1. K
I'd fallen for an art student who lived down the street.
She had pearly white teeth and a wild mane of hair--
wore tank tops and paint-spattered jeans.
And I used to find reasons to visit her at her studio
at the university we both attended.
At first she rejected me.
And the old feeling that I was unlovable came back.
But one day,
when she saw me sitting on a stoop, head in hands,
she gathered me up,
took me to her apartment,
and fucked the living shit out of me.
We fucked so hard the corner of her bed frame punched a hole in the wall.
And she screamed the entire time.
I'd never heard anything like it.
We saw each other a lot.
I thought I was in love.
When I asked her why she'd changed her mind about sleeping with me,
she said,
"What can I say?
I'm a soft touch."
2. C1
I'd been wanting her for months.
She was in her fifties;
I was thirty-one.
And when her dinner party was over
I was the last to leave.
There was the goodbye hug that lasted longer than expected
then the kissing
and the unbuttoning of her blouse.
There was the unzipping of the skirt--
the sound that it made.
I can't remember how her stockings came off
or what happened to her high heeled shoes
but there she was--
in the middle of her living room--
in black underwear--
her skin, a ghostly white.
We went into her bedroom
and I could barely contain myself.
I did everything I knew how to do--
ran my hands over her skin,
sucked on her tits,
went down on her.
She was like a juicy peach.
When it was finally time for the main event,
I lost control completely--
the wanting had been that intense.
Within seconds it was over.
3. R
We met at a convention.
She was from Mexico City and stood about 4'10''.
When we got it on,
she was like the soundtrack to some grainy internet porn flick--
you know--
the free kind.
"Oh, fuck me, baby.
Fuck me deep.
Fuck yes!"
Only it was more like "Fuck jes!"
One time,
she was in town for a meeting
and stayed at my apartment.
"What are we doing for dinner, baby?"
she asked.
"I don't know about you," I replied,
"but I feel like eating a little Mexican."
4. C2
She was southern and wrote cookbooks with titles like
Simple and Easy,
Simple and Elegant,
Simple and Simpler.
She invited me to her apartment to taste some simple samples.
From the get-go she wasn't my type
but I figured What the heck?
I was young--
Well, younger than I am now.
So, after dinner, we did it
and somehow I managed to function.
After it was over and I was resting my hand on her belly,
she told me not to put pressure on that particular spot
because she'd had an organ transplant
and that was where they'd put her new kidney.
5. S
We met while I was on a business trip--
at some hotel in the Midwest.
She came from money--
kept horses in a stable near Seattle.
We'd go to her room,
spend long sessions kissing and,
each night,
she'd let me remove one more article of her clothing
than she had the night before.
The whole thing was like torture.
Finally, on the last night we'd be together,
we went "all the way."
She was blind.
Macular degeneration.
Her guide dog slept by the side of the bed.
6. L
We met for drinks at an old inn
and sat on a lumpy sofa till we were making out.
We rode the subway back to her place,
sat on her bed and kissed.
Pretty soon I was unbuttoning her shirt
sliding my hand over the silky satin of her bra.
"OK," she said,
"but remember that fifties rule about keeping one foot on the
floor at all times?
Let's stick with that, OK?"
But in a few minutes we were both half naked on the bed.
The rule had been forgotten.
"Enter me," she said. "I'm not afraid."
7. J
J was a smoker and a drinker.
She invited me over for dinner and made chicken with a Dijon
mustard sauce.
I hung out in the kitchen while she cooked,
standing behind her,
smelling her strong perfume,
our dinner,
and the smoke from her Newport Menthol 100s.
She kept an ashtray and a drink on her kitchen counter
and paused periodically to take up one or the other.
After dinner we went into her bedroom.
After we were through,
she sat on the edge of the bed with her drink and her cigarette.
She kept talking even though I was trying to go to sleep--
talking and rattling the ice in her drink.
8. Dead
K, C1, R, C2, S, L, and J are all dead.
I'd find out years
(sometimes decades)
after the fact.
By accident--
in a trade journal,
or sometimes through a friend of a friend of a friend.
K died of cancer.
Couldn't afford to pay her medical bills.
Artists don't make very much.
C1 died.
High blood pressure.
She had several strokes then died.
R died.
Complications of juvenile diabetes.
C2 died.
Renal failure.
S died.
I'm not sure what of.
I never heard.
L died.
At her own hand I guess you'd say.
Overdose.
J died in an apartment fire.
Fell asleep with a lit cigarette.
I'd fallen for an art student who lived down the street.
She had pearly white teeth and a wild mane of hair--
wore tank tops and paint-spattered jeans.
And I used to find reasons to visit her at her studio
at the university we both attended.
At first she rejected me.
And the old feeling that I was unlovable came back.
But one day,
when she saw me sitting on a stoop, head in hands,
she gathered me up,
took me to her apartment,
and fucked the living shit out of me.
We fucked so hard the corner of her bed frame punched a hole in the wall.
And she screamed the entire time.
I'd never heard anything like it.
We saw each other a lot.
I thought I was in love.
When I asked her why she'd changed her mind about sleeping with me,
she said,
"What can I say?
I'm a soft touch."
2. C1
I'd been wanting her for months.
She was in her fifties;
I was thirty-one.
And when her dinner party was over
I was the last to leave.
There was the goodbye hug that lasted longer than expected
then the kissing
and the unbuttoning of her blouse.
There was the unzipping of the skirt--
the sound that it made.
I can't remember how her stockings came off
or what happened to her high heeled shoes
but there she was--
in the middle of her living room--
in black underwear--
her skin, a ghostly white.
We went into her bedroom
and I could barely contain myself.
I did everything I knew how to do--
ran my hands over her skin,
sucked on her tits,
went down on her.
She was like a juicy peach.
When it was finally time for the main event,
I lost control completely--
the wanting had been that intense.
Within seconds it was over.
3. R
We met at a convention.
She was from Mexico City and stood about 4'10''.
When we got it on,
she was like the soundtrack to some grainy internet porn flick--
you know--
the free kind.
"Oh, fuck me, baby.
Fuck me deep.
Fuck yes!"
Only it was more like "Fuck jes!"
One time,
she was in town for a meeting
and stayed at my apartment.
"What are we doing for dinner, baby?"
she asked.
"I don't know about you," I replied,
"but I feel like eating a little Mexican."
4. C2
She was southern and wrote cookbooks with titles like
Simple and Easy,
Simple and Elegant,
Simple and Simpler.
She invited me to her apartment to taste some simple samples.
From the get-go she wasn't my type
but I figured What the heck?
I was young--
Well, younger than I am now.
So, after dinner, we did it
and somehow I managed to function.
After it was over and I was resting my hand on her belly,
she told me not to put pressure on that particular spot
because she'd had an organ transplant
and that was where they'd put her new kidney.
5. S
We met while I was on a business trip--
at some hotel in the Midwest.
She came from money--
kept horses in a stable near Seattle.
We'd go to her room,
spend long sessions kissing and,
each night,
she'd let me remove one more article of her clothing
than she had the night before.
The whole thing was like torture.
Finally, on the last night we'd be together,
we went "all the way."
She was blind.
Macular degeneration.
Her guide dog slept by the side of the bed.
6. L
We met for drinks at an old inn
and sat on a lumpy sofa till we were making out.
We rode the subway back to her place,
sat on her bed and kissed.
Pretty soon I was unbuttoning her shirt
sliding my hand over the silky satin of her bra.
"OK," she said,
"but remember that fifties rule about keeping one foot on the
floor at all times?
Let's stick with that, OK?"
But in a few minutes we were both half naked on the bed.
The rule had been forgotten.
"Enter me," she said. "I'm not afraid."
7. J
J was a smoker and a drinker.
She invited me over for dinner and made chicken with a Dijon
mustard sauce.
I hung out in the kitchen while she cooked,
standing behind her,
smelling her strong perfume,
our dinner,
and the smoke from her Newport Menthol 100s.
She kept an ashtray and a drink on her kitchen counter
and paused periodically to take up one or the other.
After dinner we went into her bedroom.
After we were through,
she sat on the edge of the bed with her drink and her cigarette.
She kept talking even though I was trying to go to sleep--
talking and rattling the ice in her drink.
8. Dead
K, C1, R, C2, S, L, and J are all dead.
I'd find out years
(sometimes decades)
after the fact.
By accident--
in a trade journal,
or sometimes through a friend of a friend of a friend.
K died of cancer.
Couldn't afford to pay her medical bills.
Artists don't make very much.
C1 died.
High blood pressure.
She had several strokes then died.
R died.
Complications of juvenile diabetes.
C2 died.
Renal failure.
S died.
I'm not sure what of.
I never heard.
L died.
At her own hand I guess you'd say.
Overdose.
J died in an apartment fire.
Fell asleep with a lit cigarette.
