Well it’s the end of a long weekend of pining.
I have just finished a long session in the shower with a book of romantic but very lewd erotica (just the way I like it).
One of my favorite writers in the genre, Susan Johnson, writes these characters who are either married and find love in someone else; or it’s a well experienced man initiating a younger (sometimes older woman) and always, always they fall in love and have to stretch moments into a relationship and it always comes down to them almost sacrificing everything they have to maintain this love they find in each other. Lemme tell ya, Ms. J writes some hot shit.
Anyway, I have read almost every single one of her books. She has a definite formula that I can pick up, but it’s one that works.
I have of course been using what’s left of my collection of her works (sold off to pay rent some time a back… during my desperate days) as a diversionary tactic. To distract me from my still difficult feelings in the aftermath of my ‘what-ever-the-fuck-you-want-to-call-it’ with the young man of recent posts.
I have been you know, thinking and thinking about things. I am analysing, trying to figure out what I did wrong, as most people are wont to do in this situation. So I’ve been playing my torch set, the playlist I built for my iPod full of songs about how I feel about this bullshit situation I’m now out of, I guess.
When I hit, track four, I am shivering and quivering.
Sweet Thing
I will love you anyway
even if you can not stay
I think you are the one for me
here is where you ought to be
I just want to satisfy ‘ya
you’re not mine and I can’t deny it
don’t you hear me talkin’ baby
love me now or I’ll go crazy
Chorus:
Whoa, Sweet thang
don’t ‘ya know you’re my everythang
Whoa, Sweet thang
don’t ‘ya know you’re my everythang
Yes you are
I wish you were my lover
but ‘ya act so undercover
Love ‘ya child my whole life long
is being right or being wrong
I’m only what ‘ya make me, baby
don’t walk away, don’t be so shady
don’t want your mind, don’t want your money
These words I say, they may sound funny but…
(chorus)
Bridge:
You are my heat, you are my fire
you make me weak with soft desire
Love ‘ya child my whole life long
is being right or being wrong
I just want to satisfy ‘ya
’cause you’re not mine, I can’t deny it
Don’t ‘ya hear me talking baby
Love me now or I’ll go crazy
(You’re my heat, you are my fire)
You’re my fire
(You’re not mine, I can’t deny it)
I can’t deny it
(Don’t you hear me talking baby)
(Love me now or I’ll go crazy)
I’ll go crazy
(You’re my heat, you are my fire)
You’re my fire
(You’re not mine, I can’t deny it)
Can’t deny
(Don’t you hear me talking baby)
(love me now or I’ll go crazy)
hey
(You’re my heat, you are my fire)
You’re my fire
(You’re not mine, I can’t deny it)
‘Cause you’re my sweet thing, sweet thing
(Don’t you hear me talkin’ baby)
C’mon
(Love me now or I’ll go crazy)
(You’re my heat, you are my fire)
hey
(You’re not mine, I can’t deny it)
yeah, yeah, yeah
(Don’t you hear me talking baby)
(Love me now or I’ll go crazy)
Talk to me, talk to me baby
C’mon
‘Cause you’re my sweet thang
I don’t care what you do to me
oh no, no no, no, no
You’re mine oh mine
—–
You see, one of the last times we… were intimate …. this was part of our soundtrack that night. It was this song that took us over the edge that night.
Now, and forever more when I hear this song, I will again be transported in my memory to where light and shadow play across his face as he fucks me, as he cums inside me and makes the sweet little noises I like to hear while he shivers in my arms.
I think how sweet those moments were, and they are why it’s so hard to reconcile myself to the fact that they didn’t mean the same things to him and no matter how good it felt, those moments just never stretched into anything real.
It’s the real life bullshit that makes S.J’s books so implausible. Although, I used to read her books in awe, because she maintained erotic tension for pages and pages, I always thought her heroes had more stamina than I ever thought possible in a real life man. Then my ‘friend’ and I got our thing on under moonlight and starlight under a twinned pair of coconut trees there at the steps of of Yemoja’s domain. Hmmmmm…… I never thought I would ever meet a man that could keep me up all night and the better part of a day having sex, and not cum; I would not have believed that I would never tired of feeling him, of wanting him.
The fact that we had had this ongoing relationship in which, at least I did, share much of life and self; it was so sweet…. not just the sex…. just sleeping with him was sweet and warm and safe, I felt that it was a gift.
I was never prepared for the depths of his pessimism and I never really understood how comfortable he was with his pain, so much so that he couldn’t let it go. I was prepared for how little he actually trusted me, or anyone I suppose, with his true self and that nothing I did or said could get him to open up and let me into his world. Hell, he already had his little ‘limbo-friend’ in his life and he didn’t really seem to know what he was doing with that situation, so along comes me, with my thick veneer of bravado that hides my real vulnerabilities, so I guess he figured I could handle myself without help from him. There is still so much I don’t know and probably won’t ever know.
I suppose all that means nothing now…. he’s forced me to play my hand and I am leaving the table to find a game with rules that are either a little more clear cut or absolutely unnecessary.
What he does back there now with his old familiar poker faced compadres has nothing to do with me. All I have to do, is heal my broken heart, and learn how not to cringe every time Mary starts to wail about her Sweet Thing; try to not think of him in those terms ar all. I have to try not to miss him, not to want him. I haven’t been winning, but I’m still trying.
I think sometimes that he might come by and read this blog (he knows where it is) and he may read my honesty and disappointment and be somehow moved, but I have reached the point where not only have I given up on him giving me anything of himself but I don’t even know if I really want him to be in my life in his condition. I need someone who won’t buck and run at the first sign of difficulty. S.J’s heroes stay through the worst, even when they hate it more than anything.
This is the tragedy of perception, the most bitter pill to swallow. To know that this — this distancing I have done– is harsh self medication.
Meanwhile, Mary’s voice, her inflection and the words tell my story. Tell it to a tee and now, it’s super charged with my memories….
Goddamned oxytocin…. goddamn him for know exactly how to fuck me to make me weak in the knees and desperate months after the fact.
When will this shit move off me…. see I am torn and twisted and still vulnerable to it, to him. And still he is silent… comfortable or uncomfortable behind his wall, but still in possession of his defenses after he skirted, dodged, threw down and overwhelmed all of mine. I feel weak, but I know I am being strong.
See how sisters lose their power? Like Prince said, ‘Pussy Control’….right? That’s the ideal, but right now, it’s still Sweet Thing….
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