August 24, 2000
There are four Lisa Carvers in Dover. I know all about the other three, because I’m the only one listed in information. People call for Lisa Carver and assume it’s me and I listen while they go on and on. One of these Lisa Carvers owes a lot of money. Really a lot I figure over $300,000.
Yet another bill collector called tonight. I hope they don’t mistakenly come to my house and break my legs instead of the other, debtful Lisa Carver. I said that to Grant, my contest winner. “Watch those legs,” he emailed back. “I’d like to have you in good working order.” He arrives September
9th. I could feel hands on my thighs, admiring and parting. I put my own hands under my skirt, and there were two hot spots where the imaginary hands had been! My legs were blushing.
Last night in bed with Dave I thought for the first time, “I wonder how this will be with Grant?” One of my favorite things about men is the way they enter you. Dave used to tease me and take his sweet time, slapping me with the thing, letting a drop fall off onto me. Now he jams it in up to the
hilt with just one or two sawing motions, and when he’s all in, his penis shivers and his whole body is taut and frozen, like he just got home and slammed the door behind him and he’s leaning on it, and maybe someone is after him.
It felt dirty to think of Grant while Dave and I were having at it. It’s one thing to do it, but it’s another thing entirely to think about it. Women can excuse actions more than they can thoughts, and men are the opposite (in general). But I shouldn’t speak for womankind, as
I think I’m probably odd.
Grant and I are worried about Sosweet, Dave’s contest winner. She barely ever writes me back, and she keeps getting scared and changing her mind. Dave is not worried about Sosweet because he’s in Neverneverland. “What’s September 9th?” he asked when I complained about airplane prices
being cheaper when you get them three weeks in advance, and now there’s only two weeks till the 9th. I said I wanted a treat, and Dave took me to an ice cream parlor that is also a hot tub rental shop. I thought perhaps that was not by chance perhaps he wants Sosweet in the bubbling hot pool. Me, I want Grant on dry land. I don’t want him sliding out from under me.
The thing about picking up guys in bars is you get to say no at any point. You can go to first base and stop, or second, or even third and you still have the power to say no whether you’ve known the guy five minutes or five years. That’s what makes this contest interesting to me that it removes the choice and the power in sex from the woman. If you’re a drug-addicted prostitute or you’re married to some horrible man but you have kids and he pays all the bills, then your whims
don’t count but I don’t know any women like that. All the women I know have the power in
the relationship. We’re removing the whim from the woman. Of course, Sosweet or I could say no at the eleventh hour and Dave and Grant would politely remove themselves from our bodies. But then we’d be breaking our word; we couldn’t do that. People laugh when I say this is a sociological experiment, but I really believe it is! There is no attraction (Sosweet and I have never met our men; I don’t know what Grant looks like), yet there is no financial necessity for this loveless sex we’re choosing to have our choice removed, for no good reason. Well, that’s the way it was supposed to be. Contrary to my scientific wishes, I have become attracted to and ensnared by my winner. It reminds me of the relationships that develop between scientists and their long-term subjects, which they don’t talk about because it feels immoral.
Sosweet backed out of the contest. She said she just didn’t know if she could go through with it, have sex. Grant sent me a message that he might get deported due to business reasons. He says he’ll try to hang on at least till the 10th. Dave and I are in our new house now and everything is in boxes. There are knobs to buy and shower curtains to be strung, and workmen traipse in and out all day. Dave and I had a big fight over a light fixture. I yelled at him and ran out of the warehouse and then we had sex in the car. Chaos has always felt like coming home; the only place I feel calm is inside it.
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com, Inc.