| now is | once was | came from | heard tell |

12:16 p.m. - 2004-09-27

Animals

At the risk of this becoming a journal of nothing more than my sexual exploits, here is more.

The boy and I the other night. I wasn't really dressed for it, was testing the weather for big boots and miniskirts and a bright pink quilted raver top. We were messy in the front bar of the gay pub, a big crowd of us, drinking and joking and giggling- more people kept arriving, accidental acquaintances, some more drunk than we were, dragging the level of the night ever lower and our hilarity ever higher. Fisting jokes and faces in cleavage and biting, lots of people biting my neck. A table pushed, glasses flying. Giggle, look contrite. We will never be thrown out of here- the bartender is looking at us, at all this cleavage, her suppressed smile. She leans between the boy and I to collect our empty glasses, her eyes grazing the line of my top. Boy's hands grasp me around the waist, territorial declaration. I laugh and lean back into him. Chefs hands and surly face and country boy checked shirt (he is he tonight, he growled into my ear, and uses it more and more. Especially around me. He bit my shoulder hard as punishment for introducing him to someone with his girl name. He doesn't like to use it so much any more). He's in town looking for a wife tonight, we joke. Pack into her into the ute and drive her back to the home range behind the mountains. It's getting sillier. We are getting sillier.

("Good child bearing hips", he says, fingers digging into my ass, hands crept up beneath my skirt.)

We leave abruptly- or at least, I do. Down my drink, grab my coat and bag, am halfway across the bar before he yells my name harshly. Where am I going? Why? I'm getting out of there, can't stand the combined looks any more, don't want to deal with the way the bartender is demanding some reaction from me. He grabs his jacket and follows me. The security guard outside says, "Evening, ladies" and the boy growls at him, teeth bared. I grab his hand and pull him up the pavement.

Hands beneath his shirt on his narrow ribs, we kiss. Shift back and forth, kiss deep and teeth and hard. He's supposed to go home but we have a fight- he wants me to catch a cab, I'm happy to walk home. Want to work some alcohol off so I don’t wake up hungover. We bicker, he pulls me back. Hails a cab and we both jump in. I smile victory to myself. He's coming to my place.

We fuck like rough trade, breathy and angry and violent. Throwing each other around like rag dolls, pulling clothes half-off, leaving them on mostly. Teeth sinking in to soft skin, nails, hard pummelling hands. He holds me with a look of contempt, slaps me hard across the ass. A few more times. I shriek, but stay put for it. Naked except for my big, shiny black boots, stretched out like a pussy cat in front of him, waiting for the next slap. He picks up the rope that is lying beside my bed and hits me with that too. Sharp and swift and biting. Then pulls me by the arm and tells me to get up, "Silly girl". It's the least of the names he's already called me.

I saw him again last night, well, I think she was her last night. Mild-mannered, gentle, polite, insistent. Inspects me all over for bruising. Pushes me over this morning before she leaves for work and adds more, bruising me with her hands and my riding crop. Punishment for teasing her, for joking about myself and another woman, a femme she's had her eyes on. "She squealed when I pierced her," I murmur, bright-eyed. Slap. "She loved it. I saw her blood. I signed my name in it on her arm", Slap.

- |+

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