Sitting at the eating table with My flat mate, both of us at our laptops. Satie’s Gymnopédies on iTunes. Number 2 makes Me sad when I think of the video of You and Her rehearsing. I played these when I wrote that long email to Her.

When our disapproving friend bluntly asked Me the other evening, “tell me, why did You fuck Him,” I glibly answered something like, “He was like Everest; because He was there.” I immediately regretted that superficiality, but didn’t correct myself. Over the next days I’ve been trying to find the real answers (if there any). I’ve been mentally compiling a list:

Because You are a hot animal.
Because I wanted to (metaphorically and literally) rearrange Your insides.
Because I am an aging vampire and I need to extract the life force from a beautiful youth.
Because You admired Me and told Me so.
Because I needed to hurt You for admiring Me.
Because I fear death.
Because You are beautiful and I needed to plunge myself into the source of Your stench.
Because as irrational as it is, I want to father a child but I know that that is ridiculous for many reasons, but the act mimics that of conception.
Because I wanted You to fuck and hurt Me in return so I’d know that I’m alive.
Because I’ve tongued there among Your hair and the pucker and I wanted to know what was beyond, on the inside.
Because We are U.S. Americans with a complex history between Us and yes there are ancestor slaves and ancestors who denied the priesthood to the children of those slaves.
And so then, because I wanted You to feel My black penis penetrating Your white asshole; I wanted to feel that white asshole embracing My black penis.
Because I needed to know that You felt something deeply toward Me.
Because My fingers were not enough.
Because unused packets of condoms and lube beside My bed had been mocking My stupid celibacy for months.
Because I fear (metaphorical and literal) impotence.
Because I did not realize that You were a virgin, (in that way).
Because I needed to do something as wrong and foolish and potentially dangerous as fall in love with You and fucking You sealed the deal.
Because I wanted to look into Your eyes and see a change there that I alone had caused.
Because I needed to love You.
Because I loved You.
Because of so many more reasons.

Brian Eno’s Music for Airports is now playing. My flat-mate is still typing beside Me. As I was writing this Our friend came to our door to borrow a spatula; I considered for a nanosecond showing this to him since these answers were triggered by his question. When I answered the door I had a chubby.

When I last spoke with You on the phone, I believe I detected a split second of pause when I asked You how the girl was doing. I don’t expect, demand, or even particularly want sexual fidelity. However, as I’ve written before, never confuse My not caring with not caring. Keep performing Your acts of gratuitous honesty. It’s a good practice for You.

17 June 2009