Ugly Little Pretty Thoughts

Porn can be such a weird thing for me.  There are times that if I find the right porn, it can be sexy, it can be enticing, it can be exactly what it is supposed to be - exciting.  A lot of times though it is just really attractive people that aren’t me fucking.  Not exciting, just sort of a reminder I’m all alone in the middle of the night staring at a screen.  Not great.

But there is something different about a porn gif.  It is shorter, an endless loop in fact and I think that is the appeal.  Granted it is still attractive people that aren’t me fucking, or fingering, or blowing, or whatevering on a screen, but that endless loop gives it a sort of forgiveness of technological wonder.

When I see a porn gif, it is like accessing a memory.  There are times when I think back to a first kiss and I can remember the smell of the air around us, I can remember the feel of sweaty hands, I can remember the taste of lifesavers, but I don’t remember every single kiss that came after.  There are so many, but the first sticks out, or the one in the snow, or the time where she whispered she loved me, or the time he bit by ear, they are all moments on an endless loop in my mind, and sometimes I look at them.  I think in some way that is what well-edited porn gifs or any gifs can give a person, the exact feeling - over and over and over and over.

When I was young I was deeply entranced with the the film Some Kind of Wonderful.  I would put in the VHS tape and watch when Keith would kiss Watts over and over and over again, and each time it would give me the same exact thrill.  Every time.  I don’t see how gifs are any different, other than more awesome and modern and less tracking involved.

Now I just need to find a porn gif that gives me the same sweaty teen sexy thrill that repeatedly watching a VHS in a dark room gave me.  Or just see if I can find that movie gif.

This morning I put on the soundtrack of our love affair.

From song one to end song, I am lost in the memory of you. The love we shared, the fights we had, the sex we spread around the cities.

Every love is an individual, but loves are such cliches that we had a love just like millions of others.

Which makes it easier to at least have a soundtrack.

she looked at me
I thought
I know you
I know you
I do

the recognition
hit her
rocked
through her
I knew the moment
she knew me

her eyes flew
not open
or wide
instead
to her husband
then her child

I saw her son
I finally felt the
train of realization
run me down

now our weekend
of lust
demands
games
bodies
reduced to
discomfort
across a desk

I do
I know you
I know you
I thought
I did

I sit and I’m working and I don’t want to be here. I need to be here as it is required of me. I know it is required of me.

I follow through as is required when in my mind I am in my bed, in your arms, on my knees, on my back, oh wherever you tell me to be, whenever you want me. I am in a memory of where we were together. Every muscle that aches is a reminder of where I have been where I have traveled to be with you.

Someone speaks to me and I try, I really try to concentrate on the words, and I only hear you telling me to lift my leg, or turn over, or put my mouth on your cock. I can swear that I’m in a conversation. I know that I’m in a conversation, I listen to the patients and I answer their questions. Beneath the desk I squeeze my legs together and remember the feel of you, your fingers inside of me making me cry out.

I pass people in the hall, a scent evokes the memory stronger, and I can feel your sweat beneath my hands, the curls of your hair wet between my fingers. Everything makes me throb in anticipation of seeing you again. I am a string of sensation, pulled taut, waiting for you to pluck.

I whispered your name as I touched myself last night. Thought of you saying I love you, using my name and saying I love you and touching my very core, the very core of me. I slept soundly.

I am trying to trust this whirl of how I feel, I am trying to trust how I feel and I am trying to not worry overmuch about how things will be tomorrow. The haze I walk in now makes it hard to concentrate, and that frightens and excites me with the every day simplicity of trying to trust.

Just trying to trust.

you called me
your memory

now you are
a memory

I carry you
around inside of me

I carry these pieces
of you and me and us

lovely bright
cutting harsh

shards of you
they vivisect

slicing away everything else
leaving only you with me

standing in a visceral pool
a gory mess

I’m what is left
a jutting bone of memory

where we used to love
and laugh and live together

nothing beats now
no memory of you
being good
to me

It ended bad
we were rotten
But you were good
to me

for a little while

the feel of your teeth
on my nipple lingers now
as I serve specials
smiling into the coffees
of the rowdy breakfast crowd