Expletive in OD OG

I slept with him again.

After declining months of his invitations dressed up as come-ons, I finally gave in. I don’t know why. Like many other times before, he told me he was passing through town & asked me if I would meet him for a cocktail. Usually I respond to such texts by metaphorically groping around in an overturned silk top hat full of little folded squares of paper, my many excuses as to why I can’t meet up with him written on each little slip of white. Every pick is a winner, because, in reality, I do have so many limitations. My car broke down. The kids are sick. I don’t have anyone to watch the kids. I’m working late. Truths saved up and used at later dates & times (finally) for my own benefit.

This time when he asks me though, it is different. I feel this light shut off inside of me. And I say, “yes.”

Later, I tell myself I agreed because I just want to feel something. No, not something-I want to feel good. But even I don’t believe the reasons I present. I wear the long green hug of a dress…the one with gold threads accenting the leaf print…the one that flatters my cleavage, my curves. My hair contrasts brilliant red against the dark green. I rub lotion with gold flecks on my chest, my neck, my arms. Slow as a southern drawl, I draw the shimmery cream all the way up my legs ….Even though we usually fuck in the dark, I’ve made my body into a golden idol.

Then I drive to meet him at the hotel. It’s our usual hotel for sexual liaisons. As I walk in the lobby, he turns around and awkwardly jabs his hand out in a wave that makes it look like he’s angry at the air. We stand and stare at each other for a minute. The memories of a more recent unpleasant history start building between us before we each walk through it to hug each other. His hug is much more warm, the whirring of some small, fast motor…while my hug in response is made wanly of the thin vapors of memories I walked through to touch him.

We grab a couple drinks at the hotel bar and sit at a wobbly table to catch up. He immediately launches into a lecture about his recent trip to Buffalo. Even though I know he loves the city, he has to focus on some small, acidic disappointment, some pebble in his shoe. Still, I smile & he is encouraged. When he finally asks me about what I’ve been up to, my sentences feel like they broke in my mouth & I am just spitting out pieces at him. I just feel so uncertain of myself, of what I’m doing there.

He asks if I want to get out of there.
Please.

We head over to Nail Creek, my favorite bar—and our usual spot. It’s weird that we still have usual spots when we haven’t dated in many months. It felt like all the things that constituted our time as a couple would get wiped clean in his absence, ready for the next man. Maybe I just didn’t wait long enough…but it’s all still there. He is all attraction as we wait in line, body drawn close to mine. He awkwardly, yet also oddly lovingly pats my cheek. All I can think is, “Corona Virus. He just affectionately gave me fucking Corona Virus.” Then he orders me a Gin & Tonic with top shelf liquor. He gets a beer, his 3rd. I note the familiar hazy look he gets after he’s had a couple…the look he gets usually before he says something totally—

“I JUST NEED TO BREED!” he says loudly at me. Oh fuck. It’s a joke but not. He can’t un-reveal his hand…a full house containing a pregnant queen and stud king. Thinking back to his very serious & distressing offer made in anger–his offer to pay me to sleep with him and get pregnant, my response is to flinch at the joke. He says it again, laughing. I meet his eyes and tell him, “That is an odd thing to say to a person. And you should maybe consider stopping that.”

The rest of the date continues more smoothly, as we discuss music & talk about some of the things that happened in our lives in the past 8 months. He tells me he’s happy I reconnected with my brother, that I’m going to more concerts, that I’m making some positive changes. Suddenly, he just gets up in the middle of me talking and says, “Ok” and starts to head towards the door. What the fuck? I put my coat on, “Are we leaving?” “Oh. No. I don’t know. I thought we were.” Clearly, J. has plans. Hand-wringing, dick-swinging plans.

He ushers me out to the car. Even through the padding of my winter coat, I feel his hand in the small of my back. There is an high frequency, urgency in his hand’s territorial push… In the car, his hand is on my thigh…fingertips kneading me. He keeps calling me honey. It feels like he still wants me. Am I going to actually go through with this? I am still not sure. In the car ride back to the hotel, I picture myself getting to the hotel, climbing in my car & driving home…As I’m going up the elevator with him, he’s spouting pure bullshit and being silly, claiming “it’s a law.” “What kind of law is that? One you wrote in your own fucking head, J.?” I tease. A whiskery guy in the elevator laughs. J. pays no mind & keeps babbling. I raise my eyebrows at the guy in the elevator & mug behind J.’s back, as if to say “yikes.” The guy laughs again, as we disembark from the elevator.

Wait.

When did I get in the elevator? The doors shut behind me and I’m following the carpet to his room. I know I’m going to do it. I’m already here and the word ‘no’ is not.

We head to his suite. “Remember this?” he asks, gently. I do. It’s the first suite we stayed in together there. I look out the window into a backdrop of black. He comes up behind me, hands all over. “Oh look! The serial killer is still out there from the first time we stayed here. He must be waiting for you,” I joke. He laughs freely and I suddenly remember other things besides the suite—like how much I liked to make him laugh, to remind him that in addition to any of those other adjectives he might use to describe me, I am also clever.

The bed looks so white. I am afraid to even sit on it, to transfer my gold.

He sits behind me. His hands down the back of my dress at first, rubbing my back. Then suddenly his hands are touching my breasts. He feels me stiffen up, body full of conflict. But then his arm comes around the front of my neck, holding me to his chest as he kisses my ear and…This. This. This. My mind unspools, ribbons of pleasure. I just shiver, his kisses hitting a buzzer inside. He turns my head and we’re kissing and I don’t want to do anything else.

My dress comes off and he’s just as naked next to me. My fists on his wiry haired chest, our legs draped over each other like Dali’s melting clocks. His skin smells exactly like I remember, but can never seem to recall on my own. He kisses me like he is heading to sea, like I’m the only woman in the world who fits in his arms. He kisses me like no other will do. For one brief snap of a moment, I think about the fact I need to replace my IUD and we should be using backup birth control…but then he is kneeling between my legs & it’s too late. He licks his hand before proceeding. It’s not necessary. It’s like my body’s been waiting to make this mistake forever.

He pushes in. I’m ok at first, able to meet him…but disuse has made me forgetful of how much it hurts to let someone in. In response to this realization, my body immediately shuts down sensation. I can’t feel anything but a pall of numbness. Fuck. Fuck. With an inability to physically feel, I panic and retreat to the silo of my mind. In there, I think about how I should make him pull out, how I just want this to end, how I am back to dissociative numbness BULLSHIT. He thrusts and thrusts till he comes, without even touching the place that winds & then uncoils me, not that it would make much difference anyway at this point. He is still inside, but I have never felt more empty. I can’t fucking feel anything. As he lays on top of me, he sighs happily—kissing me all over my face, lightly brushing my arms with his fingertips.

Finally, he rolls off and holds me. I put my head on his chest and breathe in time with him. I was wrong earlier—this, this, THIS is what I wanted. Just this, this closeness with another. After a couple minutes of this synchronization, I felt like letting myself lie there and be held was even worse for me than fucking him–no matter how much I needed it. Well, especially because I needed it. Because this choice was all about punishing myself all along, despite what I told myself. He sounds disappointed that I’m not staying the night, but says, “Ok, I’m really tired, honey. I’ll be back soon and take you on a real date.” I tell him to go to sleep. I redress and back out of the room as quietly as possible. As I wait for the elevator, I catch sight of myself in the hallway. Between the smudged makeup, the smell of sex & my tousled hair, it’s no mystery what I was up to minutes prior. I make no attempt to fix my hair or makeup and walk into the lobby defiantly…because, well, shit. The staff at the front desk smart eye me, but they can’t judge me more than I already do…So I keep walking, keep walking.

I get to my car & sit in it for a minute, head on my steering wheel. As I sit parked there, I start to feel again. It hurts between my legs, as I begin to thaw out. I cry the whole drive home.

Fuck.
Verb.
Exclamation.
Sentence.