PFK1 (36 page)

Meanwhile, I just want to be left alone. Alone. Please leave me

alone, I told Megan. Don’t even talk to me, I said.

Just leave me alone.

The next thing I know there’s this new woman hitting on me, the

owner of a local art gallery, Mary Wong. She cornered me at the

tavern the other night and hung around until I bought her a glass of

wine.

At one point, Mary invited herself over to our house but that was a

bit too much so I canceled the invitation. She’s quite interesting,

though – petite and slender, with shiny black hair and a flat little

Chinese face. Two or three years younger than me. What Mary really

wants, I suspect, is a man with serious money, which I am not.

I am only a man with a job. However, that’s a damn sight better

than most of the bums in this town.

The art gallery isn’t doing so hot, she says. Not enough work is

being sold and those damn artists are a pain in the ass. I put Mary’s

friend Donna on welfare a few months back and Mary asked me a

bunch of questions about getting freebies from the government. I said

she had to get pregnant before the free stuff really starts to roll in.

Mary says she has better things to do with her life than raise some

bratty kid. I laughed at that.

* * * *

January 28, 1979

Strange weekend. Spent most of it in Megan’s company. We

argued. We had lunch. We argued some more.

Then we had dinner. If you didn’t know any better, you might

think we were married.

Although she struck numerous fetching poses, I refused to touch

her. Officially it’s all over with the husband again, or so she says.

She requested my forgiveness for her "lapse," as she calls it. She

swears she is going through with the divorce now, no matter what.

She said that going back to Mark was an error in judgment on her part

and that I should just forget about it.

"Okay, so I’m not perfect," Megan said. "I made a mistake. I’m

sorry. What more do you want me to say?"

230

I told her there was nothing more to say because there is no fucking

way I am ever taking her back. She pouted and sulked about that.

Got good and drunk right after she left. Typed a little on my

manuscript but a poor effort overall. Work is getting worse, not

better.

On another front, Nick is going to sponsor a poetry reading and

invite his friend Kim Stafford here as the featured guest. He intends

to host it at the Kyle Building, which is the oldest building on Bay

Street. It consists of a big main building plus an annex.

Before going broke, the previous owner tried to turn it into a

restaurant. As it is, he fixed the place up pretty nicely. It’s all

hardwood floors, high ceilings, and great big windows. The old

storefront looks brand new and I told Nick the annex is perfect for a

poetry fest.

Of course, as the great white poetry celebrity, Nick feels he is

entitled to dally with his pick of the native women. He invited Mary

Wong over here last night and slept with her. I had no idea until I saw

her coming out of his room this morning when I went down to stoke

the furnace.

Nick’s really on a spree now that the Sheriff (Clarice) has finally

split town.

I’m disappointed that my work on
The Dark City
goes so slowly.

The satire is good, but is probably too strong for most people. They

prefer more tepid entertainments. My idea of a good read is

Nathanael West.

He only managed to write four books and short ones at that:
Miss

Lonelyhearts, A Cool Million, The Dream Life of Balso Snell
, and The

Day of The Locust
.

Every West novel is creepy, weird, and hilarious. I especially like

A Cool Million.

"Rockefeller would pay a cool million to have a stomach like

yours," goes the saying. West was a skilled craftsman. Every word

counted.

I called Jill Deskins from work while Megan was out of the office

the other day to see what’s what. Don’t ask me why. I suppose it’s

231

because I’ve gotten two letters from her since Christmas and have

replied to neither.

Until now. On the phone, Jill practically pleaded with me to come

see her again. After some hemming and hawing, I finally agreed.

So, I am going to see Jill in Eugene next weekend. If Megan can

fuck around with me, I can fuck around with her. This is what you

call your basic revenge fuck. It’s never worked for me in the past but

I’m going to try it again anyhow.

Really do have my qualms about seeing Jill again. She is so eager

to see me that I don’t know what to make of it. This is such a change

from a year ago. In her past two letters, she said she was sorry for not

appreciating me before.

The reason she gave was that she had known hardly any men until

she moved to Eugene in 1976, and had little to compare me to. Now

that she is more experienced, Jill says my qualities as a friend and a

lover stand out "in sharp contrast."

Jill blames it on the all-female boarding school she attended in San

Francisco, which she says featured an extremely poor (unless you

were a dyke) dating scene.

She promises that we will have a very good time and can do

whatever I want. The last time I saw Jill she ridiculed the idea of ever

getting married or settling down with just one person. She even

detailed her thoughts at length in a couple of very annoying letters,

one of which I copied into this journal. In short, she flatly rejected

me.

Now Jill has apparently changed her mind and since Megan has

flaked out on me, I am willing to reconsider. Still, I am acutely aware

that taking up with Jill again flies in the face of common sense and

good judgment.

232

February 5, 1979

Lots to write about. These weekends are getting more hectic all the

time. Yes, I did go see Jill in Eugene on Friday. All day long I had

these terrible second thoughts about seeing her again so I called her to

see if I could back out of our date.

No such luck. Jill declared she would come here to see me if I did

not come there. No mind changing allowed.

So off I went.

It was pretty strange, getting together with Jill again after nearly

two years of shunning. I know that I am certifiably insane for taking

up with her again, but circumstances being what they are, and coupled

with my own curiosity, I was unable to resist the lure.

The results were both good and bad. In previous times, the back

and forth between Jill and me had been rocky but the sex was always

good for me and (apparently) great for her.

For reasons I don’t fully comprehend, Jill loves to be bossed around

in bed although in no other area of her life.

At the same time, in previous encounters between us, she could be

oddly inhibited about the smallest things, like not wanting me to stare

at her when she’s naked or refusing to let me cum in her mouth. In

other words, I left for Eugene Friday at 5:00 PM prepared for the

worst.

Having been on the receiving end of some insulting words from

her, I was more than wary and prepared to flee at the first sign of

trouble. Nothing of the sort occurred, I am happy to report. From the

moment I knocked at her door to the moment I left on Sunday, Jill did

everything in her power, I thought, to please me.

Soon after I entered her apartment, we fell to kissing, and things

quickly escalated from there. As in old times, the longer I kissed Jill,

the more excited she became. She likes getting kissed, with the

tongues busy. Jill is indeed a woman who likes to kiss. And I of

course can kiss, without getting bored, for hours on end if need be.

233

Another reminder of old times was the fact that Jill has let her hair

grow long, which is the way I prefer it. She has this huge mass of

wavy brown hair which has an almost satin cast to it. The lustrous

shag reaches to the middle of her back.

I have to say I really disliked that curled short look she had back in

the summer of 1977, which except for the color, made for a Harpo

Marx hairdo.

Me, I’m never in a hurry to stop kissing. My darling, let us kiss

kiss kiss. Please – you decide when you want to fuck. In the

meanwhile, let us go on kissing.

There is something so intimate about passing your tongue in and

out of your lover’s mouth. It gives me such an erection.

Jill finally broke the kiss, breathlessly, taking off her glasses. She

was actually panting.

"I’d forgotten what an effect you have on me, Patrick," Jill said.

"I’m so turned on right now I can hardly believe it. My panties are

soaking wet. What about you?"

"Feel this," I said, which is my standard response to such questions

from women. Showing is better than saying, in my humble opinion.

Jill felt me, cooing her approval at the steel-hard erection I had

swelling underneath my tan, corduroy jeans.

"Let’s go into the bedroom," Jill said.

This was the suggestion I had been waiting for since arriving.

"A good idea," I replied.

In the bedroom, Jill had a stick of incense burning, lavender, if I’m

not mistaken. I liked it that she had incense burning.

Truth is, there are a lot of things I like about Jill. Number one is

that she is pretty good at taking care of herself.

Her apartment was clean, modern, and tastefully furnished. She has

all the basic necessities, including an expensive stereo set, lacking

only a television. I actually liked it that Jill does not own a TV,

although I know I’d have to have one, for football.

We kept kissing as we took turns doffing our clothes. Hers landed

on a chair beside the bed while mine wound up on the floor. Before

234

embracing Jill to start the main event, I sent my eyes around the room,

taking it all in.

Not a bad place. Orderly. Fastidious. Probably a shade less artsy

or decorous than say, Megan or the other one might keep a household,

yet still resolutely feminine and nice.

Jill kept apologizing for "the way I acted before."

Answering that it didn’t matter anymore, I said, "Let’s just think

about now."

"Okay. Thank you."

That’s what we did. As soon as she was naked, I kissed Jill all over

her body, instantly encouraged when she began shivering pleasurably.

She fondled my cock while I kissed her, seeming fascinated by the

stiff, rearing beast.

"You’re the sweetest and smartest man I’ve ever known," Jill said.

"The sexiest, too."

"Thank you."

"Not to mention that you’re really good-looking and you’ve got this

really big, beautiful cock," she added.

"Aw shucks," I said, and she laughed.

A few minutes later, my beautiful cock was buried in Jill, sunk in

her all the way, our bodies enlaced in the good, old fashioned

missionary position. Her hands were locked behind the small of my

back, holding on as she met each of my thrusts with one of her own.

Jill’s vagina was exceptionally wet, and I plowed in and out with

the greatest of ease.

My senses swam, although I wasn’t past noticing her upraised

nipples as they pressed against my chest, the brown beads dark against

the white, soft, fullness of her breasts.

By far, Jill is the largest woman I have ever had sex with at five ten,

one hundred and fifty pounds. Not fat in the least, just tall and strong.

Big as Jill is, however, her pussy is still remarkably tight and likely

will remain so all of her life, having had a tubal ligation last year. She

has therefore forever closed off the chance of ever having a baby.

So be it.

235

What can I say? It was a good fuck, because Jill is a good fuck,

whatever else I might say about her. Just as I was about to cum, I

kissed her, a kiss she returned with passion.

Breaking the kiss, Jill said she wanted to be mine in bed from now

on, eager to do whatever I wanted to do, no matter what. In any kinky

or sexy idea I happened to come up with, Jill would participate

willingly, she said.

"Patrick, I’ll fuck and suck you how, when, and as often as you

please. I’ll do whatever you want. Please just be with me and I’ll

always be your slave in bed!"

This emerged from Jill’s mouth in a long, excited burst as my cock

piled in and out of her.