The One In Which We Part

I have been putting off writing the final installment of my weekend with Jefferson. I have started writing and then abandoned it to check my email or Google reader or go out with friends.

I have been struck by small details that I wished I had included: Jacob complementing my asshole, putting clothes pins on Leah’s nipples, and the orgasm that was achieved solely through a hard bite on my abdomen. How did I mange to put in nothing about the bites administered to my toes, even though there is still bruising underneath my left big toe?!

But really, I have been putting this off because it is all rather anticlimactic from here. I have failed in constructing a proper narrative arc in serialized form. All I have left is dénouement.

We went out Sunday night for dinner and a couple of art shows. We were a little bit stoned and a little bit drunk by the time we left, leading to something of a subway disaster.

When we returned home we curled up in bed and watched Caligula. I fell asleep during the movie and was awoken by Jefferson for some sweet vanilla sex before we retired for the night.

We woke up early and had another short bout of sweet vanilla, which, for what it’s worth, resulted in an almost simultaneous climax.

He made coffee while I packed up my things, and sent me off into the pre-dawn darkness with a long, somber kiss.

It was raining, and I was pretty wet by the time I got to the subway station. I rode the train to JFK, damp and listening to Leonard Cohen on my iPod.

Sometimes life is disgustingly cinematic if you only describe it with choice details.

A few weeks later he emailed me some pictures from the weekend. I’m pretty cute when I’m naked and marked up.

This is where I feel like I should put a summary, or a reflection of my experiences, but I’ve got nothing. Maybe sometime later. For now I’m just going to leave you with my quiet longing.