The next time Rhonda and I met after our first liaison was class. She sat where she usually sat, across the room from me. She acted quite nonchalantly, not acknowledging me at first. Only when she caught me glancing at her halfway through class did she flash me a knowing smile.
Rhonda and I had commenced a relationship of sweaty trysts and indeterminate definition. It couldn’t be said that we were “significant others” to each other. But “friends with benefits” somehow understates the intensity of our coupling. Out different interests and values precluded us from becoming “soulmates.” We tried to be discreet, but our companionship outside of class made its way into the school’s rumor mill. (The noticeable age difference between us surely prompted some tittering among our classmates.)
I maintained a certain reserve through it all. I cared about Rhonda, but I was unable to allow myself to fall in love with her. Some of it was the age difference. Her being a single mom complicated matters for me. Much of it had to do with my inability to express intimacy with her in a non-sexual way. There were occasional public displays of affection — she snuggled up to me on a park bench in Union Square; she touchingly held my hand when we strolled through an artisan fair. It was sex, though, that kept us together. We had an undeniable erotic chemistry. There was a genuine emotional connection between us, but it was subsumed by the sheer physicality of our coupling. Rhonda had a keen interest in “sacred sexuality,” so there was sometimes a contemplative dimension to our “lovemaking.” But most of the time we fucked.
“Fucking involves a unique tone of engagement and experience. Fucking embodies a lusty, lascivious eagerness for pleasure… a delicious, desirous wantonness. It is…sex embellished with erotic virtuosity. There is deliberate intent to arouse (and satisfy) passion.”
David Schnarch
When we fucked, we accessed each other’s “dark” side — that debased side of us that abandoned any pretense to social niceties or propriety. Unable to resist our urges, we fucked after class in the backseat of her sedan on more than one occasion. There was nothing polite and restrained about it. Our fucking was raw, energetic, and aggressive as we channeled our primitive sexuality. In order to fuck Rhonda, I had to establish some emotional distance from her and approach her with a certain carnivorous intent. Lust precluded love.
Once upon entering her apartment, Rhonda pulled me close to her and passionately kissed me. As I stared into her crystal blue eyes, I saw the power of a woman’s raw lust. She whispered how badly she needed to feel me inside her. This wasn’t a desire on her part. It was a need. I pinned her against the wall, pulled off her sweater, hiked up her skirt, and pulled down her panties. Neither of us was capable of reining in our passion. After I quickly stripped off my jeans and boxers, I turned her body around and positioned myself directly behind her. She let out a moan of pleasure when I slid my cock inside her. I grabbed her hips and thrust deep into her. Now wasn’t the time for gentle kisses. I pounded deeper into her wetness as her body convulsed. Digging my fingers deeper into her hips, I fucked her harder and faster, yielding myself to sexual abandon. There was nothing dignified about it. It was raw and dirty, and I convulsed as I emptied myself inside her.
Lutheran Guilt 