Phone Sex (Warning: Explicit Sexual Content So Don't Read If You Dislike That Sort of Thing)

[mallorys_camera]

Mizz Kimmie is my rockstar girlfriend. Think white hat Courtney Love. She is immensely charismatic, a dervish whirling with creative energy, a pioneer of her own style.

We do the phone chat thing every couple of days, unusual for me because I have a real aversion to phone conversations. I'm supposed to think I'm talking to another live human being on the phone, right? But really what I'm talking to is this slick black electronic box in my hand, and who the hell knows what's on the other end of the line? It could be the person I think I'm talking to, or it could be someone in the NSA disguising his/her voice, or it could be a Martian anthropologist collecting info for the coming invasion.

But vox is how Mizz Kimmie rolls so that's how we communicate.

Recently, most of our phone conversations have been about sex.

She's seeing someone with whom the sex is mind blowing and whom she kinda, sorta loves but who is way crazy, going through difficult times in his own life, prone to orchestrating melodramatic opera scenarios without the arias, particularly when they're driving somewhere together and she can't get out of the car.

I had great sex with someone a few weeks back whom I suppose I could conscript as a FWB except I'm not entirely sure that a FWB has any advantage over, say, my vibrator.

"But what about the feel of a human body?" Mizz Kimmie asks.

I have scurried out of the office to take her call, and am now sitting on the ledge where the smokers congregate. Fortunately, none of them are congregating there now because I have really been jonesing for a cigarette in the aftermath of the Big Transition: One whiff of a cigarette and I'm pretty sure I would rush out, buy a carton of Camel Wides, and smoke them all in the space of a weekend.

"Bodies are a distraction," I say. "Unless they're bodies that belong to people I love."

"I don't know," she says. "Thing with vibrators is that it's so freakin' hard to work up the fantasy, you know?"

And it dawned on me in that single moment that I very seldom fantasize when I have sex – either with a partner or when I'm pleasuring myself.

For me, sex has always been sensation. There is no psychological frisson per se, unless I love the person I'm having sex with, and in that case it always seems as though I'm feeling exactly what he/she is feeling when they're being touched.

If I don't love the person, then the orgasmic undulations kind of... unhinge me, and I have out-of-body experiences where it feels as though I'm floating far above a landscape. I can look down and actually make out features of the landscape – there's a waterfall, there's an Interstate, those tiny mites rolling along the Interstate must be cars --

Yes, yes, I know exactly how weird that sounds. I have run across exactly one other person who experienced something of the same phenomenon, and that is the English writer Doris Lessing who describes it at length in one of her novels, I think The Golden Notebook.

"So you never have fantasies?" Mizz Kimmie is asking incredulously.

"Well, never say never," I say. "I have them every once in a while. More often about women than about men, which I suppose Dr. Fraud would interpret to mean that I'm a repressed lesbian --"

"But how do you get excited?" Mizz Kimmie wanted to know.

I shrugged. Because I was talking on the phone, Mizz Kimmie didn't see it. "Well. I mean, the physical stimulation. It's a physical sensation, after all."

"But, I mean, if you're not in the mood..."
"If I'm not in the mood, I won't be having sex. But pretty much, X marks the spot and if X is stimulated, I come. Doesn't matter what I'm thinking about or not thinking about. It's a physical sensation, like any other physical sensation – like the burn you get from intense exercise or the pleasure you get from a healthy bowel movement. Yeah, yeah, I know a lot of people don't like to admit that moving their bowels is pleasurable. But it is."

"That's so interesting," Mizz Kimmie cooed. "For me, it really is about the fantasies and whether I can trust the other person within the context of those fantasies --"

"Well, I suppose it's one of the reasons why I did so well being married," I said. "I got to have sex every day, and it was uncomplicated, and it felt good. It felt like calibrating the machine, although I realize that's an awfully unromantic metaphor. And of course there were times when I really connected with my husband too, and it wasmore than just sensation. Thing is, though, I don't feel that connection with anyone right now, and I can have those first types of orgasms with my vibrator, so why bother with a human partner?"

"Don't you miss the intimacy?"

"Well, I do," I said. "But fucking someone, touching someone's genitals, having them touch your genitals, is no guarantee of intimacy. Kissing someone is a lot more intimate than fucking someone."

"Well, that's why hookers never kiss!" Mizz Kimmie noted brightly.

And at this point I noticed two guys in the white construction vehicle parked in front of me staring at me in horror, so I quickly flipped my ID badge over and terminated the conversation.

Comments

[old-cutter-john.livejournal.com]

If you were tied to a table in front of a classroom full of curious space aliens or boys, and used as a demonstration of how a woman comes (and if, of course, you were sure you were going to get out of it unhurt), would it make any difference to the quality of your experience?

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Being tied up in any situation sucks as far as I'm concerned. I don't like it when people try to dominate me. If I'm in a situation where domination is inevitable, I dissociate as much as possible and escape quickly.

[old-cutter-john.livejournal.com]

Thanks for your explanation!

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

For years I had this reoccurring dream -- it stopped when I joined the circus, oddly enough. I was a teenager. Sometimes I was a boy; sometimes I was a girl. I was sitting at a diner table, eating an elaborate ceremonial dinner using cut glass crystal and heavy silver. There was a knock on the door, and then soldiers burst into the room. "You have five minutes to get what you need," the soldiers would say. "And then you are coming with us."

The other members of my family would always rise in hysteria and begin hastily throwing together stuff to take, but I would always tell the soldiers, "Go ahead. Shoot me. I'm not doing what you're telling me to do."

And they would shoot me.

I always woke up before I felt what it would be like to be dead though. :-)

[bandicoot.livejournal.com]

White construction vehicle? Damn NSA is everywhere!

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

No kidding. What do they know about me that I don't know about me, huh? :-)

[kdotdammit.livejournal.com]

Snort . . . To be continued . . .

[ccjohn.livejournal.com]

Doris Lessing. Just her? No kidding.

New York should be grad school for American dudes. How to get laid without doing anything. You can just sit there, do nothing but laugh and she'll drag you home. Off the top of my head? --three different women. Each was extremely attractive. Which was why I kept laughing. Imagine if you worked at it.

Cigarettes make me sick, but props on the other. "The delicious feeling of intestinal void." This is a quote. Chris Miller. You're the second person I've ever seen admit this, despite every one of us knowing exactly what you mean so I'll ante.

No matter how hot she is, a one-night stand is a stranger. It always starts great, and the memories do have highlights. That is, once I shove aside, and now I have to shove it aside as a learned skill when the next one jumps in my lap, this fact:

I am working at pretending this is awesome.

FWBs, yeah can work, thinking of one, she died young. I miss her. Sharp teeth. We had fun, like great dates but I also couldn't stand her, she was a princess.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

I don't understand about 95 percent of what you write. Not that you should change what you write or anything. Just sayin'. :-)

[ccjohn.livejournal.com]

I'm surprised. You're a Sixties kid, right? I'm referring to one-night-stands and agreeing with what you said earlier: the how-many-times-can-I-make-her-come part can be fun, who doesn't want to get laid? but I realized I was settling. It's not easy reasoning, next girl I just met says take me home, I will but that's not what I miss at night. I miss women who already matter to me. I gotta admit, friends-with-benefits sex can be awesome, Sylvia (the one who died young) liked to scream, I did care for her but if I'm honest --the girl you love, that's so much more dangerous. Put another way, there is someone never leaves my mind, I want her all the time. She's never fall for any of my bullshit. We could save each other. We know each other. I fell in love once before. Met this one, I'd given up on anyone. Anything that looked human obviously wasn't, or she/he couldn't be her/his own permanent excuse. If I do wrong, I can't help but know it, if I'm so good a liar as not to know it, no shared reality is even possible. Unless I admit to a reality I can't spin, I'm alone for life in a prison of my convenience.

This one girl. I've seen her help people of no possible use to her. She saw something in me very early. Over time, I understood: she recognized another person who'd hid his whole life because no one can be trusted, but tried to stay kind anyway. She's better at hiding than I am. I'm better at admitting who I am than she is. The two of you have a great deal in common. You can't understand 95% of what I write?, 95% of men aren't in your league and I hope you know that.

[ch.livejournal.com]

"the pleasure you get from a healthy bowel movement. Yeah, yeah, I know a lot of people don't like to admit that moving their bowels is pleasurable. But it is."

Sounds like Wm. S. Burroughs.

(But I get.)

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Well, it's socially incorrect to admit such things. But true nonetheless. And I think Rabelais wrote about it several centuries before Burroughs. :-)