Archive for the sex Category

Back around the streets

Posted in interactions, Jess, life, nights, philly, sex on July 11, 2010 by staticity

Walking down a no-name road at one thirty has a certain aimless freedom attached to the yellow lane line. There was no traffic- for a Saturday night I figured the traffic would hold off until at least two (after last call.)  One thirty a.m. is a little like a cheap version of four. No one is out, you can walk in the middle of the road and not have to worry about getting hit, but unlike four a.m. your night may have not ended and the future isn’t always in sight.
I went over to P.s  house for dinner. He made pork with a sauce of shallots drenched in some sort of creamy sauce that meandered around the pork more than a park person on a bench. It was delicious. There were mashed potatoes with real chives that I watched him dice on the counter. Olive oil. The light kind because he knows I have ‘certain ways of doing things.’  The vegetables were miked four four and a half minutes. I did that part.
We talked a little about our awkward source of relationship that we have fumbled upon in only the hours between midnight and five. I won’t hold hands in public. I won’t hug. I notice the fingers-on-lower-back position more acutely than most. I don’t kiss. Sex however….

While he’s in the bathroom I slam on my jeans and buckle my belt as fast as possible. My shirt is hiding under the jeans and I like the way my body looks in the mirror. Slim. Bent over because there is a cramp in my back. Spinal betrayal.  Cigarettes in back pocket. Hips leaned against a door frame. My hair is a little matted, my make up is half steamed off. My voice has that sound to it I had forgotten about. In a minute I’ll be smoking a cigarette on the back porch with my feet up on the fence.  Ten minutes and I can run away and never look back.
There are other parties to go to. A friend of his is having one a few streets down, in some other connection of his neatly.manicured. neighborhood. A friend of mine wants me to go to a bar with her, but it’s too late now. It’s one thirty.
Why don’t you stay the night? He brings up the fact he has air conditioning and two huge comforters. No- I have to get going. I don’t tell him this is my favorite part of my life. Walking down empty roads that turn from neighborhoods to streets of almost equal emptiness. We hug, I say goodbye – and then I am completely free from any entanglement that I might have gotten caught up in. My body is swaying to the headphones jammed in my ear. Professor Longhair.  The best music to dance to- I think of my favorite memory of dancing with my partner in crime in a Minneapolis apartment for hours on end. Someday I will go back and see the Zooloo King.
It’s two when I get into the apartment. I lie on the floor and talk to my kitty Suzanne for awhile before Jess calls. She’s telling me she got arrested a couple nights ago. It was rough, she says, but she just gave them a sob story and she got out in seven hours. She has the ‘I beat the system’ voice, but I know she’s scared. She’s sitting on a stoop outside of St. Bernard street in West Philadelphia and I can hear the guys come up to her.
“Sam called.” She says in that far off voice and I know she’s talking about the same guy she’s been infatuated with for years. Her first love. And for an hour of heaven, we talk about clothes and guys  we’ve dated and everything that’s changed and everything that seems the same.  While the future may not be rising yet, we do always seem to know what keeps coming around.


poetry and the upset

Posted in adventure, insanity, Philadelphia, philly, poetry, relationships, sex, success, values with tags , , , , , on March 29, 2008 by staticity


White lace turned to silver. As says the woman who refuses to color her hair. No denial for the strong. They’ve already faced the space for face. Bushy legs for the laughter that haunts gym class girls. Hitching up their jeans just in time for the no-razor policy at home.
She sneaks one in from a friend only to have it yanked from the shower a week later.

“They stole my clothes when I was in the shower.” She protests but strength is stronger when women are older.

An old man told me the answer when I asked if it ever gets better.
‘Only easier.’
Strength is curious when the pull isn’t hard. Falling flat isn’t the option that anyone looks for when their pressed against the shiny floor. Reflection is the only saving grace when embarrassment steals it from us.

The antique jewlery stayed hidden in a dusty box on a forgotten shelf. Trinkets become alive. Discovery becomes real. Gold and jewls decorated in thick chains of social events still remain in tact. They decorate the memories of old and forgotten, but still saved. Still saved.

Light orange walls with the paint peeling stayed hugging the sheetrock. They’ve been making love since the fifties, but no one looks anymore. Their secret is safe with me. The evening crickets understand when background noise becomes white with pale intentions.

“I’m never going back.” The little girl says to her mother in a heap on the floor. Naked as she is, her clothes were found. Wrapped up in disaster, her eyes are pleading for the shaving razor.

White lace as she was, the hair color remains untouched.


So today was one of those days that was the best it could get before everything went downhill. Niccolo and I spent the day together. He took off work, we hung out listening to techno and talking to the roommates.  We had the BEST sex ever. Aggressive, fun, daring.

And then came the diner. As we were walking to the diner fifteen blocks down, things took a turn for the worse.  He started talking about how he wasn’t impressed with my trying-to-get school in progress because I wasn’t there yet. He said I was dependent and also warned me he would not be around as much since he would be attending school. He kept talking and talking and talking in this snide way that he does that I consider not only patronizing, but demeaning.  I said that I agreed with everything and that he was right because after a half hour I couldn’t argue anymore. Then we got to the diner.

He said I was starting to act like Jessica. He told me that Eric told him I lied a lot when he reconciled with his dope fiend friend who has an anger problem and blamed me for his GIRLFRIEND stealing 200 dollars outof his room.  Nic kept insulting and insulting me until I finally walked out of the diner and didn’t speak to him. I told him to leave me alone.

And that’s where the night ends.

A day in the life of….

Posted in adventure, gentrification, grunge, hipster, interactions, Philadelphia, philly, sex on January 15, 2008 by staticity

I hear the way he hammers out words on his keyboard. Much in the same way one would on an antique type writer. The mystery lies facing him in a world of secrecy. Adventures of tired blankets and surprise sex perhaps. Maybe a letter to his lonely mother from twenty hours away. He sits hunched over with the beloved ash tray like a pet that always follows.

Sometimes I think he’s too quiet. A boy with his mind shouldn’t sit in too much silence. It floods our room until it’s too much to see. Creeping through the crack below the door- it dances down the hall. Into the living room and filling the entire house with a strange type of silent curiosity. White. With all the colors constricted into a bland sheet of paper. Hammering away at it until the secrecy is unfolded online.

Today we were adventurers. New friends for an afternoon.

-One with a suitcase filled with stolen goods from the magic shop.
-Another was a roommate with a Jewish afro as tall as the brothers johnson.
-The third was a feminate black man by the name of Gum Drops.

They all had on hats out of the 1940s.  Complete with checkered jackets made of tweed and brown loafers. We went to a gentrifying coffee shop where people of the same attire read the papers with a look of concern folding in their eyebrows. Let Me Tell You a little something about those democratics. Worry  has lept so far down their media loved throats that fear has become a trend far worse than the common conservative.

We bumped into Erick and Stephanie planning a futuristic ice skating trip to Penns Landing. Conversation floated to childrens cinnema and ET and Star Wars. Jobs were discussed as a friend of a friend got gyped on his pay check. A common occurance.

We then strolled in a pack of pale dressed bougie’s back to our humble abode on Washington Ave.  I could feel the eyes lurking behind section 8 buildings as we tried to hide our rich shame from catching up.  Gentrification Association. And we WERE the neighborhood watch.
We returned to the living room with a mysterious wooden coffee table newly purchased a few days ago. Lit incense and talked about the shopping cart people. People we didn’t know who had slept on our couches the night before. People with attitudes. People with friends. Fight at bars. Music. Records. Comedy.

After a conspiracy movie on what Really happened on 9/11 I walked brisk to the questionable Chinese Food store and bought my humble 2.75 cents cheese burger. Nic and I cleaned and took a shower.

I laughed as he serenaded me with his dancing. Not ashamed of our bodies underwater. Unshaven legs. I bent down to kiss him and found his voice stutter to groan from laughter to pleasure. The Silence had been broken.