The Sportin' Life (2 page)

When we were together we were happy together, and Kevin was as happy as I was, I am sure of it. The problem was that Kevin wasn
’
t equipped to handle happiness, and for me it is like a drug that seduces me and that I will do anything to perpetuate, even to the point of suffering through miserable periods in the hope it will return. Kevin would come over in the evening, help himself to the beer that I kept in the refrigerator just for him and he would take a deep breath of joy to be in my home and sharing its bounty, for that is what it was. And he would kiss me each time with the interest usually devoted only to the first time. And he would open his arms for me and encircle me in a bear hug that took my breath away. And we would both sigh with blissful happiness and the time would pass harmoniously.

I would see Kevin and need to be near him. He was my magnet and he could hypnotize. I
’
d reach for a kiss and drink in the taste of Kevin. And when the kiss was over, I would want another. He was my Svengali, and his lips contained the nectar I craved. If Kevin took a nap on my couch, I
’
d silently untie and remove his heavy serious businessman
’
s shoes and set them on the floor. So he could be more comfortable. I
’
d cover him gently with an old velvet throw. She he wouldn
’
t get cold. And I
’
d sit peacefully on the floor beside the couch, his nearness to me being more than enough to satisfy me and while he slept, I
’
d dream of Kevin and me, of being with Kevin and loving him forever. If he wanted something, I would procure it, if he desired something, I would proffer it, not as my due but as my greatest pleasure to love Kevin and serve his wishes, to bring him joy, happiness, peace and comfort. I dreamed of marrying Kevin and having a family with him, but that was secondary to everything I really wanted from Kevin which was to be with him and just to love him.

At night we would go to bed and Kevin would make love to me with the adoration of a bridegroom. I would feel myself go into the trance of emotion that I always experienced in Kevin
’
s presence. He would touch me and begin to make love, and if I remembered I could reach out and kiss his beautiful back with its curves and angles before we would tumble onto the bed. Or I could gently bite his powerful neck with my teeth, making him moan with pleasure. Usually I forgot to do those things and when I would be alone remembering the wonders of Kevin in bed, the desire to do so would return, but when we were together I was so overwhelmed by the passion we shared that I couldn
’
t think at all.

I felt in a raw way. His body would press against mine and I would swirl in response. There was Kevin and there I was, and we were together, merging wordlessly, soundlessly, effortlessly joining into one quivering whole. I couldn
’
t think and I couldn
’
t speak. If the house had been on fire, I wouldn
’
t have known it. Kevin was inside me and that was all I could feel. My body received Kevin like a form of Holy Communion. And all that was me, my essence, my self beyond the physical, would swirl and float out into space, merging with Kevin
’
s in a oneness that was amazing. That must be what it is like to be dead, to be spirit, to be God, to be complete.

Later we would lie back on the pillows together, my head cradled against his arm, his hand resting softly against my hair. We would both be sated, drained, completely satisfied and totally relaxed. In those peaceful moments we would talk or not, depending on the mood. We could just lie there together in a place where time had momentarily ceased to exist and simply drink in the presence of each other. Sometimes we would discuss our lives. Kevin would talk about his work in the business world and I would listen, interested to learn more about him and what involved him. I would talk about my pending divorce and the problems I was having with the lawyers. When he heard about my problems, he was so attentive, so caring, so typically Kevin, that he made one call and found me a better lawyer by the next day. That was the Kevin I knew and loved. For as much as I adored him and would have done anything at all to please him, it seemed that the feelings were mutual and he was the one man in all the world I could both love and count on.

Later, when my friend Sharon went to work in a store specializing in minerals and they received some jewelry made of raw stones, I decided to buy one for Kevin. I didn
’
t know at that time whether to believe all the things they crystal people were saying about the various healing powers of the stones, but I thought that the little rock encircled with a gold loop would look fabulous against Kevin
’
s golden chest. He had doubts too, because he was not the kind of guy to wear jewelry, but he accepted my gift graciously after I laughed and teased him that even Adonis can be adorned. The crystal did look wonderful and I think that Kevin enjoyed owning it. He may have it still for all I know.

He wore it all the time, and we continued to see each other. Once, while we were making love, I had a frightening experience. Instead of merging with Kevin as I always did, I clung fearfully inside my own body. A sense of panic swept over me as though a dark cloud had crossed my heart. Something was wrong. It wouldn
’
t work out. These were raw sensations rather than clear thoughts, and they were far more frightening that way. I felt pure desperation but could say nothing, because how could I make sense to Kevin, or myself for that matter, of a premonition of disaster that didn
’
t even involve crashing jets?

One evening as we chatted amiably while having drinks at Winston
’
s on
Columbus
, Kevin began to confide in me one of his women stories. As usual I listed with interest and waited for the punch line. Gradually it began to dawn on me that he was telling me about a current experience, not one from his past as he usually did. That was a painful shock. Kevin spent so much time wooing me, I didn
’
t even imagine that he could possibly be involved with anyone else as well, or that he would be looking. I had stopped seeing all the men who had surrounded me after my first date with Kevin. It was a relief and I assumed that he had both done and felt the same. But then I began to hear the story he told me and it was tacky and so was his behavior. If any strange man had told me about such antics, I would have written him off as not worth knowing. But here was my Kevin, a man I adored and respected, telling me about pretending to be married and then about lying that he was allowed to see other women on the side. Who could think like that? Unfortunately plenty of men can, and they are the ones I want to avoid. I wanted to go back in time before this night and to pretend that it had never occurred. But I couldn
’
t.

I had to face facts there and then. Kevin was giving me valuable, essential information. He was a cheat. He was a liar. He was sleazy. I couldn
’
t count on him to love me the way I loved him, because he needed the freedom to explore the female possibilities as they were presented to him. Maybe he cared about me and maybe he didn
’
t, but I knew then that he was telling me to hold back with my own feelings, because he could never meet them or make a commitment. The only problem was that it was too late. Far too late. If I had a brain in my head, I would have walked away then and there and written him off as an error in judgment on my part. But I am a prisoner of my emotions and they always rule me rather than the reverse. I was disgusted. I was cold and shaky. I was wounded beyond repair. But I was still in love.

Did Kevin know how I felt? Does it matter? Eventually he ended it, for no reason he could explain or I could see. When I called him, he told me that he missed me and he missed being with me, seeing me, sleeping with me. Obviously not enough because nothing but Kevin himself was preventing us from doing any of those things. One day I was in love and the next I was heartbroken. And Kevin was gone I don
’
t know where or with whom.

I sank into despair with the same fervor with which I fell in love. I was paralyzed with pain. If I could have died by pushing a button, I would have done it gladly, the only problem being that there would have been little difference between death and the way I already felt. I had a pulse, maybe, but my heart had surrendered to the anguish of being without Kevin. I couldn
’
t leave the bed. I couldn
’
t eat. I tried to sleep as much as possible, for at least asleep I was unaware of the pain that filled my being to my very soul.

I hated Kevin. If I had a truck and he were standing in front of me in the middle of the road, I could have run over him with no remorse. I wanted to crush his heart the way he had crushed mine. I wanted him to change his mind and call me asking for another chance so that I could reject him callously, uncaringly, completely. I wanted him to die a thousand deaths of all the evil villains in every B movie I could recall. I wanted him to suffer and be destroyed by love. But more than anything else there was one thing I wanted. I wanted him back.

Lou

Penis Envy

What am I gonna have
—
a foot long cock? Then he would be only four feet shorter than me. Irwin is big enough for me and if a broad can
’
t deal with him, that
’
s her problem. Let her go to a stable and find a horse to fuck. What would you rather have in the saddle
—
a jockey or a fucking palomino? I like to throw a woman off balance as I plug her. I say,
“
It feels like it
’
s not all the way in.
”
That way she thinks there
’
s something wrong with her snatch and not with Irwin. Works every time.

If the truth were known, I
’
d rather look like Kevin, who is a fucking dreamboat. If only he were dumb or broke or something, then I could look down on him, but unfortunately he
’
s the whole enchilada
—
handsome, successful, bright, degreed. Of course that doesn
’
t mean he isn
’
t a fucking mental case
—
I have it all over him there. Unfortunately your modern broad isn
’
t all that interested in mental health, not when it comes to guys six feet tall (with I guess a cock to match) versus guys only five feet tall with proportionate equipment.

I needed a leading edge and so I went into medicine. I was raised to believe that doctors are the closest earthly equivalent to God and so I decided to reach for the top. I
’
m lucky at least for the century in which I was born
—
in olden times, I would have had to become a warrior or something like that which would have required more inches than I have to offer
—
above or below the belt. No, a doctor was it, and I was right. All I have to do is tell a broad that I
’
m her friendly local physician and I seem to grow taller in her estimation. The other thing I needed was hot wheels and I even upped the stakes on that one because I didn
’
t stick to the typical Corvette or even Porsche or Jag, no I went straight to the top and got my first Rolls Royce when I was twenty eight. Been plugging them in the back seat ever since.

Wait a minute
—
I didn
’
t even get to the best part which is that I am a fucking gynecologist
—
that
’
s right
—
I
’
m up to my armpits in snatch from morning to night, so even if they can
’
t see I
’
m as close to God as they
’
re going to get on earth, they
’
re still going to climb up on the table and give me a bird
’
s eye view of heaven. Where else would God dwell? I read in the paper about some foreign asshole OBGYN who was up on charges for raping a woman on the examining table and I say good for him, even if he is a schmuck. No
Beverly Hills
doc would do that
—
why bother when they
’
re lining up to open their snatch for a doctor
—
privately that is. I wonder how the guy did it. Did he plug them with the speculum in place? Jeez how awful
—
I bet that would scratch. What was this bozo
’
s problem anyway
—
even a three-eyed Martian with antennae could get laid in
Los Angeles
—
all he
’
d need is to be a doctor or a rich son of a bitch from the
Middle East
. How anyone that dumb could pass the med boards I can
’
t imagine.

Of course now that Kevin
’
s here in
L.A.
the rest of us might be in for some competition since he manages to fuck more women than a fucking Casanova, which is exactly what he is. I don
’
t know why I said he could bunk in with me while he shops for a house
—
after all I owe him nothing even if my mother was his mother
’
s cousin and fucking favorite relative. My mother was everybody
’
s favorite relative and all I can say now that
’
s she
’
s gone is that I hope most of them, male and female alike, will be content to stay in Brooklyn where they belong and leave me and this fucking paradise unvisited. Well, it doesn
’
t hurt to be charitable. Besides
—
Kevin could pass along some of his choicer rejects to me.