Thursday, July 29, 2010

A week, a night, a gift - beaten, peed on, and treasured (11)

Now my memory grows vague.
Now the details fade and merge.
Bits and pieces stand out but the order isn't clear.

I do have some notes. His instructions had mentioned bringing my laptop and writing materials. I had bought a new little notebook, to be used only in connection with that night, and only for writing for his benefit. He is always very specific, and always very precise. This is good for me. I need direction. I lose focus. I need someone standing over me as I do my homework, keeping my mind from wandering. I just went back to look at the notes. They reminded me that in the restaurant I took a seat downstairs, near the bar. It was definitely too hot to be outside, and I didn't realize there was an upstairs at first. Plus while I don't hang out at bars, he does, so it made me feel as if I had already entered his world.

A TV was on over the bar. He had told me not to watch TV. Of course, he was only thinking about while I was waiting for him in the room. He wanted me to focus. But I take his instructions very seriously so I kept my eyes averted from the TV.

The blues was playing through the speakers. I can't remember if it was the radio or a recording. Probably the radio. I have this thing with the blues. A lover a long time ago turned me on to the blues. Literally. He'd play records of these old Mississippi Delta guys while he taught me what sex could be like. Over the years, I've been learning in bits and pieces what sex can be like. Mostly, I think it needs to be transgressive one way or another to be truly exciting and intense enough. Anyway. I was trained. Already, then, being trained. I'd hear a blues song and my panties would soak through. Around that time, I was working in a shop in Boston. You could get some really cool music on the radio back then in the early 70s. One day a blues song came on and in a flash I was so horny I had to dash into the scuzzy little employees' toilet and take care of the problem. I'm surprised the customers didn't hear me cum as they tried to decide which cheese to buy.

As I left the restaurant, the waitress said: "Thank you. Have a great night!"

I hoped so.

My mind was as hazy as the heated air as I walked back towards the hotel. I wandered up and down a small street, unwilling to be in the room too soon while nervous about not allowing myself enough time. Finally, I could put it off no longer.

I could barely breathe.

I tried to focus.
I entered the room and tried to focus.
Tried to concentrate.
Tried to think of my tasks and of being efficient and perfect.
I wanted to be perfect.

I took the ice bucket and brought it back filled with ice.
There was no other reason I could imagine for leaving the room.
I locked the door.
And took of my clothes.

Now it had truly begun.


nancy said...

I understand your liking for the blues.
Now surely your memory won't totally go, will it?
If it does..well I can live with that.. if not.. please post more~~

Anonymous said...

Blues! (I love, among others, Robert Johnson, Johnny Hodges and Sidney Bechet. Bechet, in particular, takes me places very deep in the soul.) Instructions! (Is there anything more intoxicating than a specific set of directions? Ooooh.) Anxiety! (And how delicious it is.) And, finally, naked. Yikes!
I'm with Nancy. All we can do is hope that you kept copious and detailed notes...
What a terrific story you have crafted, OG!
Shivers - jcn

Liras said...

Sometimes, OG, the best memories are fuzzy, so we can savor them not as words but as feelings.