Bad sex makes me angry. For days after having bad sex I will feel like I can't fit into my skin and I will lay awake nights wondering what went wrong. Then, because of the insomnia, I will be short-tempered at work - or worse, I will be lethargic at work and I will stare at my boss like she's a cow chewing her cud in a wet field and I will wonder, again, why I went to grad school in the first place if I will end up dying as someone's executive assistant. Bad sex will prolong the hormonal itch I need to scratch but will make me wary of the attempt- and this cowardice will make me even more angry. To be a scared woman is to be a weak woman and for sex to make me weak is to make me angry.
My anger will build when I begin to plot the next time I can have sex and plan the ways I can avoid the badness of it. I will read manuals, advice columns; I will squint at diagrams and will increase my Kegels. It is a sex workout and this will make me even angrier since I haven't been to the real gym in weeks and the pudgy softness around my middle will be another cause of worry - worry that will make my anger grow.
And then I will think about who made me angry, who inflicted the bad sex on me and I will be even angrier. That lax, lazy, flaccid, derelict, casual, indifferent, neglectful, slack and vague lover.
'No more!' I determine and quietly acknowledge that I wouldn't have to be this angry if only I was patient about being with the person I like being with. Even though he lives almost 800 miles away. Which just makes me angry all over again.
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