I Like …

I admit it: I like your intellect. There, I’ve said it. But I do. I like your dedication. I like the fact that you really want to do something. Even if I like the idea of distracting you from doing anything.

I like your ambition. I find comical. And charming, And admirable. I like that there might be Important Thoughts in that dome of yours.

And you know what else I like? Taking you in hand. Touching you. I like taking you in my mouth. I like the fact that I can make you think of nothing else but fucking. It turns me on. And I like to be turned on …

I don’t want to be no one. I don’t want to be forgotten.

You won’t be forgotten.

You’ll forget me. You already have. I’ve outstayed my welcome. You’ve had your orgasm. I’ve had mine – or at least, that’s what you think.

What?

Ha – just toying with you … I should go, shouldn’t I? I should melt away into the afternoon. And instead, I’m just staying. Blocking your, like, vista. Getting in the way of your precious work. Of your thinking-time. Or your reading time. Of your writing. Because I don’t want to be forgotten.

I like exposing this. I like licking this. I like putting my tongue on this. And I like … you doing the same.

Oh – my – God. How do we work up all this lust? We’ve only just done it. And now we’re going to do it all over again.

Jesus. I can’t believe it. We’re so virile. You’re so virile. I didn’t know .. I had it in me. That desire could just spiral … This is what you lose when you’ve been married for fifteen years. Fuck. Are you wishing I’d shut up? Maybe I’m wishing I’d shut up …

Are we a cliché? Are we doing it in a clichéd way? Are you bored of this? Tell me what you want.

I like it like that.

Are you sure? Wouldn’t you like we to do it in another way?

I like it like that.

Now you sound impatient. Do you want to get back to work?

Why, do you want to get back to him?

I’d like to stay here forever, that’s all. I want to be here …

God … God … That was so good. That was as good as the first day when sex was invented.

When do you suppose that was?

About five hundred million years ago.

Think of all those animals having sex. Think of … dinosaur sex. Trilobite sex. Octopus sex – do octopuses have sex. God knows, jellyfish sex? Mammoth sex. Wow. Whale sex. And stallion sex.

Now you’re fantasising.

What did we just do? What are we doing? In the middle of the day. In the middle of the fucking universe.

Look at us, in disarray. Unguarded. Half dressed. Are we allowed to be like this? Are we allowed to do this?

The light on the floor. From the skylight … The quivering light. Is that God? Maybe it is. Maybe it’s all we know of God. A quality of light. A patch of light. Is God watching us?

I like using the word, God. I feel like I’m allowed to use the word, God, here.

What do we mean when we talk about God?

You can’t just use that word, can you? You can’t just have it.

Why not? Everything’s up for grabs at the end of history.

Is that what this is: the end of history?

How will we look back on all this? How will we remember it? Will we remember any of it at all?  We’ll be strangers to each other, one day. We won’t talk to one another anymore. We won’t phone. We won’t text. Whole decades will pass.

And you’ll still be with him?

Sure I will. I’ll be with him forever, I’m sure. It’ll just on and on. And where will you end up? And where will I end up? Dead, like everyone else. Cremated. Ashes in the sky. See, you’ve made me philosophical. How did you do that?

Everyone’s philosophical when they smoke.

God. What we’ve come to. Tawdry, tawdry. I need a shower. I need to be reborn. I need to get OUT of this place. It’s dragging me under. This is no way to live.

What do you think about all day?

I think about you.

Do you fantasise?

Sure I fantasise.

What would like to do to me?

I’d like to fuck you.

That’s funny, because I fantasise about being fucked by you. I think about you all day. I wait for this all day. It’s what I think about when I’m fucking him.

Nice.

I just want you. I wish you were around all the time.

Do you, though? I’d get on your nerves. I’d distract you from your important philosophical work. And, who knows, you’d distract me from my important organisational management work. Actually, I don’t actually do much organisational management work. Don’t tell anyone.

You’re made to be treated really well. Luxuriantly. You’re made to be spoilt. To be indulged. You have that about you.

Do I?

This whole … affair .. is about being indulged. He hasn’t indulged you enough, so you come here to be indulged.