I just wrote about how I don’t really like writing about sex. But this isn’t exactly right.
Many of my posts about sex are in two or more parts – part 1 typically covers the part of the evening that leads up to the sex, and then part 2 is the sex itself. In some instances, there are more parts; in some, just one. But invariably, the word count of the writing I do about the actual sex is a fraction of that I devote to the lead-up.
I’ve written about my most memorable sexual experience before and, upon re-reading it just now, I’m struck by two things: first, by how little of what I wrote actually concerned what most people think of as sex (namely, anything involving anyone doing anything with or to my cock, or my doing anything with my mouth, or my fingers); and second, by how consistent I am, by how recurrent certain themes and vignettes are throughout my play. Back in the day, when I was paying; today, when I’m simply decreeing, it’s all the same: I want a woman to demonstrate her sexual availability, her interest both in sex for its own sake and in the ways in which I want her to be sexual. And the path to that, and the ways in which it all is demonstrated, is hardly varying at all, and yet infinitely fascinating to me.
Do I ask her to take her panties off? In the bar? In the restroom? Put them in her pocket? In mine? Do I ask her to play with herself? Do I smell her fingers? Taste them? To wear boyshorts or bikini briefs? A skirt or a dress? And so on….
I’m not so un-self-aware that I don’t see the constant repetition of all these motifs (and more). Nor am I so un-self-aware that I’m not interested in them.
When L complains that my repetition makes her feel… expendable, disposable… I get that. I understand that if you’ve been a player (whether you’re L, or Jen, or Veronique, or Maxie) in this recurrent fantasy of mine, you could look at another instance of its playing itself out and feel… displaced, replaced, commoditized. I don’t fault her for feeling this.
But what’s most interesting to me is how, even when the words are the same, when the scenarios are similar, to me, they’re entirely different. This is a testament to my poor writing skills, or my poor ability to write about the sensations I feel, rather than the facts of the encounter. Because when I remember two encounters, with two women, that were outwardly similar – say, we met in a bar, I sent her to a hotel room to play with herself and to wait for me, and I arrived some minutes later to do some combination of spanking, licking , and fucking and sucking – they have nothing in common with one another in my memory, even though the blog posts read almost identically.
This, it seems to me, is a challenge I should take up – to make my writing reflect the experience, rather than the outer markings of my experience, the basic facts. Help keep me honest? If I fail at that, call me on it? Please?