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Here
it is, it definitely needs some work.
Light
Jacket in Theory
First
Third
I
kept meaning to ask her about everything we talked
about. It
was some autumn day in Dupont Circle, and we walked
along the street trying to hold up a conversation.
It’s tough to have any kind of meaningful
communication, as you dodge in and out of the people
walking along the sidewalk.
It’s like you a pre-conceived image of a nice
walk along a fall street in an exciting city.
You always imagine the girl of your dreams,
holding on to your hand, as you flirt and laugh and look
into the windows of all those interesting shops.
But it never seems to turn out that way. Actually you just walk along and move to the side of her, and
then behind her, and then you have to step into a
doorway just to have a second to light a cigarette.
And the conversation gets broken up into flashes
of words, you hear something about her family, and how
hard it is for her to time out all the trains in the
morning to get to work on time.
I think eventually we all become very good at
knowing when to agree, knowing when to laugh, and
knowing when to show a deep and sincere interest in
whatever it is that other people are saying.
And
today was one of those cool days, where you needed a
light jacket in theory.
Where you spend a stupid amount of time in the
morning fixing your outfit to look cool…but then when
you get out and actually walk…it becomes quickly clear
that it is too hot to wear a jacket.
And then you go through this thing in your head,
where, the jacket was planned to be part of your total
outfit. Somehow
you never had planned to be hot, so the t-shirt you have
underneath has a big, loud image of some basketball
player. It’s
a cool, faded, had forever t-shirt and all, but there is
no way you could wear it in public.
So, there it is, you have resigned yourself to
being hot, trying not to sweat, and desperately trying
to piece together the fragments of conversation.
She
really is a beautiful girl.
Way to beautiful to go out with me for any
discernible reason.
She is a bartender at a local bar I sometimes go
to, and it took all of my energy on Thursday of last
week to just dial the phone to call her.
And now, as we continue to walk and try to avoid
the various gay men, couples who live out in Reston and
Fairfax who come into the city to feel cool and hip, and
the often ignored homeless…I come to accept the fact
that this date is going nowhere fast. Whose stupid idea was it anyway to take a walk in Dupont
Circle on a nice Saturday.
Damn it. I
will salvage this date somehow.
I will turn it into some kind of great
experience.
We
finally get to the actual circle of Dupont Circle, and I
tell her that we should have a seat and watch the people
go by. I
can’t really tell if she likes me or not.
She seems to be smiling a lot, and taking a
general interest in the small and witty things I say.
I keep thinking about why this beautiful girl
with blond hair, who looks like she should live in
California, is here with me.
I mean, I’ve been called good-looking by
various people who aren’t related to me, but I can’t
help but wonder how I ever got up the courage to ask a
girl like this out.
I start to wonder what would happen if I leaned
in to try and kiss her.
I also start to wonder what would happen if I
took my bottle of water, aimed it in her direction, and
squeezed the bottle with all my strength.
I imagine she would look twice as beautiful
completely drenched in spring water.
As
I sit and ponder what my next move will be, I start to
think about the perception of spending time in DC.
I always remember coming here as a kid, and I
used to always hate it.
I mean I was a dumb little kid at the time, but I
remember how much time we spent walking around to all of
the museums and sites.
It was always summertime, and I remember thinking
how boring everything was and how bad my feet hurt from
the walking. And
now, I really do love living here in DC. But nothing ever seems worth the effort anymore.
I think we all have images of being happy and
walking among the cherry blossoms, and seeing our loved
one(s) smiling with a picnic basket in tow.
The fantasy never lives up to the reality.
The day is maybe too hot, or the park is too
crowded with people to have any kind of fun…besides
the fun in gawking at all the people. In college it was cool to go out and experience life, because
you would bring a squeeze bottle full of vodka or smoke
a whole lot of pot beforehand.
Those days are far behind I guess.
It’s not really socially acceptable to be
fucked up out of your mind everyday anymore.
Forget what’s socially acceptable, the body
just isn’t there anymore.
Unless you are a perpetual adolescent rock star,
being beautifully fucked up on a shining fall or summer
day…just doesn’t seem to work anymore. The whole point is that I have all these images of what happy
and content people should look like when they go out and
live their perfect lives.
In reality, it has never worked out for me.
I swear some people can go out to plays, visit
museums, dance all night, meet with friends at a great
ethnic restaurant, and finish the night off talking
about how many great things are on the horizon.
I guess I should accept the fact that I’m not
one of those people.
“Hey,
what are you thinking about?” the blonde bartender
asks pointedly.
“Huh,
um…well I was just thinking about nothing in
particular. I’m
sorry, what were you saying?”
“It
seemed like you kind of zoned out there.
Anyway, I was talking about how my roommate
always brings guys home, and they always end up taking
showers…”
People
have the right to live as they chose I guess.
They have the right to be socially conscious, and
the right to maximize their potential, and the right to
find the perfect red wine that no one has ever tried.
I’m one of those people much more fascinated by
the process of things that happen.
I don’t have the great salaries, and the nice
cars, and the apparently fascinating lives of these
people. But
when something great happens in my life, or something
brilliant is said, or something that makes me feel so
much inner joy that it hurts…it’s the kind of thing
that can shake the entire earth.
As much as I futilely search for my little corner
of the world, and as much as I burn and waste away
towards nothing, once in a while everything seems to
line up. Sure,
all the nice people here walking around feel moments of
good and joy. But when it happens it to me…when it truly happens…it can
burn away my eyes and heart like fire.
When I feel it, when I really can see things in a
different way…it’s something that’s raw and honest
and real. My
endless search for something that connects and makes me
feel human once again.
Unfortunately, it’s all been said before.
And it’s been pointed out to me before how
I’m often and completely full of shit.
Maybe there’s just nothing new to say anymore.
But, at least when I reach a point of
something…it feels like I’ve earned it. It leaves me weak. And
I’m not holding on to some idea about how I should
live my life.
Bartender
girl seems nervous and is making a lot of different
movements with her hands. I take this as a good sign.
I guess I’ve smiled the right way, and listened
intently in all right places…for we share some kind of
little moment sitting here in Dupont Circle.
I smile and run my hand gently along her
cheekbone, and I say with depths of sincerity,
We’ve
had such a nice little day here.
Do you want to maybe go for a ride somewhere?”
She
smiles as I gently twisty her hair in my hand.
She sighs in a cute way, and says…
“Why don’t
we go back to my place on the hill.
We can stop and get some wine.”
Bingo!
Sex! Somehow
this date has all worked out.
I lean in and kiss her softly on the lips.
She tastes like coffee.
“What kind
of wine should we get?”
This is my set-up for a joke about wine.
“I don’t know, what kind of wine do you
like?” She replies.
“Well, I
tend to stick with one kind.”
A pause. “Cheap
and Red”
She
laughs and gets my little joke about the wine.
It’s not much of a joke really.
Just to imply that I’m some sort of
quasi-artistic type…who sits in his apartment thinking
up grand, beat philosophies and drinks cheap, red wine
by the bucketful. I
hear myself saying,
“Let’s go.
I’m a little Dupont Circled out I think”
I take
her hand. We
walk hand in hand down the street to my car.
In just a couple minutes, the whole day has
turned out in some new, exciting direction.
I can just feel it.
Things may be lining up in some great way again.
It’s
many hours…plus three orgasms…divided by two bottles
of wine later. I
think she enjoyed it.
I mean, whoever knows.
But I’m here in her little room in some
townhouse watching her sleep on the bed.
The covers just cover her legs and ass, and her
hands are wrapped around the pillow.
I can see exactly three-quarters of one nipple
peaking out from under the pillow.
I think she ranks up there to be in the top three
most beautiful girls I’ve ever slept with. Her blond hair just flows out like waves from her head.
I have this memory burn of this moment from the
previous hours of energetic sex.
I’m on the bottom, and she is grinding away on
top of me. The
moment comes about two minutes away from the second orgasm.
She is on top and my arms are wrapped around her
waist…where I have a hold on her wrists behind her
back. I
then pull on her hands a little and her back begins to
arch, bringing her chest out.
This has all been quite exciting to learn that
she likes it all a little rough.
I infer that she likes it a little rough, from
the previous orgasm, when she demanded that I pull her
hair and slap her as hard as I could on her ass.
I’m sitting
on her radiator near her window, and my concentration
gets broken when she starts moaning and talking
something in her sleep. She doesn’t wake up. She
rolls over onto her back and her arms spread out on the
bed. I feel
like such a fly on the wall to watch this girl I barely
know, sleeping in her own bed. It all feels so private.
I wonder if she has expected that I have left.
The memory burn comes back in a flash, and I am
getting a little turned on again as I think about it.
I’m on the bottom, and we are seriously
pounding against each other.
This position, with her back arched and hands
held behind her, really gives the whole thing a great
intensity. The
whole time her eyes are closed, her hair falls over me,
and she has been moaning in a progressively loud way.
Just as the intensity has reached a high
point…and her head comes up for air…our eyes meet.
I know instinctively that it’s the right time
to smile, my sweetest, most boyishly handsome smile.
She smiles back and just then my orgasm hits and
she throws her head back and lets out guttural moan.
And then she collapsed on top of my chest.
And we just lie there for a seeming eternity.
Just those few seconds, though, where I can
picture her golden hair rising, and our eyes meeting,
and it felt we were hanging onto each other for dear
life. I
think it may rank up there with some other of my top
ranked memory burns.
Who knows. Hopefully,
it was all good for her.
She would have to be a pretty great actress if
everything was a big fake.
I’ve been smoking the filter off my cigarette
before I realize it.
I get so wrapped up in thought that I lose
seconds and minutes of my life almost constantly. It makes me kind of a ghost sometimes. Although, I came home with this girl from spending three
hours of life talking and listening to her.
I think I was actually consciously paying
attention to her for about forty-five minutes of that
time. She
stirs again and is now waking up.
I quickly and silently light another cigarette,
and swivel around purposely to be looking out her
window. I
can see my reflection like a ghost in the window.
I have planned this all perfectly.
I live for this little moment that I’m sure
will come in about one minute.
I notice an alley, and some hill staffers walking
through on their way home from being out all night in SE
somewhere. I
can feel that she’s close.
She’s behind me and I see myself smile into the
window reflection.
I live for these little movie moments, like
it’s all being recorded for some great film of my
life. In a
dark room, overlooking some city alleyway, the beautiful
blond woman rises from the bed.
She wraps herself in a blanket, and brushes the
hair out of her face as she walks barefoot across the
room to the protagonist.
He is quietly smoking a cigarette and pondering
the depths of the human soul as we see his handsome
reflection in the dark mirror of the window.
The blanket drops to the floor and she wraps her
arms around his chest and he gets and electric shock as
he feels her warm naked body pressing against his back.
The man turns around and their some sweet little
conversation…
She
plays right into my hands. I’ve set up everything perfectly.
“Hey you.”
As I bring her closer to me and wrap my arms
around her.
“I was
getting cold in the bed alone.
What are you doing?”
“Just
staring out the window, I didn’t want the smoke to
bother you.”
She
is so warm…heat is just radiating from her body.
I can barely to stand to touch her.
It’s amazing.
She takes my hand in hers.
I chuck my smoke out the window and I’m witness
to the red ash fireworks as it hits the fire escape.
Her naked body in my dark adjusted eyes, looks
perfect and symmetrical and I am getting very excited
again. We
collapse on the bed and we’re again wrapped tightly
and grinding together.
It’s been a while since sex has been this long
and vigorous. Damn,
it’s like I’m a teenager again, except when I was a
teenager I never got sex.
As I’m quickly inside her again, and I kiss her
mouth deeply, I start to wonder what exactly I was
thinking as I initially picked her up at her apartment
this morning. Well…whatever
I was thinking, I didn’t think the day would end up
like this at all. Looks
like I’ll being the staying the night after all…the
chance of escape has long since passed.
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