And oh..oh—the Jules who puts me to sleep. You’ve heard about our sex life, so I won’t bore you with that..but oh..the Jules..who loved me at night. Who wrapped me up, who held me in her hands. Who told me bedtime stories—and not all about a vortex. She could be scary, but she could be loving, too. I think it’s pretty obvious they go together, the yin and the yang. I mean: there’s no beautiful people who aren’t scary..there’s no wonderful people who aren’t also hurt. That’s why they say: you can’t catch a tiger’s cub unless you go into the tiger’s den. I think that’s why they say that. It’s true, that saying. But people try to do it anyway, try to get the light without going through the darkness..they try to see the vortex..without going all the way in. The thing is it’s just not there..it’s just not there, what you’re looking for, until you go all the way in.
So she’d tell me fairytales. And some of them would be scary, and some of them would not. Jules just likes to make up stories. I mean: some of this shit: her mother didn’t tell her this, she made that shit up.
And Jules has never been to Zaire. She talks about it like she has but she’s never even been to California. New York and here. That’s it. Pittsburgh on the way through, a couple years ago. I don’t care though—it’s a lot of work finding someone who will tell you fairytales after she’s fucked the shit out of you, on your way from bed to sleep. If you did find someone who told you true stories, they likely wouldn’t be able to screw worth shit. Or they probly wouldn’t be a good storyteller—true or not. I just fall asleep listening to her tell me whatever she wants to tell me, working out some stories in her mind, making nonsense up, telling me her dreams. If it’s her voice she could be telling me to "fuck off back to hell" over and over and over and I would fall asleep just fine.
Of course it helps to be with someone who is ready for sex, any place, any time, and any way you want it, any way it pleases you.
It helps.