(Written, 1997-9).
Nothing was wrong with Julie except the fact you did not really desire her.
The way she leaned toward you made it clear she found you attractive and enjoyed your proximity. She was nervous, flustered, shy and yet obviously into you.
Julie was genuinely nice but a little too critical about the world. She even complained about you: how you ignored her, how you didn't touch her the right way or respect her feelings or leave her alone when she wanted that. Yet when you held her she became quiet.
You didn't particularly like being around her, and sometimes even felt relief when she was away. But when you were together and having a pleasant chat, you became aware of her physical aspects: the way she breathed and blinked the eyes, her perfume, the way she frowned. You noticed things: the tiny bosom, bony shoulders and pale cheeks.
Julie wasn't old, but sometimes you wished you could have seduced a younger version of her: smoother skin, less sophisticated, more corruptible. Maybe you would have felt the same ambivalent desire with the younger version, but at least you would have had to expend less effort trying to please her.
Julie's beliefs in love were straightforward. Everything was a dichotomy. Either you loved her or didn't. Either you married her and lived a life of monogamous bliss or you fucked her (and ultimately exploited her).
Dating was often a matter of managing your time wisely. Don't spend too much time on a person who wasn't a long term prospect. You pondered seducing Julie for a one night stand, but a thought stopped you: how much guilt would you feel after dumping her? How much of a scene would she make?
You liked Julie; wasn't that enough? You wouldn't mind having a physical relationship with her; it was fun and convenient while you waited for the right kind of girl to show up. You were capable of no deep emotions for Julie; she might annoy you a bit, but she'd never be able to hurt you. The knowledge that you would eventually leave her after a certain number of fucks made you feel powerful. It allowed you to focus almost entirely on your lust.
Julie was simply not good enough for you. Not as attractive, not as educated, not as entertaining. Not as versatile or athletic or spontaneous. She had really only one thing you enjoyed: an eagerness to treat you generously.
She might not be the best cocksucker in the world, but she'd always be ready and willing.
You imagined once desiring her, for weeks, months, years. Now you simply tolerated her and wished for some way to be rid of her. Her body repulsed you.
Her pussy yielded easily and even stupidly to your penis. The problem was she was too easy; there was no resistance, no assertion of her right to pleasure. Her body was too eager to feel yours against her skin; there was no longer any pleasure in watching her beg.
While licking her pussy and listening to her sustained sighs, you were struck by a vile thought: this fuck was providing immensely more pleasure to her than to you.
You feel sadistic. You want Julie beside you while you made love to the receptionist from work. The receptionist wasn't sympathetic or even intelligent, but she had a sensual disposition and desire to please. You wanted Julie to witness how much more this girl could excite you.
As you walk by Julie, you wanted to mutter the dirty little secret, the phrase "I'm just not attracted to you" (which would have been so hurtful, yet honest). Pronouncing it would leave scars, but at least the wound wouldn't need to be reopened day after day. At least she'd stop agonizing over what she had done wrong.
There were times when she dressed up in a casual sexy way. Midriff, v-neck with the top button undone. Each aspect of her dress had charm, but together the whole thing struck you as trashy. Anyway, ugly people were not supposed to show off their bodies.
No, you were not being fair. Julie wasn't really ugly.
You are unwilling to love her, but willing to experiment with the passions of her body. Love is not a commitment, but an experiment in compatibility. Can two people sustain excitement and interest over time? Can they continue making one another happy?
When you came home, she was there cooking dinner, humming along to the radio, in her own world. Noticing you, she smiled and continued stirring the pot. You put your arm around her neck, and slid your hand underneath her shorts, feeling her private parts. Caught offguard, she rolled her head around, closed her eyes and said, "Not now." But you knew she would consent; it was her nature; even the most inconvenient of caresses would melt her as long as it came from your hands. "Yes, now," you ordered, pulling down her shorts and thrusting into her. "Now!"
You wanted to want her. Truthfully. As a person you were fond of her in a let's-get-together-for-lunch kind of way. But around her you felt only indifference – and even hostility – to her longings. If you tried to imagine her orgasms, you quickly repressed them. Her breaths and sighs and twisting limbs caught your attention, but you just wanted to look away; you couldn't look away until the orgasm came and went.
Don't hurt Julie. Love her; don't hurt her. Now that desire was out in the open, could you avoid loving/hurting her?
Even if you were together with Julie, whenever you passed a gorgeous woman on the street or in a shop, your mind would follow her. You began imagining what this gorgeous woman would be like in bed, how she would respond to your touch, how her voice might quiver. But your thoughts immediately returned to the times you made love to Julie, how she acted in the throes of passion, how she overwhelmed you. Long after you were done with her, memories of Julie's cunt would trespass into every item of your erotic fantasy catalog.
The problem with your desire is that it is acknowledging her own, which is acknowledging your own attempt to acknowledge her own. Each speck of desire was reflected in a hundred different ways without originating in your cold heart.
You don't love her. How hard was it to admit? You're just not into her. But she was so easy. She was unavoidable.
Threesome. If ever a threesome took place, you'd have no problem with Julie's participation. The other woman, of course, would have to be gorgeous. Either she could be the receptionist or Julie's beautiful high school friend or one of her other less-spectacular-but-still-attractive friends. You imagined Julie and the other woman resting against your bare chest, while you ran your hands across their backsides. Julie would laugh until she witnessed how much more attentive you were to her friend's satisfactions than her own. You gave kisses to both, but only one of them really stirred you.
You wanted to embrace them both, to agitate one with the passions of the other. While you gave yourself to her friend, you wanted to watch Julie become a slave to your desires, to both your desires. After you gave certain orders, Julie would comply not with zeal but simply a desire to demonstrate obedience. "Again," you said giving Julie's pussy a quick caress as incentive. "We didn't tell you to stop. Keep going. Don't stop now." Julie's friend would laugh.
After a while you learned not to block Julie from your fantasies. Instead you place her in some minor inconspicuous spot. Julie is in bed with you and an attractive (and married) neighbor named Brandi. You no longer spend time concocting a pretext for the threesome, but simply fast-forward to the act itself. Brandi's sultry body is awakening all the desire you ever had.
Day One: Brandi leans over your nude body, embracing you sympathetically (while Julie continues to massage your penis). You adore Brandi. You stroke her hair. Brandi gives you a series of warm kisses, while you kiss her breasts, cupping your hand against her wet pussy and ass. Brandi resides in your fantasy for one reason: to make you want Julie. Your caresses increase Brandi's excitement, while Julie's kisses increase your own; Brandi's orgasm triggers one sudden grunt from you which Julie accepts into her mouth unhesitatingly.
Day Two: you hold Brandi in your arms while Julie's mouth travels down her body. Brandi squirms and lifts her pelvis to Julie's mouth, while you cover Brandi's shoulders with kisses. As Brandi's excitement brings her to climax, you see Julie struggling to keep her face on her crotch. Finally, after the moans have subsided and Brandi has pushed Julie's face away, you bring Brandi's exhausted body closer, holding her, resting, drifting to sleep together while Julie remains at your knees.
Day Three they are both sucking your cock while kissing each other in the process. Although both their attentions are exciting you, every time it switches from Julie's mouth to Brandi's, the sounds of your pleasures rise. Naked desire never deceives.
Day Four: Brandi and you take turns giving full attention to Julie's pussy, watching how easily Julie can be made to slip into paroxysms of pleasure. Julie's cries lack the feminine musicality of Brandi's, but they still arouse your polite curiosity.
Day Five you are fucking Brandi doggy style while Julie lies underneath, kissing the pussy being rammed above her, feeling the shudders from every penetration.
Day Six: Julie and you are fucking – just the two of you – while Brandi lies nearby masturbating, offering occasional caresses of encouragement.
Day Seven: You and Julie are standing up next to one another without actually touching, looking at each other with playful anticipation. Brandi touches both of you individually while walking around, sliding her hand beneath your garments. Everything she touches comes off without resistance until you and Julie are face-to-face totally nude. Holding both your arms, Brandi brings you to the bed without permitting any contact. "Follow, don't initiate," Brandi whispers, guiding Julie's hand over your chest and your hand against Julie's cheek. Leaning Julie down, she positions your face over Julie's hips, pushing it gently down until it is right against her pussy. Then, with Brandi's nudging hand, you explore Julie with your tongue while she guides your hand over Julie's breast.
"Ask her if it's good," Brandi whispers.
"Is this good?"
After a pause, Julie makes a tense yes-like sound, while Brandi keeps your head pressed down.
"Again. Ask again!"
"Is this good?"
A longer pause, then Julie's body makes a sudden exhalation and her pussy surges into your face.
Later, as you rest your head at Julie's hips, Brandi runs her hand over your bare chest, whispering, "Mark, did you like being a good boy?"
Day Eight: As you and Julie make passionate love, Brandi just sits there reading a magazine, glancing at you occasionally. The transference of passion was complete.
The truth was you were attracted to parts of Julie's personality, not to others. You wanted her body to be prettier, but it was not so awful as to bring passion to a halt. You hated the way she complained, the way she judged, the way she pouted. Her cheerfulness was always too measured; her skin never looked soft enough.
Even without Julie around, you knew you never would have a shot with Brandi. You and Julie talked to her only a few times; you doubt she would remember your name. But although you never mentioned it, you knew Julie sensed your attractions. You knew Julie dreaded these chance encounters with this woman on the street (which she had to endure in silence).
When you made love to Julie, you kept your eyes closed. Mounting her, you liked to pretend she was Brandi or the gorgeous woman at the book store or an old college friend or the office receptionist. Julie was simply a substitute, and if she didn't talk, you could forget Julie was Julie. Were you really hurting her? Would she have preferred the truth or the satisfaction of being touched and having given you an orgasm? Sometimes when you find it hard to maintain the illusion, and you become aware that the sighs are Julie's (and not some dream girl's), you begin to wonder how much better the receptionist's pleasures really would have been. Under the covers, with the lights off, would the receptionist's body have felt no different from Julie's?
What is the difference between a gorgeous pussy and an ordinary pussy?
The lack of desire you felt – would it cause you to treat Julie more sympathetically or less?
Here was the truth. As little passion as you felt for Julie, you wanted to bring her relief and satisfaction (even if at some point you'd have to exit the relationship). You liked her. You wanted her to understand that you were a generous, caring person. You wanted to satisfy your curiosity by taking off her clothes, kissing her and showing her your lust, even if it weren't directed specifically towards her. You wanted to watch her enjoyment without needing enjoyment yourself. You wanted the two of you to be able to add another mark to your scorecards. You wanted her to provide guidance about etiquette and pleasuring techniques (for someday when you made love to your dream woman, this knowledge would pay off). You wanted to give yourself. And receive. You wanted to be an indelible part of her erotic education. You wanted to add to the general happiness of the world, orgasms were rare and precious things; they deserved to be shared (not squandered); when another person is stricken by an all-consuming desire, it must be treated gently rather than banished. You can't just walk away from an inconvenient desire; you have to acknowledge it and even appease it slightly.
Julie's orgasms – when you imagined them – didn't thrill you, but filled you with relief, like the end of a mandatory workout.
In the middle of the night, when she was asleep and your nervous energy made you crazy, would you turn to her like a man genuinely in love?
You kissed her arms, her hips, stroked her pussy, Lightly, then with more pressure. You wondered: how much longer before she came?
The truth was she was not unattractive (just unattractive to you). She could look stylish when she wanted. She just didn't spark anything in you, physically or emotionally. Sure, you were both educated and capable of fun times. But emotionally you couldn't connect; it was always unnatural and confusing. Perhaps if the emotional connection were there, you could overlook the mediocrities of attraction. That was what you tell yourself. Over and over again.
You are about to enter her. Her eyes are closed, she is breathing hard. You kiss her neck. She looks up at you, almost in a daze. As her eyes begin to focus, she starts to smile, like a timid and grateful schoolgirl. For her it's a big deal, but for you it's just a fuck.
A bikini reveals her unremarkable body. Her breasts were flabby. She sweated too much. Her voice whined. You imagined that annoying smirk on her face as it succumbed to pleasure.
What would her orgasms be like? Quick and silly? Long and grueling? Serene and quiet?
As odd as this sounded, you frequently imagined Julie having sexual encounters with other men. You were eager to pawn her off to someone more compatible. You imagined her in the adjacent room, succumbing to one, two or even three men. There was a part of her in real life that seemed promiscuous – or overly easy to please. But it didn't make you jealous or turn you on. It relieved you just to get rid of her. Now you could seduce other woman without becoming a betrayer.
Why do women want romance anyway? The biological imperative, the desire to fulfill the role of motherhood. If that is her goal, and if it can be satisfied so easily by sex, why deny her? Could a woman be happy with motherhood minus the stifling expectations and longterm obligations of passion?
Are you starting to imitate Julie's tendency to view things in absolute terms? Do you reject her because of superficial complaints or because you feel love ought to be better? Why insist that love be ennobling and absolute? Don't people ache for something punier or less refined (but available) instead of the moral perfection of solitude? Is love a sacrament ...or simply a fun and nasty itch to scratch?
Her body didn't excite you, but you were still curious about how she'd look naked. That was the thing. Even average-looking people looked better undressed. If her nude body stood before you, would you focus on its beauty or its blemishes?
All women want to be gazed at naked by the right man. All men want to gaze upon as many naked women as possible.
Ravishing or repulsive, the most erotic thing in the world is to carry on a normal conversation with a woman who is completely naked, while she watches TV or gets a cup of coffee. Or looks straight at you.
The truth was that you could lust after Julie...for short bursts of time. Maybe for 15 minutes or an hour. You absolutely did not want to wake up next to her. You didn't want her body to be the last one you'd be permitted to caress.
You read that physical attractions left married couples after three years. After that, were all the gorgeous women in the world like Julie?
* * *
To this notion, there is a variation:
There are two kinds of women in this world: those you feel special attraction towards and those you don't. That conveniently overlooks the fact that women probably have similar attitudes towards men. The attractive ones you obsess over probably feel no electricity towards you, looking over you with these same idle feelings of half-lust. Maybe – just maybe – you'll find one who is bored enough to settle for you. How you would adore her!
