Tuesday, 15 September 2009

Sprays of feedback like foamy surf corroding an irradiated beach.

A bird lands on a yellowed tree. The monochrome hues of autumn hang over everything. Treetops soaked in a pale, ancient light.

Erotic forays with beautiful girls often serve as forays into melancholy.

I will take my time and write about this. It is now December. I rarely leave the house. The cold prevents it.
Here is what happened: I was manically enthused when she agreed to meet up with me again.

I was striding up Lothian Road, listening to The Diamond Sea by Sonic Youth, feeling euphoric. I know what you’re thinking; what a loser, right? Well fuck you. You think you’re so cool, imaginary jaded and hostile reader. I bet you’ve had your fair share of instances of behaving like an enthused dork.

I took her back to my grandfathers. I didn’t have a key so we had to wake him up. He was somewhat bewildered to say the least. He’d also pissed his pajamas. Senile dementia will do that to ya. Unfortunately he insisted on coming upstairs with us to investigate what the sleeping arrangements were. We entered the spare bedroom and his first suggestion was that we separate the two single beds that were joined together. We watched as he feebly attempted to dislodge one of the beds. I reassured him I’d take care of it and urged him to return to his own bed downstairs. He wasn’t easily placated though.
In the throes of exasperation I convinced him that I would sleep on the couch downstairs. He kept hovering about, checking I was okay, if I needed anything.
“I’m fucking fine,” I assured him through gritted teeth. I didn’t really say fucking though. And I affected to conceal my intense exasperation. But the situation was becoming desperate.
Once he had finally retired, I told myself I should wait five minutes before sneaking upstairs. I was lucky if I lasted a minute. As I crept upstairs I could hear my grandpa calling me from his room. I ignored him and moved faster. I leapt into bed beside the partially clothed foreign girl.
Thrillingly, she had removed her underwear.
She was concerned though. She had also heard my grandpa calling and it now sounded like he was moving about downstairs. Which was all I fucking needed.
My grandpa was greatly discouraged from using the staircase. To this end, a child safety gate had been installed at the foot of the stairs. A laminated piece of paper was attached to the wall which stated:

Don’t try to go upstairs
We don’t want you to end up
back in hospital

I had suggested the smiley to my mother while she was composing the notice. To mu delight, she had taken heed of my ironic suggestion.
The girl had noticed the notice. And her English was sufficient that she understood words like hospital. Fucking typical.
The notice seemed to imply that he had been in hospital before as the result of a fall, which wasn’t the case. So it was an ambiguous notice. He had been in hospital due to other complaints. And he was unsteady on his feet. Hence the collusion of these two facts in the warning.
There had been a different sign before that. It had read something like DANGER! DON’T GO UPSTAIRS!!!
Naturally the brevity of the message along with the block capitals and multiple exclamation marks had merely served to pique his curiousity and he had endeavoured to scale over the safety gate and ascend the stairs.
I wasn’t in the mood to explain all this to the girl. So I merely hushed her and we waited until grandpa forgot that anyone else was even in the house and settled back into bed.
We settled in to our hard-won love nest. We got to talking about grandparents and then family and whatnot.
As a precursor to this incident, I was in the midst of the end of a fairly serious four year relationship. So I found myself in a volatile emotional state.
I’ve had quite a few one-night stands, gaining something of a reputation in this respect at one time in my younger years. But the truth is I’m always initially quite shy in these encounters. Also, in this instance, I still had some unresolved conflicting emotions regarding my ex.
So it was that we did not begin ravishing each other immediately. Instead we began confiding in each other. And I found myself hungry for that sort of stuff. Cuddling, intimacy, all that shit. I don’t know. Maybe I just had a case of what is termed as ‘fanny-fright’ round these parts and am now trying to excuse myself from it with all this pseudo-sensitive bullshit.
Maybe I’m gay or some shit. I’ve always felt slightly apart from my male peers. More interested in art and literature than competitive sport. More prone to quiet introspection and shyness. Then again, the idea of copulating with another man repulses me deeply, so I guess that rules out the gay shit.
Eventually we got round to some carnal frolics. I eagerly ate out her soaked pussy. For a long time. Reason being it had occurred to me I didn’t have any fucking condoms. I’d used one on Saturday and forgot to replenish my wallet as I am usually wont to do. Maybe it was some sort of accident on purpose.
“You don’t want to fuck me?” she queried after an excessive bout of pussy eating. I confessed my prophylactic predicament. I was apologetic, overly so.
The following morning was particularly harsh. I suggested to the lass that she sit with my grandfather whilst I prepared coffee. What the fuck was I trying to do, integrate her into the family? She was unwilling, eager to return to her friend.
The subsequent awkward bus journey into town was so depressing I can’t even bring myself to write about it. Except to say that the one redeeming factor was that the horrific sense of existential alienation and rejection I felt had a purity to it that was very definitive.
Anxiety had made me crave concrete destruction.

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