When he walked into Nebraska, I thought here is someone sturdy enough to withstand the press of wind and sky. Where the shed leaned east, he walked straight, and his hair was colored like the October cornstalks.
In sophomore year of college, Leo had a girlfriend, the relationship short but intense. So short that they’d gotten together and went their separate ways in between two therapist’s appointments — so about three weeks, at that point. Intense enough that for the first time since his parents broke the news about their separation, it wasn’t the first thing he thought about when he opened his eyes in the morning; instead it was how much he’d like to lick her into orgasm again.
Daniel could feel his desire mounting. The hairs on his body were slowly stiffening, and worse, between his legs something else was beginning to uncurl. The image of a periscope breasting the waves came to mind. Desperately, he conjured up algebraic equations, Archimedes’ Principle, Boyle’s Law, but it was no good. His situation would soon become apparent to the whole class. “Cramp!” he proclaimed, jack-knifing to hide his privates, and quickly throwing on his robe before heading for the cubicle.
Last month I went on three dates. I met them all on Bumble, the dating AP where girls make the first move.
Around February of 2001 I was housed on the infamous 2000 floor of the men’s L.A. County Jail.
Agramonte was her playground when she was a child. Hand-in-hand with her mother, wearing her Sunday best right after church, Ines would arrive. Her mother would wash three gravestones while she used the time to stroke cats that she had named, treated them as she would any friend, talked to them as equals.
I shall call her Janet because I have forgotten her name, if I ever knew it, and because the name has acquired over the years an erotic charge. It suggests suburban tidiness, make-up and artificial manners, designed as a surface to disguise lively desire living beneath.
It was like belonging to a sect. There were rules, there was doctrine, there were obligations. There were more things not to be done than to be done. Sin hung over us like English weather. It burrowed into us like a slow death. We were mauled inwardly and outwardly. We didn't have a chance.
The smell of wedding fever is a heady melange of sweat and a cocktail of perfumes gone stale. This church is an ancient place which has become the final rest of figures notable in their day, names now forgotten by most, their engraved tablets dulled with age.
'Parking' was their thing. Parking meant driving to private or not so private places for sexual activity. It was a common practice in the USA, of necessity as sex was almost forbidden to anyone under 21 and unmarried. Cars parked adjacent to one other, sometimes a dozen or more and all attending to their own business, windows steaming up and never a sight of them. There was an ever-present threat of a visit by cops with large torches to disperse loving couples. They had once seen such an intervention and it made them wary.