Primal Communication

hands talkingI love being able to communicate without talking.  It fulfills a very basic need – something people have doing since the dawn of man.  Some of my favorite conversation with my sister consist entirely of, “Hey, remember that time…” followed by hysterical laughter. It drives other people nuts. Once, after a crazy, almost deadly backpacking excursion in New Zealand, we had an entire discussion about our next trip, using only our eyes. Reading body language has always been a talent of mine – a side-effect of being a neurotic, hyper-vigilant, people-watcher.  Often, the people I have the best shorthand with are sexual partners.  Once I’ve tried to match the rhythm of someone’s body, it’s easy. I could always see when my ex, Martin, was about to lie. He thought it was magic, but as soon as I’d caught him in one lie, I recognized the look.

That first lie was during the brief-but-awkward time I was still dating Jason, but was increasingly aware of Martin’s attention.  I should have realized this was a recipe for bullshit, especially when Jason and I began comparing scars.  A sizeable chunk of his calf was mangled after he lost a fight with a barbed wire fence.  The scar was a liability in his modeling career, but I regarded it as one of the sexiest parts of his body.  Even I was jealous of Jason’s scar.  I’d nearly starved to death as an infant, nearly frozen in New Zealand (see above), made a Subaru fly, and been shot at (many times!), but have very few visible scars for my trouble.  Martin is completely scarless, but does have fake teeth.  When Jason asked about them, I was expecting some boring story about a childhood bicycling accident.  I was wrong.

Martin sighed, took a deep breath, and told us they’d been knocked out in a fight.  He told us that after that fateful punch, he’d been filled with a white-hot rage, stabbing blindly with his keys, leaving his adversary unconscious and bleeding next to the missing teeth.  Jason and I were stunned.  The reason, of course, is because the story was bullshit. According to Martin’s mother, he smashed his teeth out on the pavement after tripping over his own feet.  Now I can hear a lie in his throat, even before he begins to speak.

I’ve never caught Jason in a lie, at least not to me.  Once, his mom asked if he was getting enough sleep.  He replied, “Yes mom. I’m fine,”  even though we’d just finished a 24 hour theatre festival.  This was the tiniest  white lie, but he still felt the need to justify it to me later.  I realized 2 things that day: 1) Jason feels tremendous guilt when he’s dishonest  2) In spite of this guilt (or more likely, because of it) when he does lie, he does it well.  I thought I finally caught him this spring.  We had tentative plans and, of course, that was the night my touch screen suddenly stopped working.  I could still read texts, but Jason’s never came.  He still hadn’t called when my new phone arrived.  I didn’t want to pester him, but I was impatient.  Also horny.  I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so when I finally did call… I stretched the truth a bit.

ME: My phone’s been broken so I have no idea if you got back to me the other night.
JASON: Oh shit!  Explains why you never texted back!
ME: So… you… did get back to me?
JASON: Yeah. I sent you like 3 texts but you never responded. I was starting to worry!

I was dumbfounded.  He sounded so sincere.  Could he really be that full of shit? Unfortunately,  I’d opened the conversation with, “I have no idea if you got back to me,” so I couldn’t confront him, but I was pretty sure I’d just learned Jason’s tell.  I was too smug to be angry… and then I looked at his facebook.  It was littered with people either pissed off or concerned because they hadn’t heard from him in days.  His dad had posted the social media equivalent of an APB.  This was either an elaborate conspiracy or mine wasn’t the only phone malfunction.

Thanks to inconveniently timed houseguests, it took weeks for me to get Jason alone.  As soon as they were gone, I texted, “Finally alone. Dying to fuck you” Sexting Jason felt weird.  We were primarily just good friends, but I was pleased by the efficiency of his response.  “Free after 10pm tomorrow.” The next day was hectic, but I worked my ass off and rushed home.  A few blocks from my house, I saw 2 teenagers standing underneath a street light.  Their posture was stiff and alert.  They weren’t speaking, just standing there… waiting.  I tried to turn around, but they ran towards me. One shoved a gun in my face, the other held second gun to the back of my head.

I’d been mugged before.  The last time, I’d berated the kids into giving me my purse back, but this time the robbers seemed twitchy.  I handed over my phone without a fuss and flagged down a little old man to call 911.  He noticed the angry red mark on my arm.  At first he thought I’d been shot, but then recognized it as a sheet pan burn.  “You’re a chef!” He exclaimed, pulling up his sleeve.  He had a whisk tattooed on his massive, ancient bicep.  The tat, and much of the rest of his arm, was splattered with small, round scars, clearly indicative of a grease burn.  “Funny what you know ‘bout someone just by looking,” he said.  At least I was in good company.  I didn’t make it home til midnight.  I was cold.  I was tired.  I was angry.  I was definitely not getting laid. My new new phone arrived days later and the very first text I sent was, “Still dying to fuck you!”  I had no way of knowing when Jason would get back to me, so I just went about my day, but I did  toss a toothbrush in my purse, just in case. I was at my favorite beer bar when his response came.

JASON: Good and good!  Wanna come to LA with me?
ME: Uh… sure? When?
JASON: Right now! Stay at a motel w/ me? Somewhere else I should drop you?
ME: Stay with you!!!

My head was buzzing on my way to his house, partially from the prospect of finally getting laid, but also the spontaneity. Why did he ask if I wanted to stay with someone else?  Why does he think I’m going with him?  Glad I packed my toothbrush!  After I helped him pack, there was this pregnant pause before our hips pulled inward like magnets.  We kissed. We groped.  Clothing was being pushed aside when Jason said, “Ok, ok wait!  We have a rideshare.  Can’t be all wound up.  Unless she’s cute and into that sort of thing. Hey! Maybe we’ll finally get a crack at another threesome!”

Remember the white lie Jason told about getting enough sleep?  It stood out because, after the theatre event, we’d had a super awkward threesome.  There was a bit of an improptu after party.  5 of us were piled on Jason’s bed when his roommate announced that we had to see this crazy pterodactyl porn.  It featured live, costume-clad men and puppets fucking a blond chick.  It looked like a Jim Henson employee had been fired, turning the Muppet studio into porn set as an elaborate revenge plot.  It was decidedly unsexy, but we were 5 sleep-deprived theatre kids in 1 bed.  There was no way things weren’t going to get weird.  First, Jason’s skinny friend, Helen, randomly announced that everyone had seen her tits except me, which she promptly remedied. Jason’s roommate said, “Now you’ve seen hers, but she hasn’t seen yours!” Jason, being either a complete ass or a gentlemen (likely both) replied, “Oh come on!  Jo has more cleavage showing than Helen has tit!”  I felt bad that Jason had been such a dick (which was perhaps his plan all along), so I flashed her back.  Eventually, Jason’s roommate went to bed alone, Helen shared The Blue Couch with some boy, which left 2 other couches for Helen’s friend, Penny.  I had never actually slept in Jason’s bed, though we’d been sort of dating for months.  I was looking forward to a night of snuggling, soft blankets and deep sleep… Then Penny knocked.

PENNY: Can I sleep in here?  They’re totally having sex out there.  It’s really weird.
JASON: Sure!  Good thing I have a couch in my room!  There should be a blanket…

Before he could finish his thought, she climbed into bed with us.  Penny was 5 years younger than me, morbidly obese, with pink hair.  She wasn’t someone I could picture either Jason or I hooking up with.  He mumbled goodnight and everything was quiet for a moment.  Then his body language changed.  He jerked, and went completely rigid. Motion under the blankets caught my eye.  I slid my hand towards it, but Jason stopped me and shook his head, his face slightly panicked.  I raised my eyebrow and freed my hand, sliding it down until it found hers, which was busy stroking his dick.

I was exhausted and couldn’t figure a graceful way out of the situation.  Should I just ignore it? Yell at her to leave the room?  Did he want this to happen?  Did I?  I had about 30 seconds to object or this was moving forward.  I felt my time expiring and I had to admit, Jason felt good – he always feels good – and I rarely have the opportunity to experiment with women. So, I looked at Jason and shrugged.  He shrugged too, and kissed me.  Then there were 3 tongues awkwardly prodding each other. Her gargantuan breasts – easily twice the size of my DDDs – were flopping everywhere.  This went on for about 10 minutes before sleep deprivation took over, and Jason passed out cold.  Penny was unphased, crawling across his sleeping body to my side of the bed.  She fucked me enthusiastically while I listened to Jason snore.As awkward and uninvited as it had been, Jason still kicked himself for missing the girl-on-girl action…

…Which brings us back the the rideshare girl.  She was young (only 21), shy, conservatively dressed, and clearly a little nervous about going to LA with strangers. She texted our full names to her friends.  Jason shot me a look which read, “This isn’t going to happen, is it?”  I replied with my best, “Don’t scare her, jackass,” expression. Fortunately, she fell asleep quickly.  Jason and I didn’t talk much but even the silence between us was dripping with sex.  He drove fast.  I’m not sure if it was an effort to get to our motel faster but if it was, it only made things worse.  I find Jason’s inner daredevil irresistibly sexy and… I think he does too.  He describes driving fast with orgasmic language.  Just when I decided I couldn’t take the tension any longer… the car literally overheated.  We pulled off the road and I held the hood open while he checked the coolant levels.  I wondered if we could get away with fucking behind the hood of his car, and he must have seen my thought, because he started grinning like an idiot.  I rolled my eyes and got back in the car.  He held my hand the rest of the way to LA.

We rolled into Hollywood at 4am.  The rideshare girl was meeting some friends downtown.  We were helping her unload, when a gaggle of club chicks set upon us, each wearing 6” heels and small strips of brightly colored lace, which may or may not have been marketed as dresses.  They hugged us.  They were drunk and squeeing, wanting to “thank us” for getting their friend there safely.  They’d looked us up on facebook and were immensely relieved by our astrological signs.  Apparently aquarius and taurus are never serial killers.  Checks were kissed, hands were held and shoulders were hung from.  They begged us to stay for a drink.  Jason’s posture said, “looks like we could have that threesome, afterall.”  Mine replied, “sure, if you want to fall asleep in the middle again.”  He nodded, and said, “fair point” out loud.  I laughed at the sudden switch to verbiage.  We made our excuses, and headed for the motel.

Jason laid down on the bed and shut his eyes.  I had a moment of panic, thinking he was too tired for sex, when he suddenly exclaimed, “Shit! I think I left the condoms in the car!”  I told him I had some in my purse, and slid into bed next to him. There was an intensity to the sex that night.  I think it was the only time I’ve ever had sex with Jason, where it was simply about being horny.  The urgency of the sex left me ill-prepared for the intimacy of the bedtime ritual.  He actually offered to lend me his toothbrush, not realized I’d thrown mine in my purse.  Do people really do that?  Jason came back to bed and snuggled against me.  Sexual tension resolved, I found myself focusing on the things I usually enjoy about Jason; the strength of his hands, the confidence of his movements, the sound of his breath.  We were sleepy, but our bodies were restless.  Our hands wandered.  I was about to ask if I should grab another condom, when I saw him lick his fingers.  I briefly wondered why he’d done that, when I suddenly realized that I had 30 seconds to object… or I was about to have unprotected anal sex with Jason Fucking Weizman.  I knew that this was pathologically stupid, but I also knew that, unlike the awkward threesome, I really wanted this.  It was exciting and dirty and wrong… and it felt so good.  My 30 seconds expired, and I failed to object.

The last time I’d attempted anal sex was with Michael.  He was hung like a horse and only knew 2 speeds; fast and faster.  That’s fantastic… with other orifices.  Jason also tends to fuck hard and fast, but I was delighted that he approached anal differently. He moved slower, left me more control, and paid very close attention to my body language.  He kissed my shoulders and brushed his nose against the back of my neck. He reached his arm around my hip and touched me.  It was… weirdly loving – tender, even.  It was also unprotected anal sex in a cheap Hollywood motel room.  Jason is nothing if not a contradiction.

Afterward, he asked if I wanted to shower with him.  I’m sure he was thinking pragmatically – we both needed a shower and it would be faster 2-at-a-time.  However, the list of people I’ve showered with as an adult was very short; 2 ex-boyfriends and my sister (in New Zealand, to avoid hypothermia). Between this and the toothbrush offer, I was struck by how nonchalant Jason is about intimacy.  It freaks me the fuck out.  And with Jason, I’m always trying to communicate 2 thoughts at once 1) I’m not looking for anything more than than he’s able to give, 2) he means the world to me.  We’ve never been good at talking about us, so I find myself having to say it all by gesture.  I feel like I’m stuck in that Futurama episode where they have to communicate world peace to an alien race who only speak by dancing. Sometimes my intimacy issues cause me to shy away from expressing the full spectrum of my complex feelings for Jason.  Having shorthand with someone is amazing, but some words just need to be spoken. As were falling asleep, I whispered:

ME: I love you, Jason.
JASON: Love you too, Jo.

4 thoughts on “Primal Communication

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