I felt like getting laid. Sometimes it was just one of those needs. I didn’t want to talk to anybody or share their company or hear their bullshit. I just wanted to pump them for a little while and go home and go to bed. Two hours at the max. Enough time to do it once, recuperate, do it again, and hit the road. I could stand the minimal trite interim conversation that would be necessary for a two hour jaunt. Two hours would put me within the minimum time of courteous visitation.
I was thinking of calling Claudia. She was this divorced woman I’d met at the mall. In her mid-thirties, she’d never had children so her ass was still good. She was ten years older than me, so there was a draw because of that, but also simply because she was mature. Her muscles were fully formed as was her will. She’d been married, she was free now and enjoying it, there was no bullshit ‘stay with me’ talk--thank god. She didn’t insist on making me tell her lies.
I hate it when women do that.
The first time I’d met her she’d simply come up to me and said hello. She invited me into her car and we went to her place. She was with a friend, so we dropped off the friend and went driving again. Claudia was a little surprised when I put my hand on her leg. Slow down, she’d said. I remember being irritated.
Nothing happened that night, so I pretty much took it as a waste of my time, but I sent her some messages anyway. I felt it was my duty somehow. I wanted the experience of nailing somebody who was ten years my senior.
She kept writing me and apologizing about how she had old-fashioned ideas. I kept writing her and telling her that I hoped that when I was her age I had some sex-hungry girl who was ten years my junior writing me, begging for it.
She laughed, I could hear it in the text. She thought I was foolish at first, but she kept writing. That’s the way they do it. Luckily I was sort of indifferent deep down, and I really didn’t think she was going to eventually go for it. That’s the mindset you have to have, and you can’t fake it. I can’t claim to be a master of controlling myself either, I just got lucky.
She kept writing me stupid shit about how controlling her marriage had been. I can stand to read crap like that because I can walk away from it without responding if I want to. But I responded for her. I told her that her husband was still controlling her, that a lot of people were controlling her. Why would she deny herself the pleasure I could give her? Was it her idea, or something that society and family had implanted?
If you’re going to complain to me about things like that, you have to be at least willing to give my solutions a try.
“We have to break down that wall in your mind that’s caging you.” I’d said.
She’d bought it.
It was laughable how nervous she was that night when she picked me up. Ten years my senior and stalling. She made me go in for some beer. In the parking lot of the supermarket she had a brief panic attack because she saw somebody she knew from church. At first she wanted to hide me, then she gave herself a pep-talk.
“What do I care what they think! This is the new me, the post-marital me!”
“Oh Jesus Christ!” I thought.
She was restrained when we finally got to her room and got started, so I slapped her playfully. She got into it, it made her squeal. She started asking for it.
“Slap me!”
“Hit me!”
“Hard damn it!”
Maybe she felt guilty. But I went ahead and hit her anyway. It’s all part of the game. Boy did that win her over. She was purring like a kitten, all wet and sweaty curled up in a ball when I left. She didn’t even protest, she just smiled and waved good-bye.
I’d only seen her once since then. A completely random event, she was driving through the city and she saw me. That’s the best way, when it isn’t planned. When you see them and you both have the same idea and you go. That’s the only time I don’t feel used.
But I was thinking of calling her tonight. I wanted to try some new things. I was feeling kind of desperate, I wanted to really punish her.
Frankly, I have a hard time hitting a girl with full force, even if she’s begging me for it. It’s a little wall I have in there, something society or my parents placed without my asking. I have to find somebody to help me break it down. I have to learn to hit a woman, not just play with one but seriously hit them.
Up until now, it has all been within the parameters of the game. You force them a little bit after they tell you that they want you. You hold them down, you muscle them. You let them wonder. It’s hard to do but you get them there. You make them think that maybe you’re going to break the rules. You give them that little internal shiver of fear. You let them know that they’re under your power and you’re not going to stop and there’s nothing they can do about it.
That’s what they respect. Even though it’s all bullshit. They like that feeling of being with a strong man. Being the favored past-time of some animal.
Sex has nothing to do with physical contact. It’s all about the illusion.
The illusion is paramount.
Without the illusion, there’s no pleasure...at least, for the woman.
That’s why men aren’t allowed to cry. Not in front of a woman anyway. I think between men alone, it might even be allowed, but women won’t take it even for a second.
No, that’s not for you.
You’ve gotta be the strong one.
That’s what brings us off.
And men are so much weaker than women, because we put up with it. We allow them their tears and their emotional support. We stand and watch them groom and caress each other in their innocent lesbian manner and we stand and stare mesmerized by the inherent sexuality. Always on the outside. The pillars that hold up the walls of paradise.
They’re in the middle, enjoying it, while we feel the lashes of the cold world beyond.
I’m so fucking down today. Nobody knows. Sex will get me through it. It will numb me for a while. Sex is my only option, I’m a man, I’m not allowed to talk about anything with anybody.
I don’t even want to hit her, but what choice do I have?
The phone rings and I can see her red lips as I talk to her. She smiles seductively and tells me how eager she will be to see me. I tell her that I’m going to really punish her, and she responds with a joyous exhalation.
I hang up.
I’m still down. I’m just waiting for the fix. I take some comfort from the fantasy that this time I’m going to cross the line. This time I’m going to really give it to her. I’m going to leave marks, I’m going to draw blood. I’m going to drive my elbow down into her back and make her scream as I climax. I’m going to break her in half beneath me.
But deep down I know that I can’t win. No matter how badly I treat her, she’ll have the emotional support network to go back to. They’ll bandage her back up and put her back in the game, and I’ll only be harder, and more distant from civilization.
Ultra-male, her creation, I’m playing right into her hand.
I shouldn’t fuck around with a woman ten years older than me. She’s too powerful, she’s breaking me in half. I was the caged one, she was building the fucking cage.
Fuck her.
Maybe I should just go in there and cry on her shoulder.
That’d really piss her off.
That’d destroy her whole sinister plan.
The End