Retrovertigo

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Craving a Scotch he enters O’Malley’s bar late at night. Walking past the sign saying, “sorrow can swim”, he attempts to build a descending surface above the water by setting an image of the sky crushing down. There are people in the world whose imaginations are so strong they could kill. But going insane is not the best response to reality.

The barkeeper approaches him with a sympathetic smile. The bar smells like a mixture of washing up liquid and dry sticky beer. Ever since smoking was banned indoors, the walls and floors reek of post party hours. Suddenly he feels older than he really is.

“Evening, Sam. Same old?”

Sam nods.

“What’s up?”

“She wants me to fuck her in the arse, that’s up.”

The barkeeper laughs as he prepares Sam’s drink.

“Taking a woman up the arse has various meanings, y’know that, right?”

Sam’s eyes glow in curiosity – no matter if sacred or profane, his wife Lorraine no longer knows the difference, not to mention her modesty over which she used to be so protective. Ever since she picked up a gay man’s erotic book, she has transformed into a sodomy obsessed little woman with the wild desire of having her husband’s 5’5 inch erect penis up her anus. And every time he refuses. Sometimes her fingertips would brush along his curvy bum cheeks and even run between them.

“They envy homosexuals such as Wilde or Ginsberg,” the barkeeper says.

“Why? Cos they’re poets?”

“No,” he says and places the Scotch in front of Sam.

At this moment a small group of middle-aged ladies enter the pub with high pitched laughs. One of them, Sam recognizes, is Lorraine’s gynecologist Dr. Fitton. A few days ago she called him to ask if everything was ok with Lorraine, as she had asked Dr. Fitton to stroke her anus with the speculum, because she felt a tickle. So he asked Dr. Fitton whether she had done it or not, but she refused to reply, and instead, indicated that his young wife was keen on some adventurous approaches. He has only seen a vaginal speculum once and it’s no instrument one would want up his arse. With an instant he downed the glass of Scotch and stares at the barkeeper.

“I understand” Sam says “men don’t need extra toys.”

 

The night seems endless, as if it hadn’t been day at all. Never in his life has he walked that slowly – the ground isn’t as solid as it was before; it’s like walking on soft soil. At least it feels like it.

On the way home he tries to remember what he has read about Freud many years ago. She has always adored her father since she was little, this much he knows. However, this doesn’t justify the assumption that every little girl envies her father’s penis.

By the time he arrives at home, he finds Lorraine naked and asleep to some gay soft porn on TV. On his bedside is the purple 5’2 inch vibrator, which looks unused; neither does it smell of her juice or lubricant. It’s dry. He slowly walks around the bed, observing the sweet curve of her body as she lies on the side.

In the movie the two male actors are standing on the stairs, looking for a good position to facilitate penetration. While the main guy pushes hard, he also grabs his partner’s strongly erect penis and begins to rub it. While staring at his wife’s slender body, male moans and heavy sighs fill the bedroom. She resembles an expensive porcelain vase that he would like to break. Or to put it more subtly, she reminds him of a high class Japanese maiko selling her virginity to a noble man. He remembers robbing her virginity about fifteen years ago. And he remembers the sound of her uncontrollable sobs reverberating in his room after he had come, except that he never asked her why she was crying. The sex scene from 15 years ago keeps flashing before his eyes – he still sees the tears rolling down her cheek. Apparently virgin girls have a tendency to set up a series of expectations before their first time. Maybe he didn’t fulfill them and all her dreams had shattered into pieces that day. He hadn’t touched her for at least a year after that, not to mention any further virgins with expectations. Not even Kerouac would understand why after deflowering Lorraine he became a short-term sex addict, who had to fuck women so hard until they bled. The more sensitive their cervices were the harder he pushed.

The gay actors have slowed down and all he hears is heavy breathing. They take this little moment to stroke each other’s bodies and lick off each other’s sweat.

Both night lamps are set to dim, which brings a calm, secretive environment upon them. He approaches his wife’s side.

She didn’t cry in pain. It was not happiness, either. She just cried.

Glancing over to the vibrator, which he had bought her before he went away on a business trip, he figures that it’s actually the first time she has removed it from the package, as the packaging is lying on the ground next to the bed.

While unbuttoning his jeans she begins to move a fraction toward his side of the bed – her eyes still closed. Her hand softly reaches out for his pillow.

He climbs onto the bed, which feels softer than usual. She stirs and turns to him. Before she has the chance to throw a glimpse at his erect penis, he grabs her by the hips to turn her to an all-four position.

The two actors have now swapped positions; one is more impatient than the other, begging for immediate insertion.

Sam spits into his hand and wipes his saliva deep between his wife’s bum cheeks, and then he spits a second time to lubricate his penis. Compared to him she is breathing heavily already.

He enters her anus with an instant. Her single scream occurs in harmony with the actor, who is being penetrated. Both of their lustful moans get louder as the pushing gains speed.

Sam observes how his wife reaches out for the vibrator, which she inserts into her vagina. At this de-familiarizing sight he slows down – feeling the tightness around his penis. He looks at the TV and then at his wife.

All sound has gone. A sense of vertigo surrounds his head, removing him from his own orbit of sanity. While feeding her temptations, he submits all his attention to a void in which he can only hear his own inconsistent breathing.

He grabs her tightly by the back of her neck and begins to push as hard as he can all the way to the end.

She didn’t cry in pain. It was not happiness, either. She just…

He must have missed her cry; it’s not until now he realizes that both, he and his wife, have come. The room appears a lot brighter than before. He feels exposed. He feels conscious.

The movie has long finished.

The room smells like a mixture of cum and arse. If candles were allowed in the flat he would have lit some aromatic ones beforehand.

All he hears is his wife sobbing uncontrollably while holding the vibrator covered in her cum.

 

by Paula Deckard (c) 2014

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