More Nineties! Pagan Boy Part Four/Conclusion

Our bodies never quite fit together for PIV sex, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. But OH! The tongue on this man! He ate my pussy with such hunger and gusto, such speed and suction I could never quite even figure out what was happening! We had other ways of pleasing each other too, even one hurty afternoon with candle wax and clothespins, but the real treasure of him was kissing his wet, exhausted face after long spates of shivery, bewildered pleasure.

When he wasn’t blowing my mind or taking me dancing, we talked endlessly about books and music and movies. I read (and loved!) (Except maybe Watchmen!) every book he recommended. Thus began my love affair with Sandman and my on-brand tendency to style myself like Death, complete with the oversized ankh necklaces and the little eyeliner curlicue at the corner of my eye. We spoke mainly in quotes.

When I hear The Smiths singing about “spending warm summer days indoors,” I always think of Pagan Boy, of the absolutely GORGEOUS days we spent with the curtains drawn, sprawled on his living room floor watching MST3K or an occasional “should” movie. (I would gladly take the Godfather hours back, but Liquid Sky? I should watch that at lunch today!) 
 

Update: Liquid Sky is WAY too harsh for 2021 me!

Those warm summer days were where the mismatch came in, though. Where he was content to sprawl and lounge and kiss the days away with me, (Sounds pretty good now, actually!) I wanted us to sometimes go out into the sun.

For a while that summer, I tried to be what I thought of as a “real girlfriend” I tried to take care of him. He wasn’t a hoarder in the whole apartment, but his (BEAUTIFUL, treehouse-like) side porch was stacked with empty pizza boxes and soda cups. I did my best to clean it all up. I’m not sure what he was doing while I was washing and rinsing and stacking and bagging.

Once, we did plan a little hike. I wanted to go skinny-dipping at a local waterfall known for its nudism, it’s hard to believe we had a bad time there! But I was crabby, needy, and crampy, worrying about my tampon string, and he felt too self-conscious to take off his clothes. I sat in the shallow water at the creek’s side while lovely bodies frolicked nearby. Pagan Boy and I were an island of sadness.

I was painting him a small acrylic Moon Card when he called me (I was staying in my mom’s attic kitchen at the time) to break things off. I was sad and irritated and absolutely certain that the club should be mine.

Much later, as grownups, we were friends. I liked having coffee or pancakes with him whenever I was visiting my sister’s town. He was a little oasis of poly/kink/bi in the middle of family stress, though at times he could still be infuriating. I miss him every time I’m there now, or maybe I’m just a little haunted. It was love, or as much love as both of our depressed brains could share. I’m never going to let it go.