A sex scene, then – and one of my earliest – recalled from the time a 34-year-old-man picked up a 19-year-old me, and I still held the foolish notion that people – even men – were intrinsically good, and that when given the choice they would do good things. This fun little excerpt comes courtesy of the journal I kept at the time, and I uncovered it when realizing this was the thirtieth anniversary of that fall. The photos are from that time as well – and all of it was one big mess. A song to go along on the joyride, for our fade-to-black fall: the original ‘Paint It Black’ and all its somber fury.
I look inside myselfAnd see my heart is blackI see my red doorI must have it painted black
Maybe then, I’ll fade awayAnd not have to face the factsIt’s not easy facing upWhen your whole world is black
I see a red doorAnd I want it painted blackNo colors anymoreI want them to turn black
I see the girls walk byDressed in their summer clothesI have to turn my headUntil my darkness goes
September 1994: A set of shades opened and someone peered out from a window high above the street. They shut them after surveying the place for a few minutes. People passed by me, and with each set of footsteps my heart leapt in anticipation of Tom. Yet it never seemed to be him. I resumed reading until at last he came toward me from across the street. I wasn’t sure at first if it was really him. I didn’t remember the orange sweatshirt he now wore, inside out. Perhaps I simply hadn’t noticed.
He was saddened by the day’s events, yet I had no knowledge of what I might do to help. I understood he didn’t want to talk about it, so I attempted no further communication on that topic of Bill (his ex). We entered the apartment. There was the same initial awkward feeling that accompanied the start of each meeting, a feeling that I was still not able to shake until well into the evening. I sat down at the table. He was slightly upset, almost annoyed.
“So, come here and sit down, relax. Take your jacket off so it doesn’t look like you’re about to leave,” he said.
I gave him a quick look of disgust and then started to untie the jacket from around my waist. He sat on the bed, fiddling with the television set. I walked over and sat beside him. After finding nothing on, he left it somewhere and pushed me back too the bed. He kissed me. It still hurt. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the stubble. It was clear how upset he was. On the way in, he had said that he now truly felt a sense of loss. I asked him if he didn’t really want to be alone, because it was not a bid thing for me to leave. He said he didn’t want that.
I looked into his eyes. I wanted to make it all better. I wanted to make everything good for him; I wanted to eradicate the sadness that shone through those eyes that night.
“Don’t be upset,” I began timidly.
“I can’t do that… I’ll just be what I am… there’s nothing that can be done. I have to go through it.”
“Well, I can change it, ” I added perkily.
“Really.”
I didn’t think so. All the tactics, all the ways and tricks and means of manipulating a person into feeling something they weren’t quite ready or sure that. they wanted to feel, they al fell away now. My powers seemed to dwindle to hokey cliches, crumbling beneath the weight of their over-the-top lack of power. I wouldn’t be able to charm him out of it, I wouldn’t be able to mastermind the next moments and turn him around. I was completely powerless and helpless, and I turned into a kid. I could only smile at him naively, only offer a hug or a hold or a kiss. And in that moment I sensed I would never be able to control this, any of it. And it almost scared me out of it, out of being there. I felt a new instinct to run away. I wondered if he would find me. I wondered what he would do if I went away one day and never came back to him. But mostly I wondered what would happen if he did that to me. At this point I was almost sure it would happen that way. For now, however, he was mine. Or maybe I was his. I couldn’t be sure. The roles flip-flopped over and over, yet in the end the essence of such a thing was the same, without change.
He took off his clothes and again pried beneath mine. I was reluctant and told him no. He asked why not, like he always did, in that voice, half a whine, half a plea. It was a very persuasive voice, but I heard in it the seed of annoyance as well, and while I removed my shirt I made up my mind that that was all that was to be removed that evening. I also made that clear to him.
We kissed. Mostly we kissed. And then he pulled my hand to him and I did what I thought I was supposed to do. He was kissing me and rubbing himself as I did the same to him. He pushed my head down, down to his erection, and I took the tip in my mouth. I tasted something somewhat salty, and resisted the urge to gag. I tasted it again and I removed my mouth – I’d read somewhere that one can transmit AIDS by oral sex and I had already taken too many chances. I went up to his face and kissed him, letting the mixture of saliva and possibly semen run into his mouth. I had my hand on him now and he told me to show him myself. I was hard and I let him suck me. It was better this time; in fact, this was actually enjoyable. I had never been that close to coming with him before, though I didn’t this time either. Still, it hadn’t been completely awful.
Now I wasn’t forcing myself into liking it or disliking it. It was not the idea of the thing that I liked, or the lifestyle, or the danger of it; it was Tom. It was all Tom. If it had been with another, I would certainly have not allowed myself to be taken so completely. Yet Tom made it good, he made it pure, he made everything dirty and disgusting into something beautiful, and I felt powerless against him. Well, almost. I still adamantly refused anal intercourse and he didn’t push me at all. He joked and told me how much he wanted to fuck me, in a number of different ways, but I refused. He ws not getting me to take my pants off, no matter what. At least not at that moment, and not for that night.
I laid next to him with my head on his chest. It had been his choice; I had complied willingly. The TV was fuzzy and sometimes without color.
“How do you know you’re in love?” I queried; a general question.
“It’s something that you just know; you’ll know when it hits you, believe me, you will.”
I was skeptical. “Well what do you consider love?”
“One of the only guys I was every truly in love with told me that being in love was being able to see yourself living in a tent for the rest of your life with that one person. I knew I was in love with him because I could picture that tent, and how what went on in it would be the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”
I didn’t know if I could do that with Tom. At that moment, I felt I might, but looking back he was right, I would know.
I wanna see it paintedPainted blackBlack as nightBlack as coalI wanna see the sunBlotted out from the skyI wanna see it painted, painted, paintedPainted black, yeah
