Thursday, June 22, 2006

The Difference Between Sex and Rough Sex

I once heard a story about a woman named Jodi who worked at a Donut Hole franchise. She'd get to work around five in the morning and stay until noon. The Donut Hole wasn't the kind of place that required a lot of make-up and nice clothes so her husband grew suspicious when she started leaving for work at three or four in the morning, full make-up, hair styled, and dressed in her Sunday best. The husband followed her one day and caught her in his pick-up truck with one of the Donut Hole regulars, an obese man with a propensity for chocolate-iced cruellers. The husband, an attractive man with a steady job, couldn't believe that he'd been cuckolded by someone bearing no resemblance to George Clooney or even one of George's cousins. Jodi ended up marrying Mr. Donut Hole, he died of a heart attack, and she returned to her husband. As St. Ray once observed, "Who knows why we do what we do?"

One of my dearest friends once made the astute observation that having sex by a dumpster (one of the calling cards of any illicit affair -- a dumpster being a good place to park your car and hide from everyone) is God's way of telling you that you are doing something that should end. Once I picked a paint color for a coffee table, Gargoyle's Shadow, for the name of it if not the thing itself. What could be better than something darker than the gargoyle? When I painted the table, I didn't like how it looked. Somehow it had seemed so much better when I bought it. I'd already opened the can, though, and used a lot of it, trying to see if multiple coats would change how I felt. It would be another thing that I couldn't return to the store, a purchase I'd made without thinking about the end result. In other words, sex by a dumpster, complete with the occasional smell of something rotting wafting in and killing whatever mood you'd managed to create in such cramped conditions.

Michelle's Spell of the Day

"Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" Dorothy to Glenda in The Wizard of Oz

My spell for the day is to watch "The Wizard of Oz" with cocktails of your choosing. This brilliant movie is the epitome of everything brilliant -- Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney, a lot of little people, and flying monkeys! And cheers to Robin, my Glenda! And Mr. Anonymous Rants should pay special attention to those scary flying monkeys, the monkeys in their summer suits, all apologies to Irwin Shaw.

Benedictions and Maledictions

First published in Eclipse:

The Difference Between Sex and Rough Sex

Two days before the first, my best friend Andrea wishes
strangers a Happy New Year, toasting every few minutes
to making men miserable while she watches her ex and his new
girlfriend kiss on the other side of the crowded bar. A Texas
swing band plays songs about sin and salvation, about love
and loss, the lead singer adorned with black flames on his jacket,
yelling, love changes every fucking thing. My younger sister
nurses a hot chocolate while Andrea slams shots of vodka laced
with lemon and sugar and complains about her bladder infection.
"I have to go all night," she says. "It's inconvenient."

On the ride home, Andrea sits in the back while my sister drives,
six months with a license and still nervous. Andrea sticks
her head between the seats and says, "I gave that bastard a blow-job
almost every night for four years. That should be worth something."
My sister nods, keeping her eyes on the road. "Every night?" she asks,
her voice filled with disbelief. Andrea nods. "I even had rough
sex with him." My sister wants to know the difference between sex
and rough sex. "Ask your sister," Andrea says. "She knows."

I put my head in my hands, the streetlights becoming a blur. "All
sex,"I say, "is rough." We drive past hotels and restaurants, strip bars
and movie theaters. If you have the time, Frank's Gentlemens Club offers
the place where desire and destiny meet, plus a steak dinner, only $4.99.
It's all for sale, I'm thinking, when Andrea starts to cry. "Rough
sex leaves marks,"she says. Before long, she falls asleep, curled
up in the back with a jacket for a pillow. "Is she all right?" my sister asks.
"For now. She'll feel it in the morning," I say, watching Andrea struggle to get
comfortable, imprints lining her face where she rested on something that didn't give.


Jason said...

Look, I'm not trying to pull some sensitive guy 'act' or gain favor with the X-chromosomes, but I geniuely believe that there is something, perhaps even something specifically as opposed to the usual theory of social ills, wrong with the sexual development of women in this country.

In my anecdotal evidence, most males deal with ego problems with sex. Size, duration, quantity, etc.

The host of complexes, anxieties, and disorders surrounding female sexuality is staggering. And all of us Beta Males gotta pay for it. Sure we we help out gladly, eagerly even.

And then sometimes she needs it at the donut hole.

"All sex is rough," she says. Ouch.

Wichita-Lineman said...

Love the post, and the pic. I've always been fasinated by cheating stories. Sex by a dumpster sounds about as attractive as sex in a gas station bathroom. Hummmm, oddly arousing.

Having worked in Home Depot's paint department for over three years I've seen many customers pick colors by the name alone, and I've pulled out what little hair I have left because of it. No one ever likes it when they get home.

Sex drive is a strange thing cause it varies so much between the sexes and individuals. Reading a book right now cause "Self-Made Man" by Norah Vincent. She pulled a convincing 18 month disguise as a man. She dated women, went to strip clubs, and joined an all male bowling league. It's really fascinating the way she describes a man's sex drive, (from a male point of view with a female perspective) and then a woman's. (From a female point of view from a male perspective). Needless to say I'm learning a lot.

John said...

Dear Michelle,

I think I recognize that cemetery, but anyway, Mr. Anon Rants Pants should be informed that it's SEAN Connery, not SHAWN. Boy oh boy.

Another lovely post in that unique Michellespells kind of way. I'm also enjoying the various comments.
Cheers to the Wizard of Oz and all it means to everybody.

robin said...

I've enjoyed the banter w/Mr. AR, as well as the male viewpoint of sex comments. Women need to understand men as well. And to the lovely Miss M, your posts have inspired me to get back in touch with that playful side of my personality! Thanks, sweets! -R

robin said...

I feel honored to be your Glenda! Love, R

Anonymous said...

such a sweet story! The way men look is less important than how they act. The easy solution is to stay clear of them altogether.


JR's Thumbprints said...

This post reminds me of when I used to drive limousines. I did a bachelorette party once, where the woman getting married and her friends went bar hopping. At each bar (three to be exact) the soon-to-be bride brought a man out to the car for a rough ride. I sat on the hood as the car rocked and felt sorry for the poor son-of-bitch that would marry her. --Jim

Allen said...

I don't think you hate men or anything, just trying to portray what is. Keep up the good work, Allen

Anonymous said...

A disciple of UP's, really. Much younger.

Anonymous said...

Today's quote: What is this cup that comes and goes?--Tennyson

Anonymous said...

Today's 2nd quote: All my life I've been searching for peace of mind. Nothing really seemed to give me peace of mind until I tried LSD.--Cary Grant

Anonymous said...

I really, really like the poem. Michelle. "something that wouldn't give"--brilliant. And most often the something is a someone. Cheers.

robin said...

A disciple of UP's. You're shittin' me...

robin said...

Eventually, the drugs won't do it anymore. That's when you look in the mirror and get to work.

Cheri said...

I love this post. A lot.

robin said...

The Mirror: a film by Tarkovsky, but then, any of his films will do.

Anonymous said...

Now I'm a disciple of Michelle's.

Anonymous said...

Irwin Shaw. Quite the footballer in his day. Wrote some short stories, too. I liked the Eighty-yard Run. So reminds me of the fall of Dick Diver.

Anonymous said...

Tazmanian Devils rarely worry about monkey suits. Too much work to do.

Sheila said...

I like the post today and felt genuinely bad for the Andrea girl in your poem. I have a friend who did everything to keep her boyfriend including rough sex. It's sad the things some women do for what they think is love.

Anonymous said...

I love dramatic monologues: O, that this too too sullied flesh should melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.

Anonymous said...

Comin into London from over the border, flyin' in a big airlinah, don't touch my bags if you please Mr. customs man.

Anonymous said...

Monster? I see no monster.

Jason said...

wtf is a "UP"?

Anonymous said...

How do you think credit crunch affected porn?