Whispers

This post was born with the title: Escalations: From Cigars to Rabbits
As we will learn, the real title was Whispers all along.

Recently Carrie has added yet another word to our lexicon – escalating. The word itself is of course not new but the context is – my escalating needs. Of course the problem with a nearly twenty year relationship, one of total honesty, is that trends become apparent. But I am getting ahead of this story.

Twenty-five years ago, a studio apartment, a close to full time live in girlfriend: not much privacy for this red blooded straight dude. One day I am given a cigar, one of those cheap cigars in a fancy aluminum looking tube. I do not smoke, I am straight. So I cannot really explain how one Saturday afternoon, alone and looking forward to a nap, that tube went places I will leave to your imagination.

Fast forward seven or so years and Carrie joins the story: I am still quite straight but do accept the physical pleasures of certain stimulation – sounds so much more urbane than saying things up my ass. I share these thoughts and graduate to the world of toys and like any kid in his first candy store the selection is dizzying – sizes, materials, power sources – and like any kid in his first candy store the eyes are bigger than... once again I defer to your imagination.

So a collection is born, but much of it ends up for show or the most occasional attempts – they are too big. The toys do get some usage but more as an occasional treat than a staple of our diet. And with the toys come the whispers – the occasional reminder of what a man could do to me. The thought even now works its magic.

With time the toys and whispers do not fade, they grow until a dozen years back Carrie tells me to enjoy Washington – to explore my desires, find myself. No cigar tube that night, something real, maybe too real. Fortuitously it seems my “friend” for the evening is easy to walk away from: the gay population would not choose him as spokesmen of the year. His is not a life any of us would really choose.

But now the whispers grow stronger, the real whispers of Carrie in my ear, the ghost whispers from within. There are still the toys, but they are occasional sideshows – the true sex organ – my brain – is hopping all around. In my own haze, I do not hear the slowly increasing volume but Carrie does. She realizes that she needs to whisper a little louder, her hands are more active and my subtle movements speak volumes.

Still for a decade and more it is only the whispers, maybe louder, but whispers all the same. And then crossing the border: Men. Strangely while the whispers were of being taken, were of anal sex, the reality I believed in was oral sex – sucking a nipple on steroids if you would. And anyway, those guys had real penises – they were bigger than the proverbial cigar tube. So I hook up with men, I think of being taken, but the encounters are oral. They are good, but that fantasy is still lurking, “Audrey” still crying out “Feed Me”.

And then comes Chicago – still not ready to be taken, I do the taking. I get it now – I am really a top – the fantasy was just reversed. But the whispers are still there. Then comes Sam, a regular gig, a slow patient gig. And we take each other. Not so difficult – Bloggers have written veritable manuals, but like any animal species, sex needs no guidebooks: nature knows.

Carrie reads my Blog, she learns that I have crossed this border. We make love one night and when she wants to extend the evening, the fun for us both, she suggests the Rabbit, first her, then me. With embarrassment and anticipation I forage in the drawer, hidden from prying eyes, and there it is and it is good. But Carrie is no longer whispering: the volume, while not yet a scream, has surely escalated.

There is a difference of opinion. Nate has reached the sexual Promised Land – a lifetime of waiting and the real fantasy being played out. No place left to go. Carrie cannot help but wonder: what is the next escalation. Sexual penetration – that she gets. Emotional penetration – terrifying to her, and truth be told, also to me.

So the second panel of our triptych is complete. The paint needs to dry, I need to step back and gaze, gaze at the sketch for the third panel, a difficult panel indeed