There’s a grotto at the Dunleen that I’m partial to and not many people know about. I told my new friend Susanna about it to get her in the pool, hyped it more to get her to swim beneath the pool’s waterfall, under a set of faux boulders and into what turned out to be more of a maintenance room than anything resembling my descriptions of a grotto. Clearly, I hadn’t been sober the last time I visited this place. Nevertheless, I now had her alone in a cave, away from the party, and her eyes were begging for me to do my sweet damage. Unlike X and most high form hallucinogens, the drug that had passed through my body didn’t just give me desire, but absolute need. I could feel our bodies pulling into one another, a fierce energy shooting about the enclosed space. When I take Ecstasy, fucking is hardly a byproduct and more of a contractual obligation I have with myself or with what Burn would call my stage two disingenuous nymphomania. Whatever I had taken, this was different. Fucking her was necessity. When all you have to do is pull two strings and have them standing naked, things go quick. We certainly did. This girl…she was cut from stone, every feature. This girl was going to be a star.
Once I was inside of her, it didn’t take long for her to come. And it wasn’t necessarily me. I can tell you that I have a great piece between my legs and that I’m enough of an athlete and sexual scholar to please the women I’m with. Also, I’m conveniently selfless…meaning that unless she comes, I can’t, as if my doing so alone would give her and the collective them a power I simply can’t release. She was gripping me hard and I was propping her back, holding her up with my hands, my biceps melting and shoulders cramping as she did this thing where her head fell back and her breath stopped before she let out this echoing and wailing cry…and with it, she shook from the inside out. It was beautiful, so incredible to be so close to her, to see her go. Then she fell into stillness, looked to me and kissed me before she leaned back, fell onto the cement and said something like fuck me sweetly, and so I did. In 60 minutes, she came seven times. I counted every one, every orgasm a precious and true performance. At some point, she looked to me and asked me if I was ready, if she could do anything to help me. I looked back, told her she was doing enough, that giving up even a moment of what I was in for an act so selfish was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. She smiled and kissed me. It was nice. She was unforgettable. I felt like a lover poet. I wanted to hold onto that.
