As the fantasy took hold I began to move involuntarily and the bed moved beneath me. It rocked me, and while it was my muscles which caused the bed to move, it was as though the bed itself was moving and I was being tossed limp upon it. Rocked in the womb of darkness, rocked on the waves of my fantasy. Jennifer sucked him in my mind, and a faceless shapeless Arlene watched us, and the bed rocked me.
I did not touch myself. I did not move my hands at all. My arms lay limp, flaccid, Venus de Milo arms of which I was barely aware. I did not touch myself at all but let the rocking and the fantasy bring me unassisted to an intense, shattering, extended orgasm.
When it was over I waited a long time before opening my eyes. Waited first for the effects to wear off while I savored disinclination to meet his gaze.
We talked for awhile. He said it had been fascinating to watch me, that the image that kept recurring to him was one of a witch locked in sexual union with the Devil.
“What would you call what I did?”
“Call it?”
“Was it masturbation?”
“Oh. I don’t know exactly. You didn’t touch yourself, rub against anything.”
“No. It was all mental.”
“Fantasy tripping.”
“Yes.”
“What was the fantasy?”
“Don’t want to say.”
“Fair enough. I don’t think it would fit my concept of masturbation.”
“Is it better or worse?”
“Than masturbation? I don’t know. Did it feel better or worse? Do you feel better or worse about it now?”
“I don’t know.”
I just stopped typing long enough to call Wayne and Maureen. Funny. I thought it would be easy talking to them after what I have done with Bill, the changes I have gone through. It was not as impossible as my first conversation with him, the business of dialing the number and hanging up, all of that, but neither was it as routine as I had somehow thought it would be. I was nervous, had trouble getting words together.
Maybe it is new with each new person and you have to go through fighting the same defense mechanisms all over again. I’ll have to think about this.
No point putting down the whole conversation. It was Maureen who answered. I have a feeling this is not her name, because when I asked her if this was Maureen, her voice changed slightly and she seemed to take it for granted that this was a sex call. I wonder if they always use the same false names or if they use a different one with each letter, so they can tell instantly who they’re hearing from.
(That sounds too involved. I’m projecting my own elaborate compulsive furtiveness on others.)
Briefly — I’m meeting them Saturday at a cafe on West 72nd Street. I am to take a table in the outdoor garden and will be reading a copy of Swann’s Way. (Doubt I’ll be reading it. I’ve had my copy for years and never managed to get through the first chapter.) And Maureen will sit with me and we can talk. Wayne will be baby-sitting. If I want to see him too before committing myself, or if he wants to see me, I’ll wait there while she relieves him as a baby sitter.
Complicated but sensible. They must be rather experienced at this.
I think I’ll go to the concert tomorrow night.
A thought — there are hundreds of concerts and plays and lectures every night in New York, yet the only one I consider going to is the one on Barrow Street. Because I went twice. And thus am comfortable with it, and unwilling to try anything new in its place.
Same as being easy in Bill’s company but nervous with Maureen?
Enough.
The daffodils still look quite nice. I thought they would be dead by now. Bought them Monday and they still look good Thursday night.
If I could save some money I probably ought to furnish this place a little better. It’s comfortable, but it wouldn’t be hard to improve it a little. I sometimes think it shouldn’t matter as no one but me ever sets foot inside it. But all the more reason to make it perfect, as it is the only place where I am always perfectly alone.
26 March — Friday
I went shopping on my lunch hour and spent most of my paycheck on clothes.
I was sitting at my desk this morning trying to decide what to wear tomorrow. I began to feel a little apprehensive at the thought of meeting those two tomorrow night. The whole idea of meeting at the cafe and having Maureen give me a once-over, and if she likes what she sees she can have Wayne give me a once-over. Makes me feel like merchandise on display, which is irritating, but also makes me feel as though the merchandise has to be displayed to best advantage.
Went through my wardrobe mentally and decided nothing was really that exciting. And nothing is. I have just never been an exciting dresser. I automatically pick blah clothes. As if I want to make sure I don’t stand out.
(Though something must show now in my face or my walk or something. I always used to slouch. I began to get over this in college but never quite stood right, I don’t think, and maybe my posture is better now or maybe it’s something in my face, but whatever it is, men are looking at me more frequently on the street. It can’t all be my imagination, or my noticing things I haven’t noticed before. I just must be prettier than I used to be. What a good feeling that is, the feeling that one is getting prettier. That one is becoming a more attractive person.)
Never occurred to me to dress for Bill. To dress especially for Bill. Because he made it so obvious he would take me as I am, I guess.
Also the idea that it’s Maureen who will see me first. And women judge you that way more than men do.
Went to a few of the Village boutiques. Cashed my paycheck at the bank and spent almost all of it on two skirt and top outfits and a one-piece hot pants and top. I never would have bought anything like them before. Short skirts, hot pants, bold colors, sharp patterns — not my kind of thing at all.
Couldn’t wait to get home and try them on again. Tried them all on and struck poses in front of the mirror. Took the last of them off and struck nude poses in front of the mirror. And stood there giggling inanely.
I think I’ll go to a beauty parlor tomorrow afternoon. I like my hair the way it is but I can get a wash-and-set. Shouldn’t cost much. I’ve got enough in the bank to cover the rent easily enough.
Funny thought — no sooner do I think about saving money for furniture than I wipe out the savings in advance buying clothes.
Of course I won’t wear any of the new outfits to the office.
The concert tonight? I have time. I think I’ll go, but be just as happy not meeting anyone. In fact I don’t want to meet anyone, or at least I think I don’t. You know what it is? I want to think to myself that I’m looking to meet someone, but I also hope nothing happens.
What to wear? Not the hot pants. Maybe I’ll wear the hot pants tomorrow night. Tonight — I don’t know. I think my old blue A-line will do. No point in rushing things, is there?
27 March — Saturday
Actually the date is wrong, to be technical. It’s past midnight so it’s officially Sunday morning. Just walked in the door exhausted and no time to write anything. This is just a compulsive note so I won’t miss a day.
28 March — Sunday
There was no one at the concert I recognized. A couple of men seemed to be eyeing me but I’m not sure. Unattractive anyway. One of them had no chin. Not his fault, but why doesn’t he hide it with a beard?