It's A Small World

Guess what? Ethan and I came back to Singapore for a couple of days so I could collect my A Level certificate (in case you’re wondering, I did manage to get a decent enough score to enter the Fine Art and Design course I wanted) and he decided to meet a few of his friends he’d gotten to know back, oh, a year or so ago. He probably went on a rather lengthy exposition of the more decent aspects of our exploits, and one of the girls asked if I wrote a blog. I was thoroughly embarrassed. I’d hate for him to read it, and he promised he wouldn’t (and he’d rather not anyway), and he’s not, for over a year now, so I suppose I’m safe. I think honesty would be the healthier alternative to all the dodging around with previous partners and all that, but when a guy doesn’t even want to give you a rough estimate of how many women he’s fucked previously, I simply do not think it’s possible. His psychological makeup’s probably not designed to comprehend frankness of such-like.

Well, it is a small world.

I met Martine last night while E was out having dinner with people I didn’t know who knew me (and thank god I didn’t go). It was weird at first, after spending the last 5-ish week with only one person. I entered his apartment, and he pulled me into an embrace, and I started wondering, ‘does he think I’m pretending to adore him?’ and I started wondering myself if I was just pretending. Meeting him for the sake of meeting him. It was all well and over in a couple of minutes though, and I realized why I liked him so much.

Maybe it’s because Patrick Susskind’s Perfume was fresh in my mind, and maybe because there’s some truth in his writing. Martine smells lovely to me. I told him so. To me, everything about him is erotic, I cannot not feel like making love to him, I cannot not want to touch him, stroke him, breathe him as often as I possibly can. I really missed him, and he was dying to see me… or so he said, and I certainly believe it. He gave me a CD (graduation gift, he forgot the exact date of my birthday, but no matter, I forgot his as well) it was an album he grew up with, and he’d never gotten over the songs. I like it, both the gift on it’s own –it’s a good CD- and the thought behind it. Perhaps I’m making things up, but perhaps he knew I would really appreciate things that gave me better introspection into his. Into him as a person, into something that was a part of him at some time.

He made love to me rather roughly, and it was all over very quickly, to much disappointment. But it was nice. We spent an hour after that cuddling, and I’ve no idea why, but I didn’t feel like pushing him away. That happens with Ethan sometimes. Initially I thought it was because I was loosing ‘it’. Whatever ‘it’ was supposed to me. Heightened eroticism, my capacity for sensuality, perhaps. But last night I realized that just wasn’t it. Maybe Susskind is right, and there’s something more then just how a person looks on the outside that matters. Maybe it’s not even how a person smells. I think it’s an aura. And Martine leaves off a completely sensual, absolutely erotic visage. I love melting into his arms, and breathing him, and kissing him, and lying on his belly and taking all of the way his skin smells into me. He thinks he needs to loose some weight, but I personally don’t care. Everything is perfect; it probably isn’t – the Princess doesn’t think he’s attractive in the least. I told him, and he was probably insulted, and behaved like, ‘if she doesn’t want me I don’t care’. I suppose he thinks himself very attractive sometimes. I agree of course, but he’s just one of those people you’d either find you lust for or you don’t.

He asked me about Ethan (how’s the your Swiss boy?). I told him quite honestly that I am indeed awfully fond of him as a boyfriend, despite the fact that I don’t find him very sensual. Partly maybe because he attempts to get me laid so often I find it a chore sometimes to get myself turned on sufficiently (And not that this is of much relevance, but he’s just around always, such that I can’t Jill off in peace, and that infringement of something so privately pleasurable started to get on me a few weeks back –a few weeks without private jilling off time is a big deal to a girl that does it twice a day normally).

Ethan likes the little game we play. All the psycho mind-fuck. It gets me off always, the name calling, the belt collars, the weird role-playing. He likes it, I need it. Not all the time, but more often then I think is natural. But then again, what’s really natural. It’s not like I’m only able to have sex under the circumstance where someone’s making me say I’m a slutty, cheap whore. It’s actually rather fucked up when I’m semi-drunk. That happened a few times, and I’m no longer able to distinguish between role play and reality, and for awhile I got really mad at him making me say dirty things about myself.

Martine says I’m a rather peculiar girl, and for some strange reason, he said he wasn’t going to marry me. I thought it was weird, but maybe even men have biological clocks. I think it’s likelier that he brushed the though lightly because his girlfriend has been pestering for the pointless tedium of marriage. (What the hell is it for anyway? A guarantee to a good life forever and forever? I’ve been reading Tom Robbins, and am very convinced that Time is the cause of many unnecessary problems and irritating systems, like marriage. Time gives the sense of the possibility of an ending, and –I think- some women need marriage as a ticket to bypass that ending. There’s something about the false sense of ‘eternity’ –even though it is completely stupid since we all die anyway- that matrimony prescribes that they really, really like.)

‘Why won’t you marry me?’ I ask, not particularly insulted, but rather upset at the fact that I wasn’t perfect for everything.

‘Because you’re peculiar. Not in a bad or good way, just in a way that I can’t satisfy.’

‘I don’t think so. I love talking to you, and you’re very sensual… so sensual I could satisfy my mind with trying to feel all of it. And you have a comfortable bed.’

‘I couldn’t role play.’

‘Why not? How hard is it to call a girl a slut?’

‘I couldn’t. I’d just say it, then laugh.’

‘It’s no problem anyway. I’m not a role play junkie, I just have to do it sometimes when I don’t feel turned on enough, and I have to. You’re so sensual I don’t need any of it.
You know, there are only 2 guys I’ve fucked whom I can say I really, thoroughly, desire making love to again and again. And if they were gone, I would be sad, because I couldn’t. And you’re one of them. I’m not saying it to make you feel pleased about yourself. In all honesty, I mean it.’

‘I didn’t think I would be…’

‘You are completely erotic to me. In every sense. I never realized it until I spent all this time with Ethan. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. He is cute, biologically made to be good in bed, fresh smelling before latex burns, but there’s something missing. I don’t feel like enjoy kissing him for very long periods of time, I don’t like being coddled for too long. I love looking at him… maybe Susskind is right.’

He gave me this odd theory about how women either liked the way he smelled or they completely did not. He doesn’t smell bad at all, in any possible way, He finally came to the conclusion that some women can simply smell the infidelity within his nature. Maybe.

The date ended not too good unfortunately. Liz called him sometime while I was rubbing my cheek against his stomach, and he freaked and had to go and talk to her for a long while. After half an hour, it suddenly occurred to me that my phone was not set on silent and could ring while he was talking to her, and I started getting freaked out and peeked my head out of the door trying to figure out a good time to get out and obtain my phone.

I stood at the door naked, and slightly afraid. Ooh, Martine would really kill me if I left his bedroom. I did eventually, better that, then my phone ringing because I was for certain going to be late for my date with E. I got out, and he looked at me and made a face ‘fuck you!’ Not like he was pissed, but slightly irritated I suppose. Of course he got over it in a few minutes and apologized after that.

I felt a little awkward listening in onto his conversation with Liz. He was begging her not to be angry with him for not wishing to commit, or pleas-ing her about trying to be happy with her life at present and enjoy his company and support.

I’ve no idea why they’re taking so long about it. For certain he was not going to commit for a long time (i.e. till death do us part), and that was all she wanted, and wanted now. It’s quite a no-brainer to me, but according to him, it’s just so much more difficult when an individual doesn’t have the sort of self-assurance that comes from being born into a comfortable bourgeoisie family.

I’ve a whole lot of university deadline applications to read up on, so I’ll leave it here for now. My apologies for not writing more often, but the connections in Vietnam were really terrible after we left Saigon, and there was simply no time between rushing for airplanes, trains and boats and attempting to manage the laundry… I can’t answer emails either (then) because for some reason, g-mail doesn’t seem to work properly without DSL.

xoxox