Saturday, April 27, 2013

Musings: Personality squatter

It's right on the tip of my tongue. I hate not remembering. Modernist novel. Possibly on the proletariat. There's a scathing depiction of a woman squatter that roams around and picks up personality traits from the people she encounters because she's so hollow inside she can't retain an identity of her own. And I think there's a Alice B. Toklas tie-in. Think it was rumored that the depiction was of her.


The reason it comes to mind? The last two guys I played with I ended up grilling kinda hard on personal matters and I kinda wonder where the line is drawn from severe empathy to some sort of parasitic relationship as I suck the life out of someone. I mean, when does the camera turn inward? And at the same time I note the irony of the question as I'm posing it to myself, wrapped up all tightly in my head like a Christmas present sealed in duct (duck?) tape. Thrashing but still not open.

An old bud of mine from San Francisco was in town. We had first met up north at some gay sporting league and he showed me around the seedier side of SF, taking me to the leather bars where the sex-charged energy of the place took over and I had him in my lap as we swapped some spit. Next trip up, he had me pinned to the bed while he grabbed onto the headboard and face-fucked me until we both unloaded. Fast-forward a little more and we end up doing a double-date with our partners at a show. Then he's down in LA and we end up in a drunken three-way dogpile at my friend's place. I knew my friend would like him. He has a thing for the blond, blue-eyed type. And then just a couple of days ago, he's back in LA and I'm rubbing the huge load that I milked out of him evenly across his chest and mine, sealing us together as I grill him on his life.

I've had some awesome anonymous encounters that make me kick my heels up and flail like Snoopy doing his happy dance. What?  We CAN have the Chex party mix? Yay!

But I always end up asking for a repeat. And It seems like with every repeat, I want to delve further and further into personal matters. Maybe it's me being aggressive and demanding more and more of a person. Or maybe it's me wanting to enhance the waning sexual intensity of a repeat with the the added bonus and flare of extra intimacy in approximated friendship.

And that's where it gets confused. Sometimes I feel strangely detached as I recall details to inquire about the failing relationship with the significant other or the stresses from a demanding job. A little hollow as I'm persistent on getting an answer but a little routine and insufficient in sincerity. A shell, a container. Sucking up details to embellish a body that's not even mine. Hoarding collections of other personalities to substitute for my own lack of self.

This is what I thought of as I had my raw dick in a beautiful boy that's visibly wrestling with conflicting feelings, physically pulling me in and whining when I withdraw, but whispering protests while I slam it back in deep. So I stop and go back in to taste the sweet trace of whiskey on his breath and then roll off him. He's been more and more drunk on every visit and I put the pieces together in my head. He's a little aimless, jobs here and there but nothing that has yet yielded a profession. Actor, Realtor  internet startups. Then the push and pull, wanting me but not. He inquires about my partner and is confused as to why we're still together. I don't offer an easy explanation. And he protests in a slur across several octaves that he's not drunk when I express concern. But I still manage to get my dick back inside him and fuck with his head for a bit, making him beg for my load inside him before pulling out and shooting all over his chest.

Not sure why I pressed so hard. He wanted "something chill." Just some fun. An escape. And I pressed anyway to satisfy my own desire for... what? Just sucking the essence out of a person in a different way? I'm not sure.

And this could be something that comes across as kinda harsh on myself, but it's not that big of a struggle. Still detached and a bit apathetic. Still empty. I'm struggling less with what I'm doing and more on figuring out the name of that novel... that more and more reminds me of someone I know.

1 comment:

CoolTop said...

I kinda know that feeling too. I'm not sure what that push is that makes me do something similar. Is it just some vestigial reflex that equates sex with love or something? A program somewhere deep in my brain that almost irresistibly compels me to perform actions of someone wanting to couple with someone in a more than physical way? Is it oxytocin taking over my brain?

But I know exactly what you mean (or at least I think I do). Maybe it's just a normal reaction to having an amazing orgasm with a beautiful creature and being unable to face the feeling of, "Is that all there is?"