The absolute value of lust
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Sun location: Libra
Moon location: Virgo
Moon phase: last quarter (waning crescent)
Dream type: subjective
I was sixteen again, but living in the mid-Atlantic states, attending a co-ed boarding school. 1996 lives, that November. Not the sort of school where anyone has to wear blazers, really something staggeringly like the Catholic high school I once attended, a small pre-Notre Dame knockoff, green hoodies with Fightin' Irish themes silk screened on them.
I was sitting in Economics class, one row over from a boy named Seth. I only knew his name because I'd been looking at him out of the corner of my eye all through the roll-call. What was his surname? Beringer, Berry? Pale, dark-haired, green-eyed, looking vaguely like Cillian Murphy with blazing emerald eyes instead. He had that Julius Caesar haircut practically every yankee white boy with cropped hair had at the time. He started looking back after raising his hand and saying "Here." The lecture was ignored. Lots of pen-chewing on his end, nervous finger-twitching on my end, the sideways glances slowly turning to full-on staring. He paced with me as I walked out at the end of class. "Come with me." He muttered, before leading me down the narrow stone-walled space between buildings. Abruptly, he dropped his books and knocked my own out of my arms, shoved me against the wall, and started kissing me, roughly. We went at it for getting on a half-hour, so hard we couldn't breathe.
It's funny how this would be so much less realistic if something similar hadn't happened to me in waking life, some fifteen years ago. And that time, I never got that kid's surname.
Thus played out the rest of the dream-world junior year in school. Seth never hid was was going on between us, making it very clear to everybody it was just screwing around. I never cared because we didn't have enough in common to date, and there was no real emotional connection, no less shared interests. I was just glad he wasn't ashamed to be seen with me, a real relief after the utter bullshit of all the other boys in school. From the age of fourteen, I knew better than to think I'd ever get what I needed emotionally from a fellow classmate, that the best any girl of my emotional depth could get was physical fun, and that wasn't saying a lot. That's the curse of being emotionally overdeveloped: that you have to wait for godawful years for any of your needs to be met.
All year - five minutes free, ten minutes free, it didn't matter, was given to rough, primal pawing and necking. I barely spoke to the guy for months. There wasn't really anything to talk about. We were held together by the threadbare bond of not being able to keep our hands off each other.
It got to the point where over winter break, we both lied about going home to the administrators and staying at school to our parents, and spent a week holed up in a shitty room in a run-down hotel in the inner city that didn't card minors. It was a scene ripped straight from Traffic, minus the drugs. (Incidently, it's looking like the boyfriend of the girl from Traffic really was named Seth, but I didn't remember that. Naturally, my Seth doesn't look like Topher Grace.) Just breathless coupling, only interrupted to go out and track down food. But funnily, it was the only time we bothered to try to get to know each other, catching our breaths whilst playing out the refractory periods.
The sexual relationship with Seth never once felt empty, and there's a good reason why. When you have no basis for comparison, when you've never been emotionally fulfilled, the emptiness doesn't have a chance to set in. So it's true that ignorance really is bliss. If you've never been in the Garden of Eden, you really don't know what you're missing, and a flower box on your windowsill is okay.
Sun location: Libra
Moon location: Virgo
Moon phase: last quarter (waning crescent)
Dream type: subjective
I was sixteen again, but living in the mid-Atlantic states, attending a co-ed boarding school. 1996 lives, that November. Not the sort of school where anyone has to wear blazers, really something staggeringly like the Catholic high school I once attended, a small pre-Notre Dame knockoff, green hoodies with Fightin' Irish themes silk screened on them.
I was sitting in Economics class, one row over from a boy named Seth. I only knew his name because I'd been looking at him out of the corner of my eye all through the roll-call. What was his surname? Beringer, Berry? Pale, dark-haired, green-eyed, looking vaguely like Cillian Murphy with blazing emerald eyes instead. He had that Julius Caesar haircut practically every yankee white boy with cropped hair had at the time. He started looking back after raising his hand and saying "Here." The lecture was ignored. Lots of pen-chewing on his end, nervous finger-twitching on my end, the sideways glances slowly turning to full-on staring. He paced with me as I walked out at the end of class. "Come with me." He muttered, before leading me down the narrow stone-walled space between buildings. Abruptly, he dropped his books and knocked my own out of my arms, shoved me against the wall, and started kissing me, roughly. We went at it for getting on a half-hour, so hard we couldn't breathe.
It's funny how this would be so much less realistic if something similar hadn't happened to me in waking life, some fifteen years ago. And that time, I never got that kid's surname.
Thus played out the rest of the dream-world junior year in school. Seth never hid was was going on between us, making it very clear to everybody it was just screwing around. I never cared because we didn't have enough in common to date, and there was no real emotional connection, no less shared interests. I was just glad he wasn't ashamed to be seen with me, a real relief after the utter bullshit of all the other boys in school. From the age of fourteen, I knew better than to think I'd ever get what I needed emotionally from a fellow classmate, that the best any girl of my emotional depth could get was physical fun, and that wasn't saying a lot. That's the curse of being emotionally overdeveloped: that you have to wait for godawful years for any of your needs to be met.
All year - five minutes free, ten minutes free, it didn't matter, was given to rough, primal pawing and necking. I barely spoke to the guy for months. There wasn't really anything to talk about. We were held together by the threadbare bond of not being able to keep our hands off each other.
It got to the point where over winter break, we both lied about going home to the administrators and staying at school to our parents, and spent a week holed up in a shitty room in a run-down hotel in the inner city that didn't card minors. It was a scene ripped straight from Traffic, minus the drugs. (Incidently, it's looking like the boyfriend of the girl from Traffic really was named Seth, but I didn't remember that. Naturally, my Seth doesn't look like Topher Grace.) Just breathless coupling, only interrupted to go out and track down food. But funnily, it was the only time we bothered to try to get to know each other, catching our breaths whilst playing out the refractory periods.
The sexual relationship with Seth never once felt empty, and there's a good reason why. When you have no basis for comparison, when you've never been emotionally fulfilled, the emptiness doesn't have a chance to set in. So it's true that ignorance really is bliss. If you've never been in the Garden of Eden, you really don't know what you're missing, and a flower box on your windowsill is okay.