(no subject)
I never knew the name of this song. Elliott put it on one of the first times he fucked me. I have to say it like that. We did not fuck so much as he fucked me, fucking dutifully, because I guess I was always subtly begging for it and he wanted to get it over with. He told me once, long after that happened, that he liked to have music on while he fucked girls because he could feel more like he was fucking the music than the person; he could remove them from the situation entirely. And this music is lithe. It's slim and calm and probably doesn't give a fuck about itself. It's pretty. I think even then I knew to be jealous of it.
Hearing it again, after so many years, puts me right back on his purple-burgundy futon mattress on the bare floor. Smelling nag champa incense and candles. Hot wax and red light bulbs and everything you think you want when you're young and in college and your sexual experiences consist of an awkward past in which you sought to shed your virginity quickly and painlessly... Everything you thought you wanted from the mysterious and ridiculously good smelling boy who sat in the corner like he was too cool to care, the one who lifted your chin the first time he kissed you, who called you 'angel' only once, but that once hooked you and then he was a fucking god somehow, he owned your soul and you didn't even know why because he fucked you so goddamn well all those times on the futon mattress and the candles and the incense but it meant nothing, not for your lack of trying, desperately trying, but for his lack of humanity...
Clearly this was not a good decision.
Hearing it again, after so many years, puts me right back on his purple-burgundy futon mattress on the bare floor. Smelling nag champa incense and candles. Hot wax and red light bulbs and everything you think you want when you're young and in college and your sexual experiences consist of an awkward past in which you sought to shed your virginity quickly and painlessly... Everything you thought you wanted from the mysterious and ridiculously good smelling boy who sat in the corner like he was too cool to care, the one who lifted your chin the first time he kissed you, who called you 'angel' only once, but that once hooked you and then he was a fucking god somehow, he owned your soul and you didn't even know why because he fucked you so goddamn well all those times on the futon mattress and the candles and the incense but it meant nothing, not for your lack of trying, desperately trying, but for his lack of humanity...
Clearly this was not a good decision.