“We perceive that for the purposes of discharge the instinct of destruction is habitually brought into the service of Eros”-- SF


They had met at the bar the day before. She was called Haley, and had only been in town a couple of nights. Some loose mutual friends had somehow introduced them at the hotel mixer, and that had led to cocktails, surface-level conversation, more cocktails, a walk on the beach, some sloppy kissing by the firepit, and even more sloppy kissing as they said goodbye a few moments later. All in all, nothing extraordinary for a pair of young travelers spending the summer moving from town to town, place to place, location to location. There is something about transient living that gives one permission to have transient, fleeting relationships without the pings of conscience ruining it. Something in the brain tells the traveler not to worry about the one night stand, the threesome in the jacuzzi, or the fellatio with someone whose name was forgotten the moment they said it. People that would never even meet, much less end up stuck together awkwardly in a hammock at 3am, are thrust together on a nightly basis when traveling. That is how it works.

He knocked on her hotel room door. As he waited the requisite time for her to answer, there was no chilling anticipation coursing through is veins, or even a sense of urgency as regards to what might happen that evening. He had a pretty good outline of how things would and were supposed to go: They would walk downstairs to the beachside cafe for a quick, cheap, but ambient dinner. Afterwards, they'd walk a bit along the boardwalk, find a place for drinks, and take shots on and off for an hour so. At that point, they would be sufficiently lubricated to meander home for a meaningless encounter--or at least an attempt at an encounter that would later be deemed meaningless. Encounters--or attempts at them--cannot be deemed meaningless in the moment, otherwise they would never take place. In the moment, they are the most important and irresistible events in one's world; in fact, they are a chance to escape the world to hide in another. The paradox is that sometimes these events--attempted encounters--must for the sake of sanity, conscience, and self-worth--be deemed meaningless.

And, this evening went according to detail. Haley looked good in her tank top and shorts--she wasn't a stunner, but she was attractive. There was nothing particularly unique about they way she looked, moved, or spoke. But, she was attractive. They ate. They drank. They made it back to her room around 11 and quickly began to go at it. Just like everything else, there was nothing particularly special about the way Haley fucked. It went off without a hitch--everything worked how it was supposed to--each lever, when pushed or pulled, responded properly; each button, when pushed or twisted according to design, led to the effects desired. There were a few positions employed, and some mild dirty talk. He got on top of her. She got on top of him. She bent over. Etc. etc. Finally, Haley was on top, bouncing somewhat rapidly, and sweating just a little. Her dyed blonde hair fluttered above her head--her eyes were closed--and her hands on his knees below her. He lay there with Haley--this woman--on top of him, gyrating herself into a perceived frenzy.

Soon, Haley began to scream, "I'm coming. I'm coming. Oh god baby, come with me."

And, just as the rest of the evening, everything went according to plan. Haley came, or pretended to, and he came (without pretending) at the same time. The seconds following were a mild blur--there was no thinking, and no words. There was only the Nothing of orgasm. But, it only lasted a few seconds.

Afterwards, he was disgusted and angry. Haley lay next to him, breathing heavy and talking softly. He wanted nothing to do with it; with her. He promptly got up, put on his clothes, said goodbye and left.

As he walked down the hotel corridor he realized that he had never treated a woman like this before. He had been with a decent amount of women, and never had the impulse to simply get up and leave so abruptly--so rudely--after sex; especially the first time.

Why?

In the days that passed--days filled with train rides, bus rides, more hotels, and more cocktails--he realized it was about coming--about himself.