Equations: Dialectic Form (2021)

#14
With Heather, Wendy, Julie, and the others: mostly hokey contrivance. All
roads must lead back to Jena, because she is where the road begins.
Picture a nineteen -year-old woman in the first bloom of rich youth. Not
material wealth as in money, but in looks and everything else. Jena stands
about 5’6, she has cornstalk blonde hair, cut short into a pageboy. Her
large, bright blue eyes tend to widen when she is pleased or aroused, and
her smile is wide enough to split her face in half. Thick lips, a roundish
face, high forehead, skin just pale enough to make her whole contours
have a quality of shock about them; large breasts that do not even have
the thought of sag in them; flat stomach; long legs that she deliberately
displays in such a way that the adjective “coltish” seems appropriate. Jena
was born and bred in a small town; it would be inconceivable that she
would have sex for any reason but love. We work up to sex over a period
of two months. Because we are working in tune with our emotions,
because we let ourselves fall in love first (at twenty, I have been in love
before, but never like this), when we get down to the business of physical
passion we do it with no holds barred, so that nothing, no roles, no
equations, no rigid striations, needs to be contrived. At twenty, I don’t
quite realize the miraculous nature of what I’m getting; I have no idea
how far, how fast, and how bitterly I will have to fall after Jena. I just
naively swim into her, her into me, and every squish that happens between
our bodies strikes a chord felt by us both.
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