I’m going to tell you about the first time Jules and I had sex. Not that it’s important. It is important, but it’s not that important. Mainly I want to get it out of the way so that I can get on with the rest of the story without either of us having to think about it.
So, to tell you about the way Juliet makes love, I have to tell you about this time I was having dinner with Chad in Centerville..we had taken ourselves out to a nicer place than usual (usual being Denny’s). We’re in this boxcar restaurant—this is a Mexican place—I’m looking at my soup and I brush something off the side of my plate with my thumb. It was minor—Chad didn’t even see it. But this waitress comes over—she was thirty feet away!—and she asks me if everything’s ok with my soup. She was super-nice about it, she wasn’t pushy and she wasn’t apologizing..but she was attentive. From all the way across the restaurant..something Chad didn’t even see and he’s four feet away from me..and she sees it, and she comes over to check.
When she left I told Chad I would love to share a bed with that woman.
He asks why.
“Because,” I say, “she’s so attentive.”
Attentive. That’s all it is. It’s just paying attention to who you’re with—It’s knowing what’s going on with them! That’s all it is. It’s so simple. And no technique, and no position, and no fatherly advice could better prepare me for sex, than this: pay attention. Simply be in tune! If you are a fiddle and I am a bow, then notice the strings! Notice when they’re slack and notice their tightness, notice when they need a wax or need a tune.
That’s what that waitress did with my soup in that stupid boxcar.
And that’s how Jules is in bed.
We didn’t have sex in the studio—not that night. But we did make out, up against the wall in the hallway, after I had let us out of my space. We made out in the freight elevator on the way down to my car. Jules and I always made out in the car. And the next night, Sunday night, when she didn’t have a show and we could start our evening earlier, we eventually had sex at my apartment.
The night started out with a tentative text—from her this time, I had let her make the first move—and it ended with her telling me where to put my dick, and showing me where to put it..and her putting it there with her hands. She didn’t like to have her nipples touched too much. She liked it, but that wasn’t what got her off. She wasn’t super-into having her clitoris rubbed. I’m speaking comparatively: Charisma used to constantly rub her clitoris, or have me rub it, while we were fucking. Some girls like more of that. Ash and I used a vibrator. Jules wasn’t into that—not when we were fucking. She would play with my vibrator when she was at my house and I wasn’t, and she liked to fuck the top of this antique French couch I have in my living room—she was a freak like that. The couch has this little ball, this nub, on the top of each arm, made of polished wood. Juliet fucked that. She liked my vibrator on “fast speed”..she would tell me this when I got home. But when she was with me, she liked fucking. I’ve been with girls who faked shit..I’ve been with girls like that before. Jules didn’t fake shit. Not when we were having sex. You know that saying about “there’s making love, there’s having sex, and then there’s fucking”? Well, with me and Jules, it was always some of each.
She was loud when she came—she didn’t hold back. I liked that, I liked it in the eyes of my neighbor the next morning.
She liked to be on top. I liked to look at her when she was on top. I liked to look at her when she was on bottom, too. But she liked to be in control. That was probably what got me off the most—that was what was most virginal about her: she was like someone who had never before taken control of someone else. Herself, yes; but when she got to control me—when she got to be the one doing the using—it was something new.
She liked to be used, too. She liked it when I put her legs together and fucked between them—when I held her down. Even her cheeks got red when I did that, when I fucked her like she was a little girl, as both she and I loved to pretend, at times.
She loved to be fucked in the bathtub, and over the edge of the sink, in the bathroom—it was just the right height. And she could see herself in the mirror. She could see us both.
She liked to talk. She loved it when I talked dirty, and she asked me to, all the time. She would just tell me whatever she was thinking..this kind of meandering, stream-of-consciousness adult monologue. She didn’t feel shameful about sex: she would say things like: “I’m your hole. Fuck me. Fuck my hole. You have something and I have a place to put it. You have somethingness. I have nothingness. Fuck me. Use me as your hole.” When Juliet said things like that, it wasn’t dirty. It was literal truth. She just spelled it out.
Jules is like that. You don’t know if she’s an adult, or a child, if she’s innocent, or ancient, or what. Of course she’s all of them—and she brought them out in me. With her I didn’t have to choose.
Lights on, lights off? Eyes open, eyes closed? We just did them all, constantly.
I loved looking at her face. This isn’t just during sex.
I loved looking at her face when she first woke up.
I loved looking at her face when she just walked outside—into the sunlight.
I loved looking at her face when she was talking to someone else—healing them..I think that’s what she did.
I loved looking into her face when I was coming and I loved looking into her face when she came.
Her eyes.
The grey one blinks.
The green one never looks away.
Fucking someone with your eyes open—looking them in the eye when you come—is like going down the rollercoaster with your hands above your head. Either way, your body is going down that hill, it’s just that with your hands above your head you feel it differently. You’re daring gravity, daring the rollercoaster..and wind..and your stomach, to bring it on..you embrace it more that way. It’s the same way, when making love, to look a person in the eye.