The Interview

brazil_flag_mapI’ve been waiting to get this job. Two months now. Two interviews, waiting on a third. I’m starting to have a bad feeling. I think dating has prepared me for this – I know when they don’t want me, I can feel it when they become vacated of interest. It’s palpable.  Like when I said to Amanda that I would never want kids, that I hated kids, that having kids would be the worst possible thing I could do to my life, I could smell the silence, I could hear the light go out in her eyes. But we still had a good time. We still finished dinner. We still got gelato. We still made out in my car and I still felt her up. She had a nice body too. But she really wanted a baby in it at some point. So we would not have a second date. And I would not lie about what I want just to try sleeping with her.

Two interviews doesn’t mean anything either. I had two dates with Gabriela and I thought it was going well. She was a gorgeous six-foot-one Brazilian woman with thick, cascading red hair. She was into feminism and social justice and greasy food. We had similar appetites and she complained how she gained a hundred pounds since coming to the states. Sugar is in everything. And she can just see me as a fat American kid eating chicken nuggets and ketchup and I laughed it off but thought her choice of words was rather rude. We talked about how racist America is but still not as racist as Brazil. Apparently, if you’re anything other than black, you’re white. Asians, Mexicans, they’re all white so long as they’re not black. We talked about how when she was 13 she was in an abusive relationship with a 19 year old boy and how her dad would drive drunk with a bottle of whisky between his legs because that’s fairly standard down there.

Since she was new in town I drove her around some of the more beautiful parts of the city – the river, the statues, the park. Such beautiful expanses, still held within the city limits. She wore a charming blue and white Greek inspired dress and I tried rubbing her leg a bit throughout the drive even though I still had no idea what I was doing. When we got back I gave her a six pack of her favorite, illusive beer and she took me upstairs. I didn’t know what to expect. I was still struggling with confidence issues before taking pills. And a three flight walk up doesn’t exactly put me on my game. But we split a beer and made out and all I could think was this amazing woman could have any guy up here with her, and she’s chosen to have me, and I creeped my hand up her thigh until I realized she wasn’t wearing panties and I fingered her, and sucked her pierced nipples, and pulled her hair and choked her, and she told me harder, don’t be afraid, and I strummed her clit and she grabbed my wrist and said she’s not a banjo, and I really wanted a blowjob but I didn’t know what to do, and I said her sucking on my finger makes me think about putting my cock in her mouth, and she whimpered, asked to please put my cock in her mouth and it clicked and I just told her to suck it, and she got down on her knees and I was afraid I wouldn’t be ready but she worked it and held on to my thighs as I held on to her amazing fiery red mane and fucked her mouth until I asked if she wanted my cum and she squealed with delight and I shot down her throat and she said thank you and we kissed and I asked if she liked how it tastes and she said it tastes like victory, it’s her reward for the effort, and I really wanted to see her again and eat her pussy and fuck her but that would be our last date because she’s looking for love and she didn’t see a future for us. There was that familiar paranoid silence between texts which gave me a bad feeling.

But I kept thinking about how much she enjoyed giving me head. Is it possible she just blew me for selfish reasons? Instead of me giving it to her, did she take it from me? Did she already know there was no future for us and decided to play me just to suck a dick? Would I have been more powerful to deny her? Fuck no, I wanted that blowjob. I craved that blowjob like steel craves a stone. My edge will grow dull without it, but getting sharper means I will lose a small amount of myself in the end.

But I’m not always right. After all, I got the job.

Love

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I planned my weeks out on Saturday. Which is actually Tuesday because that’s my day off. Wednesday is Monday and Monday is Friday and Friday is like Wednesday and a half. Jennifer and Alice on Wednesday. Debra on Thursday. Angela and Annie on Friday. Jennifer again on Saturday. Someone new on Sunday. Danielle on Monday. Of course poor Danielle would usually be at the end of the week and she wasn’t very experienced so her impression of me was someone who could fuck forever and needed help to cum. The upside to this was that I could go long enough for her to really learn about her own orgasms and revel in them. But I take the weekends off and on a Monday I’ll cum like a motherfucker. The weekend is Tuesday. Monday is Wednesday. Before I realized it I was breaking up with people left and right just to spend more time with Danielle. She has my heart, and I love her.

Telling someone you love them isn’t easy. But it’s even harder to tell other people about your love. With you and the one you love there’s a short connection, a minimal tether over which that emotion, that intimate expression is carried. But other people are generally farther out on that network. The connection requires greater energy, and durability. The signal may be held to more scrutiny, or just the opposite, what the fuck do they care?

She said to me that whatever it is we’re doing, she likes it. I looked in her eyes and then shyed away. I told her that I do too. I wanted to tell her I loved her. But I couldn’t then. Just like I couldn’t at the pizza shop. Just like I couldn’t at the Jazz café. Just like I couldn’t in the heat of passion. But love is passion. It can be one of the most regrettable things to say at the height of orgasm. You can never take it back. But how can you tell someone something with certainty, even though it cannot be explained? Love is not something you reason. But I still knew one day soon I would not be able to contain my feelings any longer and I would be forced to make myself more vulnerable than I would prefer. I purposefully waited until after sex to tell her. That way I could feel absolutely sure. We talked about what it really is that we’re “doing,” and she said, “I get sad sometimes that you don’t feel the way about me that I do about you.”

I replied, “I have strong feelings for you,” But she exhaled sharply and turned away in a bit of a panic. Now or never, I thought. “You know, I love you.” Her head snapped back and she looked in my eyes.

“Wait, what?” She demanded.

“I love you.”

She lunged at me and said, “I love you, too,” before smothering me with kisses, her fingers deep in my hair. We kept the neighbors up that night. She truly can’t help it and normally, any consideration to my neighbors in this old building would involve me duct taping her mouth shut, or covering it with my hand, or smothering her with a pillow. And if I didn’t cover her mouth, she would do it herself out of embarrassment. But I held her arms back the night I told her I love her and let her screams ring out. I loved her cries of “fuck fuck fuck” more than the way Jennifer would go “shit shit shit” and more than how Annie would go “ok ok ok” or Debra’s “mhm mhm mhm” or Alice’s “yes yes yes” and normally Danielle gets so loud I can’t even finish because I’m afraid to keep going and tonight I thought, fuck the neighbors! This is love! And I gave her everything I had and finally lost control and when we were done I could hear the neighbor’s dog whimpering and I thought that perhaps that’s what our love is like. Because for me, love will always accompany the thought of trembling in the pre-dawn darkness, filled with anxiety and despair and wondering what’s next.

In the morning she said to me that David Bowie had left this world. I washed off our sex dander and put on the only Bowie vinyl I had, some garage sale copy of Dancing with the Big Boys. We sat there cuddling on the couch. I thought about everyone who I knew and loved. It was a short list.