instant.”
“That’s a great plan,” she says.
I get up off the bed (just standing is extremely enjoyable, and I sit back down and stand up again so I can experience it for a second time) and crouch at her feet. She’s wearing some kind of black dress shoe. I cradle her foot by the ankle, fiddle with the buckle, slip the shoe off. I repeat the process with the other shoe. I place the shoes carefully next to the bed, side by side, then stand up.
“Oh wow,” she says. “That’s really comfortable.”
Lauren reclines, moving all of her limbs at once as if swimming through some viscous medium. Something is happening. She opens her eyes and sees me smiling down at her and she smiles back. She looks lovely. I lie down next to her and start stroking her neck. It’s awesome to be stroking her neck. I’m seeing her hair with a kind of hyperclarity that reminds me of something I can’t place. I look at her face, and suddenly the Ecstasy is doing what we pay it to do. We kiss for a while, gently, like deer. The part of my brain that compares whatever’s going on in real life to whatever might simultaneously be going on in some parallel universe has shut up. And now we’re naked, and there’s these breasts right in front of me, these things that have no purpose but human comfort, and the skin of her neck is so soft, and her pubic hair grazes my leg. Thanks to the Ecstasy my penis is resolutely flaccid, but I know she understands this. She gives it a tender look, as though it’s her newborn baby. It feels like we’re both bouncing now, like we’re moving up and down in giant arcs, like we’re floating in space. We lie there awhile.
“God, it’s been such a long time since I’ve felt close to anyone,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “I’m so glad you were up for this.”
“I almost didn’t, you know. I was like,
Who is this guy, I’ve never met him, Justin hardly knows him, I shouldn’t go and do drugs with him
.”
“You were just being sensible.”
“I was being scared. I go around being scared all the time. I’m usually scared to be naked with boys.”
“Everybody is.”
“Really?” She seems surprised by this, as though it’s never occurred to her before.
“Absolutely. Everybody is.” This seems true as I say it. “We spend all this energy hiding ourselves, and then when we’re having sex or whatever, we’re supposed to be naked with each other, but we get so scared, and then we’re more wrapped up and guarded and closed off than ever.”
“I’m so scared that I make it like I’m not even there at all,” she says. “I just remove myself, mentally. But that’s what sex should be about. It’s about being close to each other.” She’s running her fingers through my hair.
“It’s not about having an orgasm,” I say.
“Orgasms are nice, though.”
“They certainly are. But it’s—do you want to have an orgasm right now?”
“No.” She’s beaming.
“Can I tell you something about having orgasms?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never told anyone this in my entire life.” It’s true. I haven’t. Why not?
“Tell me.” She nods rhythmically. She really wants to know.
“Every time I have an orgasm with another person, every time, itdoesn’t matter who she is, right before I come I hear these words in my head.”
“What are the words?”
“
I love you, Mom
. Every time, just like that.
I love you, Mom
.”
She looks like she’s just been given a Christmas present. “Really?”
“I spend my whole life being ashamed of that.”
“There’s no reason to be ashamed!”
“I know! I know!”
“Because it’s a good thing in you! It’s a good feeling!”
“It’s love!” I tell her, and I’ve figured it out for the first time. “It’s just love! It’s all the same thing!” And I get up and start dancing, naked, while she stares at me, her pupils wide as saucers.
Four hours later the tide is going out. I’m pacing the room and starting to
“That’s a great plan,” she says.
I get up off the bed (just standing is extremely enjoyable, and I sit back down and stand up again so I can experience it for a second time) and crouch at her feet. She’s wearing some kind of black dress shoe. I cradle her foot by the ankle, fiddle with the buckle, slip the shoe off. I repeat the process with the other shoe. I place the shoes carefully next to the bed, side by side, then stand up.
“Oh wow,” she says. “That’s really comfortable.”
Lauren reclines, moving all of her limbs at once as if swimming through some viscous medium. Something is happening. She opens her eyes and sees me smiling down at her and she smiles back. She looks lovely. I lie down next to her and start stroking her neck. It’s awesome to be stroking her neck. I’m seeing her hair with a kind of hyperclarity that reminds me of something I can’t place. I look at her face, and suddenly the Ecstasy is doing what we pay it to do. We kiss for a while, gently, like deer. The part of my brain that compares whatever’s going on in real life to whatever might simultaneously be going on in some parallel universe has shut up. And now we’re naked, and there’s these breasts right in front of me, these things that have no purpose but human comfort, and the skin of her neck is so soft, and her pubic hair grazes my leg. Thanks to the Ecstasy my penis is resolutely flaccid, but I know she understands this. She gives it a tender look, as though it’s her newborn baby. It feels like we’re both bouncing now, like we’re moving up and down in giant arcs, like we’re floating in space. We lie there awhile.
“God, it’s been such a long time since I’ve felt close to anyone,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “I’m so glad you were up for this.”
“I almost didn’t, you know. I was like,
Who is this guy, I’ve never met him, Justin hardly knows him, I shouldn’t go and do drugs with him
.”
“You were just being sensible.”
“I was being scared. I go around being scared all the time. I’m usually scared to be naked with boys.”
“Everybody is.”
“Really?” She seems surprised by this, as though it’s never occurred to her before.
“Absolutely. Everybody is.” This seems true as I say it. “We spend all this energy hiding ourselves, and then when we’re having sex or whatever, we’re supposed to be naked with each other, but we get so scared, and then we’re more wrapped up and guarded and closed off than ever.”
“I’m so scared that I make it like I’m not even there at all,” she says. “I just remove myself, mentally. But that’s what sex should be about. It’s about being close to each other.” She’s running her fingers through my hair.
“It’s not about having an orgasm,” I say.
“Orgasms are nice, though.”
“They certainly are. But it’s—do you want to have an orgasm right now?”
“No.” She’s beaming.
“Can I tell you something about having orgasms?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never told anyone this in my entire life.” It’s true. I haven’t. Why not?
“Tell me.” She nods rhythmically. She really wants to know.
“Every time I have an orgasm with another person, every time, itdoesn’t matter who she is, right before I come I hear these words in my head.”
“What are the words?”
“
I love you, Mom
. Every time, just like that.
I love you, Mom
.”
She looks like she’s just been given a Christmas present. “Really?”
“I spend my whole life being ashamed of that.”
“There’s no reason to be ashamed!”
“I know! I know!”
“Because it’s a good thing in you! It’s a good feeling!”
“It’s love!” I tell her, and I’ve figured it out for the first time. “It’s just love! It’s all the same thing!” And I get up and start dancing, naked, while she stares at me, her pupils wide as saucers.
Four hours later the tide is going out. I’m pacing the room and starting to