28th St. Diaries

We fucked in probably every hotel on 28th street: Springfield, Townplace, Fairfield, Hayden, Aloft. Occasionally, we’d be at Fifth avenue at Le Meridien, which was our favorite, it had bougie lighting and a good bathroom. We both stole the toiletries. Once we were there for half the week, eating MDMA, lighting candles, listening to sex playlists, fucking until we collapsed into each other. 

The first time Lou flipped me over to fuck me, she whispered in my ear:  “I’m gonna fuck you all summer.” And she would, and she’d fuck me in fall too, again in spring, and the following summer, but we didn’t know that at the time. 

The morning after, she texted me asking what was on my mind. Before I had a chance to answer, she wrote, because I just got out of an hour-long meeting where I was lowkey throbbing thinking about pushing you up against the wall. 

I invited her to come upstate to my apartment, and when she got off the train she was wearing a jacket with mushrooms on it, and her smile melted me. At the bar she told me I was acting antagonistic, but she didn’t realize it was only because she brought out my feral, bratty side, and I couldn’t pretend to function in society as a normal person on a normal bar stool drinking a normal beer when all I wanted was to melt into her, for her to fuck me until I couldn’t remember my name or the name of my street. 

She would say, “Get it all out” to my orgasms. Sometimes with her I’d just keep orgasming, it never had a clear ending. I sat on her face, she spit in my mouth, spit in my ass. 

Sometimes I’d send her orgasms over music, specifically to Janelle Monae’s “The Rush.” I didn’t care that this was vulnerable, personal, unhinged. I didn’t consider whether I trusted her or not, it didn’t matter. Trust wasn’t something I was interested in. I was only interested in eros. 

“I like how crazy you go when I play with it,” she wrote.

“I do?”

“You know you do.” 

Sometimes during sex she’d say, “You like that don’t you?”

“There she is,” she’d say, knowing my body better than I did. 

Weeks later, she sent me a photo where she was wearing a blue robe. 

You look like you want to devour something.

Mmmhmmm.

You’ve looked at me that way. 

I definitely have, she said. 

In the fall, I wore the same dress and leather jacket…

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