What's it all about

Hello, walls blog.

Here is it, the year 1/25 over already, and I'm just now updating? I'm a bad blogger, but then, it gives me lots of room for improvement.

So, hi! Holidays: complicated, enjoyable, maddening, and ultimately revelatory. The revelation? Live for yourself. If you have to have respect, make sure you can respect yourself first. Then damn the rest. So sayeth the prodigal daughter.

But let's talk about something else. Let's talk about what happened when I introduced Alfie to one of my favorite Austin dive bars.

I suppose some background is in order. I call him Alfie, short for Alfalfa, because he calls me Spanky. And if I tell you that he's read this blog (y'all wave to him), I don't have to explain why he calls me that. He answered an ad I threw out on Craigslist some weeks ago in a moment of poor impulse control -- well, he didn't so much "answer" it as he sent an absurdist stream-of-consciousness reply set on a European train speeding through various cinematic vignettes. Smart guy. That's pretty much all it takes with me, you know. Intrigued from the get-go.

So we corresponded via email for a while . . . and verily, it was fun. He's a literary type, new to Austin, eclectic background, basketball fan (Yes! Thank you, god!), entirely crushable, and I wanted to sleep with him. As the days went by, I began to wonder why he didn't suggest getting together. After all, in my ad I had been pretty straightforward about what I sought. I fretted to a friend that I was misreading him. I didn't really know what to do. He had me off-balance. Was I missing signals? Was I supposed to brazen out the situation and set a date? Somehow, though, I didn't want to end our email-only flirtation, which was plenty erotic in and of itself.

But finally one night, in the midst of a flurry of rapid-fire email during a Spurs game we were both watching, it was established that we both like dive bars, that he had not yet visited an Austin dive bar, that I knew a good dive bar not far from either of us, and then he typed the magic words -- do you feel like introducing me to a corner dive bar?

Reader, I did.

I got there first and sat at the bar, sipping a glass of wine (the only other thing on offer besides beer) and eavesdropping on the conversations around me. Nervous energy impelled me to speak to the couple beside me (who were wondering aloud about the outcome of a certain game), and I was still engaged in conversation with them when Alfie entered the bar--tall and slender with sandy good looks, younger looking than his years. I knew it was him immediately, but he walked past me (perhaps assuming that I was with the people I was talking to). I waved him down and he smiled and returned, taking the stool next to mine.

We talked of this and that, the jukebox played, the atmosphere was friendly, and the little thread of attraction that had spun between us grew stronger as our conversation wheeled, making lazy, ever-smaller circles toward the heart of the matter, moving us somehow closer so that his knee pressed against mine while we spoke of our first childish forays into the mysterious world of sex. I confessed to reading too much too young, most of the content sailing over my head except in the case of Xaviera Hollander's The Happy Hooker, lifted off a neighbor's bookcase one night while I was babysitting and devoured in equal parts horror and wonder. I admitted that the bestiality had traumatized me. I told him about my father's mortification when he had taken me with him to the movie The Missouri Breaks, thinking it safe enough for an 11-year-old, only to be confronted by a scene where a man fucks a woman up against an alley wall -- no nudity, but plenty for my father to sweat about nonetheless with a curious daughter by his side.

Suddenly Alfie became animated, recalling a book he had encountered in his youth; an autobiography by Charles Mingus, a free-flowing impressionistic account of his early years, filled, so Alfie said (for I was unfamiliar with the book), with scenes of uninhibited passion, including one memorable passage--

Here he paused and said he didn't want to be overheard, so I bent my head in toward him. I could feel the heat coming off his body. He leaned in and told me in a low voice what he remembered reading, how the narrator had been in a car with a woman and had reached across her for the glove compartment, and how his hand brushed across her lap, how he felt the dampness, how, when he explored further, he realized she had either "peed herself or comed" she was so wet, and how he knew at that moment that she was a "freak" like him -- how he commanded her to masturbate while he pissed on her luscious breasts, how he reached for the bag he kept under the seat and pulled out a whip . . .

When he had finished recalling the passage that had so impressed itself upon his young self, we sat in charged silence. It was getting late, soon to be closing time. Alfie indicated that we should go, that I should walk with him.

I slid off my bar stool, dopey and heavy-lidded with lust, knees wobbly, face warm, every nerve suffused with anticipation. We walked out to my car, which was parked on the street right next to the building. I motioned to the parking lot behind the bar, where a lonely vehicle sat. "Is that your possessed Explorer?" (In an earlier email he had claimed his vehicle was possessed by a demon because the side door had flown open, depositing his fresh laundry on the street.)

That's the one, he told me, and we started walking toward it, and I knew why were were going there, but I didn't know what would happen. It was chilly but not bitter outside. I noticed the stars overhead; the bare-branched silhouettes of the trees against the dark sky. I had leapt off the cliff while I hadn't been paying attention -- now there was nothing for it but to fall.

When I walked behind the vehicle to go to the passenger door, Alfie followed me and pushed me up against the car with his body, pinning me. He held my arms and I ground against him. My skirt was short and I wasn't wearing underwear -- he could have raised it and fucked me right there, and my mind flashed on the scene in The Missouri Breaks. That was what I wanted, right then, as cold as it was outside, but Alfie guided me to the door and I got into the car. He got in on his side and in that deserted parking lot he pulled my sweater over my head and we set about the business of finally getting to know each other.

He caressed my breasts, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the little jolts of sensation. He lifted them out of my bra so that they were exposed but jutting up and out, and he toyed with my stiff nipples. He pinched them, then, and I gasped and shuddered as his grasp tightened. He pulled and I cried out. Shh, shh, he said, and he stroked me gently, only to pinch and pull again, even harder, and my body arched, then I bent toward him, trying to escape the tension by moving toward it.

I had a brief flash of genuine "fight-or-flight" reaction. I wanted to get away from the pain, and I wasn't sure I would be able to. I think I may have inadvertently hit at his arm. Please understand -- he wasn't pushing me. I was pushing myself. And then his hand was between my legs and I was eager, pushing forward to meet his fingers, which slid easily between my slick, swollen labia. He finger fucked me, my cunt so wet it made liquid noises, and I came with his fingers inside me.

Then I was pulling at the waist of his jeans, and he helped me free his cock so that I could kneel with my head in his lap and suck. My mouth was dry, so I pushed him deep until I gagged, to stimulate the flow of saliva. Then with his hands in my hair I sucked, nursed, licked, and stroked. When he came he was deep in my mouth again, and I could feel the throb of his cock as it emptied, strong regular pulses like a slowing heartbeat, and his semen slid down my throat.

In a dream I pulled on my sweater, straightened my clothing, smoothed my hair. I was high -- there's no better word for it -- floating in a cloud of satisfied cravings and ongoing sensation as he walked me back to my car. (When I had opened the passenger door and he responded by opening his, I had asked hazily, oh, are you going to walk with me? to which he had replied, grinning at my state, what kind of cad would I be . . .?) He kissed me good night, or good morning, and I drove home, no doubt a hazard to myself and others, although had I been pulled over no substance would have registered.

I've been able since then to obtain a copy of Mingus' autobiography. Last night I read the remembered passage aloud to Alfie in person, while he laughed softly in my ear and toyed with my breasts.

I do have the most ridiculous good luck with Craigslist, it's true.