective partners eyes and they both achieve orgasm, the kind they write about in history books.

One rolls over and lays next to his prospective partner. Then, out of the corner of his eye, one spots a copy Brendan Behan’s play The Hostage on the shelf. Either that or the Firefly DVD box set. Either that or his copy of E.A.R.L, The Autobiography of DMX. Or any number of things that give him pause.

One remembers that ones’ ex-girlfriend lent him her fathers’ copy of Brendan Behan’s only novel, Borstal Boy, but he never did get around to reading it. One remembers the last time one visited ones’ ex-girlfriend at her University, where one slept on an air mattress as ones’ ex-girlfriend watched an episode of Firefly. One had no interest because one did not think much of Joss Whedon then, but now recognizes his genius. And one remembers that DMX is from Yonkers, but spent a good amount of time in New Rochelle where ones’ ex-girlfriends family comes from.

One remembers all of this, and a million other things, and it all comes flooding back in the space of about two seconds. One promptly bursts into tears as ones’ prospective partner stares in dismay.

The rest of the night is spent with the prospective partner bringing one hot drinks as one talks and blubs and loudly exclaims things like, “We never even got to go to Ireland together!” and “I was her little monkey!”. The prospective partner is kind and understanding. But really she just wants the blubbing to stop so she can leave and never, ever come back.

So I leave sex to other people and focus on eating more fruit instead. I try to maintain a healthy diet to counter act the two bottles of whiskey I drink every night.

It’s going to be a long year.

1 comment:

  1. Wow. That was pretty great. But I really hate that I know EXACTLY what you're talking about...