Sex becomes non status quo when one partner isn't interested in it. Alice wallows in self-pity. Last night we went to a party and I danced with men and women like a neanderthal high of cocaine. Alice drank heavily, expecting me to go into the bathroom with a woman or man, but I don't want to hurt her in this state.
Snow on the way back to East 10th Street. Alice can barely walk and there are no taxis east of Avenue B. No one is on the Tompkins Square basketball court. back in our apartment I turn on the gas stove to warm up the tenement rooms. I put Alice into bed. She can't even mumble good-night. I sit at the kitchen table and write my mind. Alice reads my journal, hoping to catch me in a lie or a sin.
Yesterday Andy Reese came over. Alice and he are friends from Tim Dunleavy. I met both of them through him. After reading a couple of pages Andy said, "Your writing is okay, but your poetry I can't stand."
My other friend, Grant Stitt, pretty much said the same thing, "Some is drivel and the rest deserves to be saved for posterity, but now right now." Why do I even bother? I have few critics of my cryptic ego-centric solipsism. The words dry, dead, slow, canned. It has no value. I want to burn my journal, but setting them on fire in this small apartment is too dangerous. Alice lays in the bedroom, wearing a quilted Moomoo like she as a Mormon wife. This flat is too small. Neither of us are out of sight of each other like we are in a space capsule. Chamber music on the stereo, which I think is music for kings to use the shitter. She is playing this music to annoy me and I keep my mouth shut. I have been yelling at her too much. More mad at me than her, although her pouting unhappiness kills my joy. Sometimes I think going to funerals would be more fun. Still I love her, even swamped bby melancholia. I can smell the sadness. She shuts off the lights. Tomorrow she has an early theater audition. I go into the bed home, expecting a good-night kiss.
"Isn't there anything on the TV?" She only like THE MATCH GAME.
"No, do you want to come watch something with me?"
"Is there anything interesting?"
"You mean like a play of Sartre or Moliere?" I wasn't joking. Alice might be a hillbilly by birth, but she knew her theater. "I don't think so. Just the Johnny Carson Show."
"As always." Both of us had fled our hometowns to escape Middle America.
I stood in the bedroom, paralyzed by the chamber music melanging with the clanging of the radiators, as if the building was conducting an avant-garde quintet. The snow has stopped. Time too. It's 11:35. Alice seems scared of what I might next do. I opt for nothing. It was a safe bet. I sometimes wish I were in a coma under nurses' care or a prisoner in solitary confinement or even a soldier. Everything in my life planned without any freedom of choice, but I relish the delight of waling up and going back to sleep, unfettered by a 9 to 5 job, the joyous liberty of sleeping into the afternoon or do with my life what I please, but truthfully that is my life without Alice. I own nothing and certainly not her.
I turned to go.
"Don't." Alice unschucks the nightgown. She's naked underneath. Her skin winter white. Untouched by any sun. Pure and beauty.
We haven't really had sex, except for the first night with her college girlfriend. Not a single blow-jobs or anal play, almost as if she had never read sexual manual or had a previous lover guiding her libido to freedom, but she doesn't fake orgasm, pleading with 'God' for release. AS an atheist I resent her need for a deity to create a menage a trois. At present our sexual acts are strictly missionary, but I love her for the purity, unlike the many women I fucked ziplessly from the clubs. More than a few, I had no idea of their names. Nor them mine.
I pulled off my clothes and lay with Ann. We fucked like Mormon and she once more called for God. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God."
Never my name, then again I cam not a God.
She cums fast and I fake cumming with a grunt. It's not the first time.
"I don't feel you inside me."
Thankfully I had her touch my cock. It was wet from her.
"See."
I don't understand why I can't cum with her, unless I think I'm fucking a nun or a virgin. I never fantasize about either.
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