let’s talk about the sex

I’m supposed to be writing, or starting to write, a story based on a picture I pulled off dA about a kiss. instead, because I just can’t seem to focus on writing that story right now, I’m going to talk about sex. Or rather, better answer a question I was asked earlier today.

Q: Corey! Just how many guys have you been with? Huh, huh? Are you a slut? I bet you are! The quiet ones always are!

A: (at the time) Yes. I am a raging cum whore. Bukkake or die!

--

Now, that’s not even close to the truth. She pressed for a number and I wouldn’t give her one. Personally, I think it’s tacky to blurt out a number, as if it were some badge of conquest or honor. Then again, if your goal in life is to have sex with as many people as possible, then more power to you.

I didn’t have the time or inclination to provide my real answer. That and “what’s bukkake” kind of curtailed that conversation.

Real Answer: I’ve been with enough guys that I remember all their names (well except the ones I refer to as "Grand Canyon", "Meth Head" and "Christian Closet Case") and what having sex with them was like. I didn’t necessarily have a meaningful relationship with everyone one of them, though some might say even a one-night stand sexual experience does have some meaning. Each was different and opened my eyes to different things. Not all were great, but I’m still glad I had the experiences. There are even a couple I wouldn’t mind going another round or two with ;D

I look at sex as a way for two people to connect on a deeper, more intense level than if you were to say, just have a conversation or share a kiss or even punch ‘em in the face. Sometimes there’s love behind it, sometimes there’s just the need to feel something and sometimes it’s just because you’re horny and you want to get your rocks off. I don’t look down on or differently at guys (or girls) who just want to whore around. (So long as it’s safe and consensual)

I think media and entertainment have put this glossy, rose-colored lens on sex that really differs from the reality of the matter. It doesn’t always come from a place of love and frankly, it shouldn’t have to.

I like to ask some of the people I get into “debates” about relationships and sex with: “Why can’t two people come together, for even just a night if that’s all it is, and share a singular connection through sex? And then, when it’s all over, go their separate ways? Why does it have to always be something more?”

I usually just get some half-answer or a mumble or something about “being afraid of commitment” or “someone has self-esteem issues”. Someone who has control of their sexual identity and life has to have self-esteem issues? Really?

I guess for some, it’s like Cameron Diaz’s character in “Vanilla Sky” said":

“When you sleep with someone your body makes a promise, whether you do or not!”

Personally, I like to use another one of her lines when I’m feeling sentimental with another guy and he’s just not having it:

“I swallowed your cum, it means something!”

Dream a la Lynch

Warning! The following events happened (probably) in my dream last night, whatever pieces I could fit together that is. With that said, there are somethings that happened in the dream that certain people might want to avoid reading altogether. So considered yourself warned any family or people who'd rather not get certain, ah, mental images in their heads.

Alright, disclaimer done.

-cef

------

I'm standing on the corner of Bell Road and Cotton Lane, watching as cars speed by. It is sunny and the air rests somewhere between chilly and warm. Upon awakening I will realize that this is not how the corner of this intersection actually exisits. But I'm dreaming and unaware, so things proceed as they will.

There is an "authentic" (beacuse the neon sign deems it so) Japanese restaurant with doors wide open, beckoning me inside. I enter. People lounge on floor mats around low-resting tables, word bubbles and noise flittering around their heads. Fire and smoke issue out of the middle of some of these tables, but I continue walking forward. I am meeting a party of friends.

I proceed down a rather lengthy hallway. The tiles on the floor are distorted and wavy, as if being viewed through an aquarium. They're teal and green and blue and speckled with flecks of gold. The ceiling is impossibly high, though at the time I thought nothing of it. I pass a long bar where talking sushi chefs in tall white hats and black aprons furiously slice huge slabds of raw fish. They toss small, white porcelain cups to the talking heads hovering above the stools. The heads open their maws and ingest the sake, (I assume that's what was in them), cup and all.

The fact that these heads have no body and mouths impossibly large don't seem to phase me. I have people to meet. Near what seems to be the end of the hallway, an oriental woman stops me. She starts talking about my the party I'm meeting and how they're are just in this next room and if I'd only come in through the door I'd meet them, only there is no door and I politely decline her invitation and continue walking. She's still talking as I walk away.

I finally make it to the end of the hallway without any further fanfare. The door is white and plain and wouldn't otherwise be present in a place like this. I open it and proceed to enter.

I come to find myself inside a family room with carpeted floor, a couch and two easy chairs facing a rather large and antiquated televesion. My friends are seated on every cushion available. I give a "hello" to the room, but no one seems to give it any attention. I turn to see what they are watching.

What I originally thought for an enclosed room was actually no so. Behind the television, where a wall would normally be in a room like this, was the open outdoors and, what appeared to be, the side profile of a white house with one of those wraparound porches. Big, old American cars drove slowly on the street in front of the house. Perfect lawn. Perfect trees.

A couple was on the porch, arguing rather violently. I realized, after closer inspection, that the two had an uncanny resemblance to Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Only they kept calling each other "Frank" and "April". I also realized that every word they spoke, every action they took was being played out in black and white on the TV.

"Stupid cunt bitch!" He yells and moves to strike her.

"Oh big man!" she shouts. "You gonna hit me, huh? You gonna show me what a big man you are?"

"April don't make me..."

"What Frank?! Do it you asshole! HIT ME!"

"One of these days bitch, one of these days-"

"Straight to the moon? Oh please! Grow a pair!"

And as if on cue he has these pair of gardening sheers and the next thing you know he's lodged them in her throat. She's wide-eyed and gushing blood.

Somewhere in the background a studio audience applauds.

I'm shocked at the events that have unfolded before my eyes and turn to leave. Sydney, a friend of mine on the couch laughs.

As I turn toward the door, the room is suddenly altered. I'm lying on a bed, hardly clothed. Conner hovers over me on all fours, naked and erect. He kisses me. He kisses me hard enough to draw blood. We begin to roll around, at some point the rest of my clothes are removed. Our hands move feverishly over one another and we're lost in the moment.

He starts to trail kisses down my chest, toward my abdomen. I open my eyes and I'm back in the sushi bar. Sydney and Ivan are laughing and spilling drinks over the table. I'm reaching forward from my seat between them to try and stop the spilling.

As my hand comes between their glasses I'm once more in bed, naked with Conner's head between my legs. I inadvertantly smack his head and he withdrawals, looking up at me confused. I shrug and he makes a move to return to his previous attentions, but suddenly gasps in pain.

With a speed I haven't seen, he's off the bed. His hands grab his visibly throbbing penis; his face eschewed in pain. I move toward the edge of the bed to get a better view of what is going on. I see him looking down at himself, his fingers moving over a piece of metal on the head of his penis. It looks like he has gotten himself a Prince Albert and it must have caused some sort of problem, but then he's unscrewing the metal.

He starts to pull it out of his shaft and I can then see that the metal piece is attached to a small hose. He keeps pulling and makes a motion as if to offer me the hose. I see now that it's actually a hose to a hookah and smoke has started to emit from his dick.

"Conner."

And then I blink and Frank and April are making up as if nothing happened. As if he hadn't, moments before, taken a pair of sheers and ended her life.

April smiles. "Pass the-"

CUE ALARM. I WAKE UP. THE END.

passages

two passages from "Call Me By Your Name" that really get to me.

Chiagneva sempe ca durmeva sola,
mo dorme co' li muorte accompagnata

She always wept because she slept alone,
Now she sleeps among the dead

I can, from the distance of years now, still think I'm hearing the voices of two young men singing these words in Neapolitan toward daybreak, neither realizing, as they held each other and kissed again and again on the dark lanes of old Rome, that is was the last night they would ever make love again.

"Tomorrow let's go to San Clemente," I said.
"Tomorrow is today," he replied.

and

"I'm like you," he said. "I remember everything."
I stopped for a second. If you remember everything, I wanted to say, and if you are really like me, then before you leave tomorrow, or when you're just ready to shut the door of the taxi and have already said goodbye to everyone else and there's not a thing left to say in this life, then, just this once, turn to me, even in jest, or as an afterthought, which would have meant everything to me when we were together, and, as you did back then, look me in the face, hold my gaze, and call me by your name.

The entire book is just good. A summer romance that is done by the fall, but lingers still over the years. I found that I could relate a lot to the feelings presented in this piece of work and I think that's why I find myself growing sad when I read it. Though I read it to remind me of him, even if I should just as well forget.