Saturday, July 05, 2003
DRIVEN BY DESIRE, Sex and Lies continued...
A relentless desire to be with him propelled me through my days. At 14 I'd become sexually active and had had a wide range of experiences until I married Pete. Once I was married I believed I was married and managed to be faithful and true and all that - whatever (but like Jimmy Carter said "I had lust in my heart").
Meeting Robin was like a nuclear explosion. This was sexual experience on a whole new plain. After the chance encounter at the gallery with my child, I confessed that I was still married to her father and still living at home but with plans in the works to move out soon. Robin confessed that he had a long term relationship with a woman he met in college, he never married and did not live with her, never planned to live with her, she'd had a hysterectomy so no children, and besides all that he was not sexually attracted to her, she smoked and smelled bad. Of course I believed him!!! Actually it didn't matter who he had or didn't have. As long as he was not a dad with kids - everything is up for grabs.
We find excuses to meet during the day. I have fantasies of walking along a downtown street with him and ducking into an alcove and unzipping his pants and holding his beautiful penis in my hands. A women knows when a guy likes her. It's when she touches him and he's ready, she looks at him and he's ready. The other woman did not seem to be a priority. I'd sneak out of my house to the pay phone on the corner to call him. He'd always be there. When it came to making plans to be together I had the impression he accommodated me. So while there was another woman, I never felt emotionally threatened.
There was plenty of risky behavior. This was 1980 and AIDS was nowhere on the horizon. All the STD's were treatable. He and I never discussed it, never used protection. I was still young enough (35) to get pregnant and if I did, I would have had his baby. That's how the feeling was.
One night I was on my way to a gala event at the Institute of Contemporary Art. I was the token artist elected to serve on their Board of Directors with the hoypaloy of the Boston art scene. It was very easy to take a short detour to visit Robin. I had on a wine colored silk dress, very floaty. In his studio on Melcher Street, we had a wonderful time. At some point we had to stop, I was expected at this event. I put on my clothes and Robin offered to walk me up to South Station where I had to catch the subway. The evening was warm and velvety. We are walking across the Fort Point Channel bridge. I start to feel the warm, sticky ooze of his semen pouring out of me. I look down at my silk dress as it blows between my legs and a huge dark stain starts to form. 'Oh, my God, Robin, what can I do with this?" We are both laughing and he takes my hand. We dash into the bathroom at South Station. He comes in with me and helps me rinse my dress in the sink. We try drying it under the hand dryer, but I am getting later by the minute. i put it back on and make a dash for the train. By the time I get to the ICA I'm almost completely dry. I walk in like nothing happened.
A relentless desire to be with him propelled me through my days. At 14 I'd become sexually active and had had a wide range of experiences until I married Pete. Once I was married I believed I was married and managed to be faithful and true and all that - whatever (but like Jimmy Carter said "I had lust in my heart").
Meeting Robin was like a nuclear explosion. This was sexual experience on a whole new plain. After the chance encounter at the gallery with my child, I confessed that I was still married to her father and still living at home but with plans in the works to move out soon. Robin confessed that he had a long term relationship with a woman he met in college, he never married and did not live with her, never planned to live with her, she'd had a hysterectomy so no children, and besides all that he was not sexually attracted to her, she smoked and smelled bad. Of course I believed him!!! Actually it didn't matter who he had or didn't have. As long as he was not a dad with kids - everything is up for grabs.
We find excuses to meet during the day. I have fantasies of walking along a downtown street with him and ducking into an alcove and unzipping his pants and holding his beautiful penis in my hands. A women knows when a guy likes her. It's when she touches him and he's ready, she looks at him and he's ready. The other woman did not seem to be a priority. I'd sneak out of my house to the pay phone on the corner to call him. He'd always be there. When it came to making plans to be together I had the impression he accommodated me. So while there was another woman, I never felt emotionally threatened.
There was plenty of risky behavior. This was 1980 and AIDS was nowhere on the horizon. All the STD's were treatable. He and I never discussed it, never used protection. I was still young enough (35) to get pregnant and if I did, I would have had his baby. That's how the feeling was.
One night I was on my way to a gala event at the Institute of Contemporary Art. I was the token artist elected to serve on their Board of Directors with the hoypaloy of the Boston art scene. It was very easy to take a short detour to visit Robin. I had on a wine colored silk dress, very floaty. In his studio on Melcher Street, we had a wonderful time. At some point we had to stop, I was expected at this event. I put on my clothes and Robin offered to walk me up to South Station where I had to catch the subway. The evening was warm and velvety. We are walking across the Fort Point Channel bridge. I start to feel the warm, sticky ooze of his semen pouring out of me. I look down at my silk dress as it blows between my legs and a huge dark stain starts to form. 'Oh, my God, Robin, what can I do with this?" We are both laughing and he takes my hand. We dash into the bathroom at South Station. He comes in with me and helps me rinse my dress in the sink. We try drying it under the hand dryer, but I am getting later by the minute. i put it back on and make a dash for the train. By the time I get to the ICA I'm almost completely dry. I walk in like nothing happened.
