We laid in my queen-sized bed. I looked at her and she absolutely seduced me. It was her voice as she spoke those words to me: “Like friendship, hatred needed more than physical intimacy; it wanted creativity and hard work to sustain itself.” She didn’t have to say that she loved me, I could feel her touch. That very moment she came into my embrace and we made passionate love.
Her silvery locks tickled my soul. Her fingers made my spine tingle. It was beautiful, it was not sordid or perverse. She didn’t judge my performance, at least not to my face, she accepted me.
Now let me clarify, this most intimate interaction between the two of us did not include sexual contact. I’m old enough to be her son. But we made love. She never laid eyes on me, I’m impotent to her prowess. My feelings of inadequacy are borne of my deep desires to have her approval.
So I was laying there in her presence naked, not because of clothes, but out of a lack of worthiness. I did not feel worthy to be her contemporary. Although she is several years younger than my,deceased grandmother, Iris; my feelings are not because of a generational gap. It is because of her ability to string words, ideas, and themes together in a manner that could only be compared to the climatic arc of the most erotic experiences of a human being. I want to write like that.
She was in my hands, black and white. As I began to read the first words of Love: “The women’s legs are spread wide open, so I hum. Men grow irritable, but they know it’s all for them. They relax. Standing by, unable to do anything but watch, is a trial, but I don’t say a word.” I knew that I wanted to learn how to do that. Write. I can’t hold a candle to her so why would I even try.
“If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, you must be the one to write it.” – Chloe Wofford
Here I go. I will write, for her, for me, for our love.
Thank you Toni, for the moment in my life that you encouraged me to be your contemporary.
N-Visible Manifesto 