“I’m going to make you come until you black out.”

A challenge. But to which of us.  He kinda made me understand a bit why “MILF” is the most popular Pornhub search term in a majority of states...but I can’t say I really got it either. Not exactly.

Something didn’t quite make sense & it was probably my obtuseness, not the lack of obvious logic of a kind.  Which  is part of what kept me engaged...what don’t I get?  And why don’t I get it? I have a lot of dumb narcissistic curiosity about my own ignorance.  I was pretty sure it wasn’t that there was nothing to get, just that I didn’t get it.  Like sports.  I have watched.  It’s all visual nonsense to me.

I was impressed that he was intelligent, a good writer...but what *really*  intrigued me wasn’t that.  Or that we was 6 years younger. Or that he was handsome,  a pretty boy; used to scoring.

(You can tell everything about what a man will be like in bed by how he writes.  He had rhythm. Good good rhythm, I give him credit for that.  And he was a brutally efficient editor of his own work...not a combination to regard with contempt, except in folly: pretty sure he knows his limitations and isn’t fronting about what he can or can’t do…

“I’m going to make you come until you black out.”  Lol, I don’t think so...(what if I’m wrong? The odds are that I’m wrong. I’m willing to entertain the idea that I am wrong—in general, in theory—but it’s not a cosmology I believe in.  Unless you prove it.  I’m a material girl but I’m not talking  about money. Show me.)

A month ago, I raced my best girlfriend across the pool.  I had been racing kids all summer.  I won easily, every time.  I got lazy & overestimated my abilities.  Beating 5-11 year olds every day.  I am the greatest!!!!  I lazed about, confident in my bodily superiority to all other beings.  My friend beat me so badly I I had to take a laugh break at myself that made my ribs hurt. I barely made it halfway across the pool in the time it took her to win.  She’s only a few years younger & a few inches taller but built aerodynamically and bikes everywhere...delicious aquatic delusions of grandeur. I’m not a bad loser if you’re a good winner.  Show me.

Lots of heavy flirting with younger man; lots of silly dirty unicorn emojis.

I’m impressed with his patience, most of all.  I think that was what affixed my attention. But affixed it in diffusion.  like a cloud of glitter attached to the careless wreckage of a glue stick  attack on construction paper by a distracted kid. Two things improbably but inevitably attached in a very simple non-narrative, that fully accounts for loss and chance. Less a story than cause & effect...this then that. The glitter *will* stick to the glue, even if a lot falls on the floor. Boom.  No need for three acts, duh. 

I marveled at  how he took his time.  He observed me for almost a decade before making his move.  He thought about it obviously but wtf was he thinking?   This then that.  That’s what he was thinking...why wasn’t I thinking it too? 

Then the confidence. I knew a 30 year old film curator for an august institution, who seduced a 60 year old French film star, quite suavely...six years isn’t thirty years. But it’s not nothing.  The combination of his patience & his hubris was certainly something. Who do you think you are, son.

I’ve been prickteasing him for almost a year. He is endlessly indulgent & tolerant. But, he’s  biding his time. Committed to victory.  I will lose, for sure.  I know it but don’t believe in it because it hasn’t happened yet.

I send him another dumb unicorn emoji.  He says “that’s my rainbow cock in your mouth.”  I can’t go on sending vaguely lewd unicorn emojis; I go on sending vaguely lewd unicorn emojis. The eventual explosion will be a tiny glitter bomb that only sticks to me. No one will even know but me.  He will get in a car to JFK or LaGuardia, exactly the same.  My daughter will sleep through it.  Only I will be wrecked a bit more.  Another night, a casualty again of my own delusional hubris & overly material belief system.

Maybe it won’t stick to me. Maybe I will *be* the shiny tiny explosion.  I will or won’t stick in pinprick  pieces to something adhesive.  I will break & be the mess, the excess pile of glitter that didn’t quite land in glue & got swept away.   I was going to fade off the page anyway, bit by bit. Glitter & glue is almost like sand mandalas.  Depends on how much glue, how much glitter, but it all ends up in the wind or on the floor.  Maybe I’ll be  the absurdly lewd unicorn emoji that only implies an off stage glitter mess, and makes you cry when you are drunk, amongst other things, all of them prompts & none causes. & where “you” is tentative and transient, not glue or glitter really but definitely in pieces, definitely not stuck for long in this then that. Show me.