That World Inverted

It was Blondie that taught me that it was okay to talk during sex. And not just talk, but ask specifically for what you wanted. Up til then, I was under that sad deluded naivete that a ‘good’ lover would just know what to do, would just find those right spots. I’m not saying that doesn’t happen, but it’s not the only way it happens. This naivete is born from the notion that sex and love are the same thing. Blondie broke me of that ‘bad’ habit.

We would be lounging around my room, kissing and doing what we do, and he would out of the blue make a request, like I was a DJ on a radio station. At first, I was taken aback, like “I’m not gonna do that” even though I wanted to, but I just didn’t want him to ask me like that.  It seemed so unromantic.  I should have just known or he could have communicated without words.  But Blondie was not like that.  He pushed and prodded me to tell him what I wanted, to do what he wanted, to talk, to open up, to share desires.  In about a week, I was babbling during sex, asking for this, telling him i liked that, and on and on.

Blondie was a bit of a slut.  Everyone had had a piece of him at some point. Whatever it was, jerking off in the woods, a quickie by the shed, who knows the extent of it.  I knew that I ignored it, because I slept with him every night and somehow that felt better.  One guy though was under the impression that he and Blondie had something special.  Blondie attempted to disabuse him of this notion, and he eventually got it, although with much anger and venom.

Also, Blondie had a boyfriend.  Some ethereal raw foodist travelling the country, doing something with blanched almonds and flax seeds.  And Blondie would like to regale me with stories about how well the three of us would get along and live together and wouldn’t it be just perfect?  Now, I’m usually the one who jumps to bringing a guy home to Thanksgiving dinner on the first date, so this was unexpected, this outpouring of a potential future.  Mind you, this was all in the first week of his arrival.

These two jewish lesbians who lived in Albuquerque had invited us all down that weekend for their wedding.  Blondie and I immediately volunteered, even though we didn’t know them.  I was ready for a nice romantic getaway, Blondie would travel anywhere if it promised an interesting experience.  What’s more interesting then a New Mexican Jewish Lesbian wedding in the middle of the summer?

I remember the look on Blondie’s face when I came out of my room in city clothes.   He had never seen me not wearing my Little Edie get-ups, and his jaw dropped.  I guess I looked good, I had no idea.  Spending prolonged periods in the desert surrounded by the oddest vagabonds can warp your sense of looking good.  All I know is that he couldn’t keep his hands off me, as we drove the long flat highways to Albuquerque.  We had those silly moments of wanting to hold hands, but then getting all sweaty but keeping contact for a little while longer until it got too uncomfortable.  I was repulsed by his peeing in a Sprite bottle to save time.  He loved my music selections.  It’s sad for me to think about these moments, how wide open I was, how I thought that it had to be him.