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"Yeah," I'd say, all cool and relaxed, having ejaculated two minutes before her arrival.
Then we'd get to the disco-bowling place and she'd be wearing these white corduroy pants and I'd lay eyes on der shelfbutt and she'd step forward through the strobe lights, displaying each soft, rippling curve, and I'd start to imagine that thing bare and hoisted high in the air, the symmetry, the crease, the sweet stink, and before I knew it I was on my feet screaming: Oh please, Si! Don't put me through this! I want to lick that blessed asshole! Which, in a public setting, caused some embarrassment.
Sienna urged me to meet David. This was two months, three weeks, and four days into our lives as revirgins. The minimum period of purification was eight months, she'd just announced casually, over fancy pasta, in a restaurant setting.
I told her I didn't want to meet David, he sounded like kind of an asshole, and not the kind I wanted to lick.
"Ha ha," she said. "You'll
Sienna wanted to be there when I met her spiritual advisor. I said no way.
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like him, Dinks. Don't be a baby."
"Let me see a tit."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Sienna did this disappointed lip licking thing that she'd recently added to her repertoire of pain.
"Just a fucking peek," I said. "I promise not to get you pregnant."
Sienna leaned forward over the table and flicked her collar down. I'd forgotten how lovely they were, the pale swell of them, even just the tops were enough.
"Excuse me," I said calmly.
"Where're you going?"
I stood and grabbed the culprit. Sienna could see the dimensions of the situation. "I find myself in a state of yearning," I said, ignoring the college-aged greeter and her horrified mouth. "Ergo, I'm going to softly chop at this here hardwood, using slow, rhythmic strokes, until the white sap releases. Then we can finish our yummies. Yes?"
Sienna wanted to be there when I met David, but I told her no way. If she wanted that sort of pleasure, she could end this absurd embargo.
"Don't worry," I said. "I'll be very nice."
"Good," Sienna said. "Because he's very sensitive."
I took this to mean that he was gay.
But no, that was just me being an asshole again.
"So this is the famous Dinkins," David said. "You're a pretty big fucker, aren't you? Yeah,
Sienna kept a calendar on her desk, marking time until what she called V-day.
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Sienna mentioned that. Good to meet you, man."
I'm not that big, but David was little, almost freakishly so. He talked fast and loud, like he was from one of the outer boroughs and had cousins who could jack you up. We were meeting at a Starfucks near the drug clinic where he worked as a counselor.
"Right," David said, "Just so you know, Dinkins, I don't do white chicks. No offense, but they're not my thing. So you can relax about that."
"Okay," I said.
"Hey," he said. "Before we get all heavy, let's do a bev. I hate this place, but their new raspberry mocha shit has me all torn up, you know?"
I said I did and David strutted over and bought us each a humongo size.
"You didn't have to do that," I said.
"No sweat, bro. So look, the main thing is that you're probably confused by this revirginization shit. Am I right? It cuts against where we're at right now as a culture, what with all the tits and asses and cocks exploding into your face at all hours. It's subversive to turn away from the flesh these days. But people reach a place where that sort of discourse starts to feel empty. It's like junk food. Feels good going down, but there's no nourishment there. So along came this idea of voluntary abstinence, of trying to restore a posture of holiness toward the act, reverence. People fix on the word virgin - that's the porn talking, again - but it's a mind/body balance thing." David paused to chug half his drink. "That's where Sienna is, bro. She got herself out of whack. I'm sure it feels just the opposite to you, because you were getting into that freaky stuff. But that was her body. Her spirit was languishing. I know about this stuff. Back in my twenties I was getting so much pussy I needed a snorkel. I was putting women in wheelchairs. No lie, bro."
I listened to the guy's rap - he'd clearly delivered it a thousand times - and tried not to imagine him naked.
"Unless Sienna goes through this now, she's never going to get any clarity. She's not trying to break up. If she wanted to do that, you'd have been cold product months ago. It's a pilgrimage for her..."
On and on he went, in his Christian hipster slang. The only other thing he said that didn't make me want to retch lightly was that I'd reach the point where my sex drive shut down. "Just happens, bro. You wake up one day with the stone dick."
He finished the rest of my drink and gave me a crushing handshake. "Stay strong," he said. "Peace."
Did I get the stone dick? No. I got a lot of exercise, though. It was one thing I could do, so as not to chafe my cock out of existence. I also cleaned up my apartment and got rid of my old clothes and bought some new used clothes, stuff without holes. I had all this time and energy and bitterness to work off. I'd been suckered into self-improvement, like some Oprah hubby. That wasn't what I wanted, to worm my way back into her heart like that. I wanted her broken by her own lust.
Bramble counseled a despicable affair, with someone ugly, perhaps disfigured. "I'm talking a beast, a gruesome specimen. The upside is, you get laid. The other upside is you get to see Sienna freak."
"You're a pal," I said.
"There's a third upside," Bramble said. "You probably feel enough shame to shut your fuck drive down for a while."
But I could feel that diminishing on its own. Spring arrived and the women of our city unveiled themselves, calves and shoulders, the shy dimpled backs of knees. I should have felt a grateful surge of desire. But I looked at them only because I knew it was expected of me. When I closed my eyes at night, it was Sienna I saw: joyfully plunging giant hypodermics into her fat white captives. I waved goodbye to the morning chub — farewell my dear friend! — and took up spinning.
Sienna behaved more and more like a shy bride. She stared off into space and said dreamy things about the life she wanted. She kept a calendar over her desk, marking the time until what she called V-Day. She would grab me in an embrace and stage whisper how she couldn't wait to give herself to me.
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