PRE-INTERNET FUCKING

In the middle of the day, on the sofa, in the quiet. Wind chimes tinkling. It’s like you’re both adults, you’re both hairy. You’re both really into it. She’s kind of guttural, but that’s cool. There’s a new community being built outside and it’s all good. You both decided to meet at home. You’re in your white slacks, and she’s in her puffy pastel shirt, and she looks good. And maybe her hair is in a French braid. And the light’s coming in and it’s all peaceful, on the outskirts of this new community. And maybe there’s a Navajo rug on the wall. But you’re not feeling burdened by anything because you’re making a living, actual money, from doing or creating something. And that’s how it’s supposed to be, but you don’t even know that’s how it’s supposed to be at the time because that’s the way it is.

And your lady, she knows what to do, and she’s not trying to be any certain way except the way she is. And maybe afterwards she’ll take off the big watch on your wrist and put it on her own wrist. And maybe she’ll sit in her underwear next to the couch and shake out a newspaper or look at a magazine. You’ll just pass the time like that. And you’ll drink iced tea, and it will be so leisurely that it’s like someone is just pouring you into the afternoon.

You live on a street called Falcon Street and there are construction sites around from the new community and you know how to fuck. You don’t question how to fuck because you haven’t seen a million other people fuck before you. And your lady knows how to fuck, too. And both of you fuck, in your air conditioned house, on the outskirts of a new community, on the sofa you bought with money you could see, in the middle of the day. And it feels great.