Equations: Dialectic Form (2021)

#5
Something holds Julie back so that there can’t be too much of this. While
I am with her, she controls everything, from my sensations to my destiny.
She can bite me off, permanently cripple me, or please me if she wants.
As master, she decides how much hunger she will or will not assuage. She
uses her hands as well as her mouth, doing little twists like she’s learned to
do from Internet porn. It’s delicious, my legs shake from the unbearable
nature of the sensations. The problem is, she then freezes, which means
she is deliberately effacing my most overwhelming pulses. So I come in
her frozen, static mouth, with a sense of intense anti-climax, and I am too
bashful to instruct her as to how to do this properly. Yet any woman who
brings me to this must be a darling and an angel. Julie, this darling angel,
stands on the threshold of womanhood, and her hunger is merely to
control. There is no sense of service, and since we are in my apartment
there is no sense of comfort for her. What she wants to take home with
her is a sense of having bested me. As she gazes at my closed eyes and
opened mouth, there is (I imagine now) a sense of bitterly held contempt
for my weakness, my humanity. We never fuse our different stupidities, so
that I see no depths in those rounded eyes of jet, and she knows that she
has now gotten what she wants from me; there is no more specialness.
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