For World Peace
June 17, 1999
The next morning, Dave called to apologize. He had on his seductive, I – know – my – behavior – was – bad – but – admit – you’re – attracted – by – it – in – ways – you – can’t – control voice. He’s so sexual and free in most ways, I forget he used to be a choir boy, and part of him doesn’t want to do anything that would offend his mother. Dave is a mass of conflicting wishes. I’m straight-ahead and guilt-free. People like him who do bad things and then spend wild amounts of energy and creativity making up for it are mysterious and attractive to me. But this time he’d gone too far.
“Talking about fantasies is like letting someone into your head,” I explained. “Once they’re in, they might walk into any of your mind’s rooms, and you’re so excited, feeling abandon, you forget which rooms you wanted to keep locked. You finally got me to talk, you charmed me and bullied me until I finally unlocked everything to you and then once I was all tender and exposed, you threw cold water in my face! I can’t believe you actually called me disgusting.”
“I’m sorry. You know what happened, right?”
“Yeah, you came. I come too, you know, and I don’t call you disgusting.”
“Can I try to describe it? I get these ideas in my head, and I want to hear you say them. I’ve done this to a lesser extent with other women. But they would never really do any of it. When I realized it was all real with you, that you would really do these things, that excited me more. I wanted to get it closer and closer to real. But then when I come for about five minutes after, that’s not me talking. I just get sort of taken over with disgust. I force you to say things that I want but feel too guilty to say myself, and then I punish you for it. I know I’m always testing you, and there’s no way for you to not fail. I’m so sorry. Do you believe me? I got jealous. I was wrong. I’ll never do it again.”
“But how can I trust what you’re saying now? You always turn things around. That was horrible!”
“You can trust me, Leese. It’s just that . . . all those emails you got from people wanting me to have sex with Matt . . . these diaries make me feel like I’m inside a video game, and I can’t even see the faces of the people pulling the levers. What if Genevieve gets me alone in a room and tells me I have to do the male threeway or you’re fired?”
“‘Gets you alone in a room?’ Quit trying to shift the conversation to your perverted fantasies. You messed up big time, Mister. Don’t blame my job. Admitting you were wrong is not enough either. What you did froze something in me, and it won’t just thaw out in ten seconds of I’m-sorry’s. Furthermore ”
“Will you marry me?”
“You don’t understand the trouble you’re in. I don’t even want to have sex with you right now. You were vile! No more porno booths, no extra sex partners, no dirty talk. Not even doggy style. It’s meat and potatoes sex from now on. If you want any extra action in the near future, you’re going to have to beg for it.”
“You think so, huh?”
“Yeah. And I don’t mean begging once or twice. I mean a whole day of begging. Maybe two.”
“You couldn’t last for more than a minute, not if I were there.”
“You want to bet a dollar?”
“I’m on my way over.”
“Don’t forget your dollar.”
In one hour, he was knocking on my door. “What about you and Simone?” I demanded the second he was inside. He went into the kitchen for a glass of water and I followed. “I’m just talking about these men. You, meanwhile, had your hands all over that girl’s body!”
“Yeah but it was completely connected to you. I wasn’t having all these private fantasies about her!”
“What about when I was in the shower and you were in my bed fingering her? How was that connected to me? In my little daydream, when I was on top of Matt on the floor, you were right there on the couch! I didn’t stick you far away in the shower of my mind while I did the deed!”
“You brought me Simone. You made me have sex with her. You’ve been leading me down a dark path.”
“What? Dave you’re a slut! You’ve fooled around with six women since we started going out.”
“I only do stuff because I want you to catch me and yell at me. You’re the only woman in the world I’m attracted to. I love you. You like stories, I just want to have stories to tell you.”
He headed up the stairs to my bedroom. I chased. “Seven women, if you count kissing that librarian. I haven’t touched a single man in that time.” A terrible realization hit me: “You never planned on really doing anything with Matt, did you? You were toying with my desires!”
“What did I tell you when we met? That I was trouble, and you didn’t want to be involved with me. I warned you. I told you right out that I had double standards. Didn’t I?” We were on my bed and he was taking my clothes off as I lay on my stomach and kept my limbs uncooperatively stiff. He had on that belt I like with the big buckle, and then he didn’t have it on anymore.
“Italian.” I muttered it accusingly into my pillow.
“What was that? Did I hear a racist remark out of Lisa Carver’s pursed Germanic lips?”
“Italian is not a race, it’s a nationality,” I corrected, scowling. Then I climbed on top of him and stuck it in for world peace.
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com