Friday, April 29, 2011

Cowboy Whore

Joel, the actor from the love scene I had on Saturday (http://soibecameanactress.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-first-almost-love-scene.html), asked me out for drinks with the contingency that I not mention him in this blog. Now, I should say, since then he gave me permission to write whatever I wanted. The following:

We met for drinks at Fox N' Hounds on Ventura. We had a couple beers and spoke about the blog. He said he read about 8 or 9 entries and felt like he knew me, which was weird because I knew nothing about him. It gave him a surreal advantage in the conversation. Although, I am aware being this kind of cerebral exhibitionist does come with that expectation, you feel like you are always playing catch up with people.

Someone at work teased me about a few random points of my life and I said, "How do you know so much about me?" I write and arrange these thoughts and experiences but after I click "publish" they wash away. I don't think about where they go and who they influence, except those closest to me.

There was something different about Joel. The sweet, shy, gentleman I worked with on the set was blunt, laid back and even a little arrogant at the bar. He said, "When you talk about things, you are so confident and opinionated about it- my first reaction is to challenge you. Prove you wrong." This was interesting. I asked him if he thought he would have that reaction to anyone or just a pretty woman. He said, "Anyone."

I said, "Are you sure? Even with an older, black man? You would feel the same reaction?"

I don't remember his response though I believe there was a thoughtful pause. I do remember at one point, he interrupted me and said, "Its my turn to talk now, so let me say what I want to say." I can dominate, I guess, when I am excited about a topic. His tone was authoritative, almost angry, but he effortlessly bounced back to the conversation. Who was this guy?

He is highly intelligent. He is one of those people you have to watch what you say around because he is paying attention. You have to be on your toes and stay confident. I still liked him, but he was a different man than the one on set. My guard came back up.

We trailed off in conversation about personal relationships a little bit. More his than mine at first. When I talk about my broken heart, I start trying to untangle a web of complicated feelings. It isn't fair to whoever is listening, especially when I am drinking and stoned.

A cover band played in the next room, starting with Oasis, Sublime, Green Day, then . . . they performed “Say It Ain't So” by Weezer. 

That song really stirs me up. It’s become a distraction. I don't listen to it anymore just so I can stay focused on what I have to do for the day.  Nor at night, because I can't sleep afterward. In this case, I said, “Sorry but (singing) Dear Daddy, I write you in spite of years of silence.
You cleaned up, found Jesus, Things are good oh-so I hear.
This bottle of Stevens awakens ancient feelings...
Like father, Step-Father...
Your son is drowning in your blood!

(I have tried to verify these lyrics on-line, most websites say 'son drowning in the flood', which I find less poetic.)

We finished our drinks and he invited me back to his place to smoke up.

I'll be honest. I wanted to make out with someone.

It was a hot day and I got through my anniversary with Abe ok. I wanted to be touched by someone I had little to no association with.

I followed him back to a studio apartment behind a building, sandwiched between a freeway and a train. He had a futon on his floor with a computer. No desk. No coffee table. Incredibly simple and small. I wondered if that is how I should be living, but that would be in a world without pittie princesses.

My memory is incredibly foggy with regards to the conversations of the night, partly because I thought I couldn't document them- so I was lazy with his words, and let them spill through my head and hands. Somehow we got on the subject of pornography and I found myself on his computer trying to make a video called 'Japanese Toilet Porn' stream. I was talking aloud to myself, "This is a bad idea. This sets the wrong tone for me. I am interested in purely an academic kind of way."

He fact-checked my blog/Facebook and told me on the shoot that he only had half an erection, and that he didn't think about kissing me goodbye but did ask about the blog to stay in touch. I said, "I know." He leaned in and said, "I also don't think I slipped you the tongue." And then he kissed me. He clearly thought about what to say before reaching in for the kiss.

I told him he was different tonight. He replied, "Well, I was a stupid cowboy . . ."

I said, "Cowboy whore."

He repeated in a low voice, "Yes, cowboy whore." Then kissed me again. The way he spoke to me felt a little dirty. The whole experience felt a smidge dirty. It was more on the carnal side of things; certainly nothing romantic. I never asked for romance, but some is ideal when engaged in anything sexual.

I tend to think romance and chivalry go hand in hand. The sweetness I enjoyed in Saturday's Joel was totally gone, like it was never there. I tend to think somehow I invited this change in behavior.

The lights went out, though I don't remember how.

He went down on me and that was certainly enjoyable. When I finished, and fondled his penis, I realized he had a bigger dick than pretty much anyone I had been with. I'll be honest, I was intimidated.

While catching my breath, I said, "Thank you. I would go down on you too if I didn't have a rule about blow jobs and monogamy. I don't know how the hell I would fit that thing in my mouth, anyway."

There was silence and I sat up and said, "I can't see your face."

He said, "I'm smiling."

After an hour or two of sleep, I woke up and realized I was drooling on his shoulder. I tried to do my best to manage that situation without waking him, but he was roused.

We discussed relationships while kicking blankets and burrowing in pillows. The morning light was breaking through the cracks of foil over a blocked skylight in the ceiling.

He said, "I don't think monogamy works. At least not for me."

I said, "Men require sexual variety."

He said, "Its not that. Its the person I fall in love with will always be changing. How do I know I will still be in love with whoever they become in 5-10 yrs?" He stopped short. "I just became aware that you could put everything I am saying on paper. Its weird, I was just reminded of that."

I said, "I am good for the promise."

He said, "I don't care, you can write anything you want. I only mentioned the privacy thing in the email to see if you would still see me."

There seems to be an interesting dynamic forming between me and the people in my life. They are attracted to the brutal honesty and raw quality of my writing, but they are scared of it, too. 

My #3 date on OkCupid asked I never write about him and still emails paranoid feelers about it- even though our relationship only spanned a few hours over one date. I am aware what I write here will be absorbed, remembered and alter everything. Not only my sexual relationship with Joel, but the next man who wants to get involved with me, and the next. Not to mention, his friends and family. At the moment, I have nothing to lose.

That might change, but for now, this is how it stands and its ideal for my writing.

He said, "You know, I have condoms."

I said, "Does that mean you wish to penetrate me?"

He chuckled and said, "Yes." He kissed me. (in a whisper) "I wish to penetrate you."

I said, "Let me think about this. I don't really care for casual sex. It’s not something I do. But . . . I am curious. (beat) Your penis is intimidating. Have you ever hurt a girl with it?"

He said, "Yeah . . . I have. But I have learned how to enter slowly, and when you open up to me, it eases in comfortably."

Those words, 'when you open up to me' turned me on. I said, "When was the last time you had unprotected sex with a girl?"

He said, "2 months ago."

I said, "I see." I thought about disease but desire already trickled down my thigh to the bed sheets.

We had sex. Something is terribly attractive about base pleasure right now; eating a big dinner, sunbathing, sleeping a lot, making love (none of which I have been able to do) . . . my mind and heart have been on overdrive and I just wanted to surrender to something. Like when I passed out at the club on Valentine's Day. That minute I was unconscious, I was aware of being lost in darkness and it was a relief. The moment I came to, my financial and emotional burdens hung hard on my shoulders.

I should also note, Joel is the third guy to put his hand around my neck in an intimate gesture. They don't squeeze, but it kind of puts them in control. Abe did it, and I allowed it. When I was drunk and the Comic crashed my bed, he put his hand on my throat while my mind danced in and out of a whiskey coma. Now Joel had his hand around my throat. It’s interesting; it’s a bold gesture and forces me to trust them right away. I am not sure I like that.

The condom slowly killed his erection. I said, "Condoms suck. I know. I'm sorry. We could have unprotected sex if you didn't sleep with another girl for 6 months."

He said, "Isn't there a test I can take?"

I said, "The gynos at Planned Parenthood said the herpes test is unreliable, and really the only way to know you have it is if you have an outbreak within 6 months of contact."

He said, "6 months without unprotected sex with a girl, or protected too?"

I said, "Probably protected too because of the genital to genital contact." Too much?

Silence.

We fell back asleep but I had to get up and go home.

He said, "I really would like to do this again some time."

I don't know if I answered him. I thought I would like that too . . . but the change in demeanor has my mind spinning a bit. I don't know that I do trust him, but I am not sure that matters. I need the sexual release and I enjoyed his body and conversation. I think I understand why men integrate sex into their daily life, the release helps your mind focus in on more important things.

That said, a part of me wished he was a little more like the cowboy whore who giggled after we kissed and walked me to my car. That chid-like embarrassment with intimacy keeps it light in our minds and heavy in our stomachs.

Today, Em and I went to see Hall Pass at a second run theater. (It sucked.) Afterward, we sipped coffee outside an Armenian café on a hot afternoon. We were both half asleep from hang-overs and the first breath of summer heat. We were comfortable exploring private tunnels of thought, while sitting across from each other in silence.

I told her about Joel and she said, "He probably read the blog about how you were turned on and thought I'm gonna ask her out and .  . you know . . ."

I nodded, "I was a sure thing."

She said, "Yeah. But why would that make him less chivalrous? Because he knew he could get it? That's disturbing."

I said, "Yeah . . . maybe chivalry is only meant to appeal to the mystery of a person. Or it’s just a form of seduction."

The opportunity to compare staged love scenes in character to a real sexual experience as ourselves is fascinating. I gave up my power, and he regained it. I required some coaxing and time, he worked me until I got there.

Was he just that good of an actor?

It is easier now to have sex with someone who isn’t my boyfriend. That worries me . . . just a little.

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