Beautiful, depraved

Intimacy. Debauchery. Irreverence.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

The anxiety of falling in love

"The anxiety of falling in love could only find repose in bed."
- One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez


I get very anxious when I fall in love.

My stomach churns and I'm often fraught with uneasiness, in between periods of calm serenity. I fear loss, I fear falling adrift. I fear exposure and crave it at the same time.

I once had a lover; he was 55 (I like the old ones), and he had just the remedy for my ambivalence, my swaying on one foot to slip out the door, my restlessness: Fucking me senseless.

Our first night(s) together involved a weekend at his chalet. He fucked me night and day. Eight to ten times a night, and again two or three times in the morning after what might have been a handful of intermittent 45 minute naps to recharge. I remember feeling like he broke me. I felt soft and quaky, but it was different. "I feel so vulnerable," I said. "You can be that way in the right hands," he said.

It continued on like this - we were well matched in our appetites for marathon fucking. After the hours of wild sex passed, I felt reassured and euphoric. If the anxiety would bubble up in me again, I could rest easily in the knowledge that he would flip me over, shove his cock inside me and make me forget about any of it. All I was aware of was the free fall and the sense of being surrounded by his love. A soft, thick intimacy. Such is the power of penetration. And presence.

There's a message in this for the boys: Fuck your women hard and fuck them often. And just to shake them up a bit, be exceedingly gentle, gentler than gentle and watch them come from the brush of your hand.

Photo: Morten Bjarnhof