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Order this writing in the collection book Unlocking the Mysteries available for only $1795 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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The Mouth That Destroyed Civilization
Jerry Erwin
She really knew how to kiss.
How to open her mouth just enough, purse her full, warm lips as she moved her tongue and all of those moist, fleshy parts like some luxuriant, inhaling entity that was apart yet very much a part of her, until . . .
Afterwards, in the aftermath of our deep kissing encounter high atop Mulholland drive in an old lovers’ lane motif, overlooking a billion San Fernando Valley lights of our first and very encouraging date, she said . . .
“I believe that people choose to be gay.
That it’s a lifestyle and not genetic, and . . .”
She went on and on with all of that disruptive social issue waste, because her sister, who was a lesbian back in Texas, came up in the conversation.
As much as I just wanted to go back to kissing her wonderfully succulent African American mouth, which in itself was more satisfying than the full sexual act with many other women (regardless of race) giving me a most promising vision of consummation with her pliant, deliciously moaning black body . . .
I was distracted.
Right wing, fundamentalist, religious shit.
Coming so fluidly, so obscenely from that previously luscious mouth of magnificent possibilities, and I just wanted her to shut the fuck up, recalibrate, then open it again and--
She kept yapping away.
Like a disease.
Relentless with no known cure and all I could do was sit there in her jeep, regretting I asked if she had any siblings, as by now we’d be further along (like a couple of hormonal besieged teenagers) in our heavy necking and petting mode, and man, what a gloriously retrograde feeling it was, but . . .
“I believe that people don’t have to be gay if they don’t want to be.
It’s a lifestyle like any other choice a person makes in their life, and--”
She wouldn’t stop.
I inadvertently hit her moralizing button.
It was hard to believe that only moments ago that same mouth, so desirous with its perfect smooching technique, giving every indication of a burning world of pure eroticism and yes, even hope itself, was now spewing out the most cold hearted ignorance of the lowest form of religious mentality, that had as much to do with God or Jesus as my pitifully horny and hopeful white ass on that cold leather seat on a warm San Fernando Valley night, and . . .
I abruptly, as if it were a 357 magnum, stuck the barrel of my tongue down her throat with conviction and a hint of vengeance, nearly gagging her with the sudden, semi-violent assault.
Initially, I thought I had succeeded, getting her to shut up so we could get back to where we belonged, to where true passion, and who the fuck knows, maybe even love resides, and--
Forget it.
Although she was silent and once again sucking so deeply on my tongue and all the rest, it was not the same.
Something (everything) had been lost.
Me.
I was suddenly removed from the moment, the heat of passion and all the possibilities of a naturally erotic black woman offering me something beyond my usually constricted caucasian passion, and--back to the high school metaphor--feeling as if I had been misled then led on by a more sensually advanced and astute woman who proceeded to feel me up (psychologically, philosophically, and sociologically) against my wishes on our most promising first date, when all I wanted was some healthy, within reason nooky of a nonjudgmental, purely physical, humanitarian nature, and--
“You okay, baby?” she moaned through our mouths, sensing my disconnect, and though I moaned along, I was thinking . . .
A black woman of all women.
Someone who, one would think, wouldn’t be so judgmental of another persecuted segment of humanity.
Particularly this black woman, who’s own sexuality suggested the most voracious and boundless appetite, crossing all cultural, racial, and worthless religious boundaries of civilization, yet . . .
She would continue, in all her misguided, uneducated, sanctimonious mentality, to destroy whatever hope lie in that contaminated mouth.
I disengaged from the kiss, straightened my clothes, and told her to put the key in the Jeep’s ignition and drive me home.
After all, despite what she may have thought . . .
I was a good boy.
