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Show Motherlunge a novel 6 as if I were dropping objects off some Italian tower, and proving something true. Who could disagree with me, if his zipper were in my teeth? Adam's mouth moved undecidedly, suggesting oui. And although our bodies were already in perfect contradiction, Adam himself had one more thing to ask. "Sixty-nine?" he said, as if he had his hands in his pockets, and was guessing change by feel alone. It isn't easy, being novice, and there was love between us (mine). I concluded with remarks that day, quoting "L." and "A." and "Name Withheld" as we enchained a sequence on the rug: the sopping snatch; the throbbing cock; the suction and the shoot. In the residence of the department chair at Rocky Mountain State, Adam helped me make it up. So the two of us in love, and also Jack (the groom) and his bride Pavia-add to this five years. Add a velveting of dust on the wedding video case. Add the fact that Jack and Pavia had moved away to a big city, landed real jobs, bought new cars and a townhouse condo. Add that Jack frequently went away on business and that Adam, now teaching English in Poland through a connection of his father's, wrote me infrequently and signed off "Solidarnosc!" Just thinking about him-the way he never listened to me and was always creepy-quiet during sex-made me mad. "Nyet!" I wrote back. "Nyet, dasvidanya!"-a thrilling way to say goodbye forever, I found, before a pogromic loneliness set in. |