coming together and falling apart

There was nothing neat about, nothing artistic, nothing that hollered anything but ripe visceral need. There were no toys, no ties, no accessories, just two bodies jumbled as jewelry thrown in a drawer, though more pleasurably so.

The fucking embargo has ended. Donny and I had sex.

There was no way that any copulatory act between Donny and myself wasn’t already embedded in overdetermination. What with the history we have and the travails and the tears and the so forth and so on unto hall of mirror replication, there was no way we could enjoy any prelapsarian free fucking. There’s a superfluity of angst, so much so that it nearly felt like a threesome: Donny, me, and our pain. But given that the fucking was prefaced by multiple and epic phone conversations wherein Donny gave up and I railed with the cruel hell that hath no fury like a serious smart woman scorned, and given that neither of us had fucked for upwards of two months, and given that our fucking was both a concession and a win for each of us, this fucking was burdened with more than its fair weight of meaning.

It was messy and wholly lacking in art, except in maybe a Jackson Pollack kind of way. Our bodies slammed like we wanted to push ourselves back together, and maybe we did. I could have eaten his scent. He pressed me to him like bread to the lips of a starving man.  My flesh bears bruises that testify to his violence with their mute purple marks. I felt ungainly and awkward, bent into uncomfortable Pina Bausch expressionist positions by Donny’s need, and by my own.

I had not forgotten his cock—how could I? I remembered his smell and his flesh, the Braille landscape of his dalmation dots, and I recollected the velvet-over-steel feel of his fat-bellied cock, the way it slides past my lips and down my throat. I had not forgotten either the moans and gasps that comprises the song I make him sing when I suck him or take him between my hands. I had not forgotten any of that.

Somehow, though, I had forgotten how it felt to be fucked by him, or forgotten it as much as I remembered it. Maybe in the years of his piston-driving into my compliant body, I had grown used to it, acclimated to its strange painful pleasure so that I’d grown complacent to it. I had forgotten its pang and its tang and its alien joy, that letting go under Donny’s body and his raging lust and his taking of me and what I willingly, incomprehensibly, offer up to him. The renting from the inside, the hunger of my womb, a syntax too rich and unintelligible to parse. The swift juxtaposition of pain and pleasure that makes me freefall into limp submission.

I had forgotten that. And so our fucking was made new by its strangeness, or maybe it was made strange by its novelty. Whatever. I found myself thrillingly uncomfortable in his chase of pleasure. I found myself laid like an offering at the altar of fucking.

Our customary choreography of fornication was forgotten. We fucked with blind hunger, like mole rats, like bats, like methamphetamine amped lorises. We fucked as if rabid. And when my orgasm took me, it took me hostage. It held me briefly and gave little pleasure and more release. After, I lay and let Donny fuck me fast, faster, fastest and hard, harder, hardest as sobs rippled out my body and tears fell quiet as night.

Comments

[Sailor]

I can so understand that overwhelming need to just fuck, but wow, you express it so I can feel *your* need and release in that session, as well.

[Linda Sue]

I knew you would, and I would have, too.

[ruleof78]

Sheer poetry as you take The Art of Fucking to it's rightful place. "Hey Donny, are you reading this?"
"Marry her would ya, before you loose out on the best thing that's ever happened to you!"

[bodhibound]

This post is just beautifully done.

[Misha]

"It was messy and wholly lacking in art, except in maybe a Jackson Pollack kind of way."

As a design major, I find that statement fucking brilliant.

[Jess]

well...even though the sex may not have been art, the way you describe it is very artful. Congratulations on the sex.

[a reader]

Damn, you are one great writer. I read your words, I am transported to a time in my life when it was just as this was. You have somehow gotten it on paper without the trite phrases. I know it is because you are able to write what you really feel, and are not relying on memories of what others have written. I am just overwhelmed

The game is the same and the end is already known by you, Donny and all the readers. The question is when will you actually figure it out? Only the Wizzard of Oz can help you now! Good luck with all of it, though I must say, if anyone could let go of a relationship that was going this route, I thought it would be you. Time will tell. I will hope for you as do most of your readers. If it was a novel, I wish you just ended it and found another and moved on. Good luck ma'am.

Peter

[miss smartypants]

Um, it's Pollock, not Pollack.

[VJ]

You're your own country blues. We can take up a collection and raise the money for his lobotomy. I'm sure we can find someone to declare him certifiable.

Cheers & Good Luck! 'VJ'

[Sam]

Beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. When the man came back from his hiatus in October, that first night of fucking, it was such a release in every way. You described the experience much better than I could, and it is fucking brilliant!

[O]

Somewhere or other I once read the only good description I'd ever seen of people fucking while they were breaking up/coming back together. It was in an otherwise poorly written autobiographical book, and the sentence wasn't especially good.

The one image was good, I thought, because it captured the animal need and the once-familiar/now-strange quality, and the peculiar blindness, and it stayed with me.
I don't remember the specific sentence, but the image was something about bodies automatically finding each other in the dark, like fish in the deepest levels of the ocean. Blind and speechless, and yet so familiar...but so strange.

The author couldn't convey the whole experience as you have.

We fucked with blind hunger, like mole rats, like bats, like methamphetamine amped lorises

This whole post breaks my heart.

But as always, you find words for experience in a way that no one else can.

It's heartbreaking, but your writing is also heartbreakingly beautiful.

Love
O

[Me]

"As a design major, I find that statement fucking brilliant."

[tom paine]

I wish you all the best. I really do.

[BlueBoy]

And now, Donny has you right back where he wanted you.

[Kristin]

Based on this and all that came before it - regardless of the personal crises preparing the soil and soul for all this writing (I do empathize and I do know it didn't come easy) - I wish you every possible success in your foreseeable career as a major writer of world renown. This is not meant to flatter you. You don't need that. This is meant as a softspoken wish to the powers that be that your books may be found in the shelves of my grandchildren. I want them to learn what you and I know; but you say it better.
Thank you,
Kristin

Just a thought.
Why has the legal step of marriage taken on such significance for you? It appears to an innocent bystander that you and Donnie want to be together. I sense no reluctance on either of your parts to commit on a personal level.
The only rub is that you want a legally binding contract recognized by the State of NY, and Donnie wants a handshake deal. Even though things seemed to have been going swimmingly before, somewhere along the way you became afraid to continue without the state sanctioning your relationship.
Donnie seems never to have been really excited about the marriage thing. He just kept his mouth shut and hoped it would go away. He knew he didn't want the relationship to end, so he did went into the "rope-a-dope" defense. But when you both got to the edge, he couldn't jump. (I suspect he had hoped--with his eyes tightly closed--that the deadline would just never come.)
So just as you seem to be scared to go forward without a marriage license, Donnie seems to be scared to continue with one. You can't both get what you want on this point.
But you both want to continue your relationship. So just to be the devil's advocate for a moment, why insist on marriage? Are you convinced that Donnie wants to be with you, and if the topic of marriage had never arisen you would have gone on blissfully for decades to come? If so (and of course that's a big if), what do you expect to gain--really--by marriage? Can you articulate to yourself in that beautiful prose of yours the upside you expect to gain?
I'd suggest that you give it some serious thought becaue if you insist on marriage as a condition to your continued raltionship with Donnie, it's pretty clear what you will lose.

[donna]

"...it nearly felt like a threesome: Donny, me, and our pain."

That's the only kind of threesome in which I have ever engaged, and it wasn't the kind I would have wanted.

You and your writing are beautiful - I wish the best for you whatever continues to happen.