July 6, 2003

Oh, what the hell. This is technically today’s second post, but really it’s just a reposting of yesterday’s deleted post. For a discussion of why I deleted it in the first place, see today’s first post. For a discussion of why I’m reposting it, see my subconscious.

Before my assignation early this morning with a married man, I was planning to write a post about how scandalous and titillated I felt having an assignation with a married man. (It hadn’t happened yet, but I was sure I would feel scandalous and titillated once it did.)

However, though I did feel moderately scandalous and titillated, something else happened that seemed more interesting, which is that I learned something.

What I learned is this: though being ordered around in bed turns me on more than I can possibly say, being called a whore in the middle of sex does not.

Not that I fault him; he was clearly participating in the game of sex rather than expressing his actual opinion of me. And, after all, his understanding, of however recent a date, of my other preferences could easily lead him to believe that I would be aroused by name-calling as well. How I’ve managed to reach the ripe old age of 30 without discovering otherwise is a mystery to me.

But at that moment, what had been theretofore a delightful, if somewhat smarmy, experience—or perhaps delightful because somewhat smarmy—acquired a tinge of unpleasantness. Just a tinge—certainly not enough to cause me to put a stop to the activity in which we were both enjoyably engaged—but, still, I was taken aback.

The problem was, what to do about it? To say anything would completely destroy the tone of the encounter, which was otherwise most satisfactory. And I couldn’t meaningfully refuse him access to my inmost depths, as there was no part of my inmost depths into which I hadn’t already welcomed him. But I had to do something to defend my honor.

And then circumstances provided me with the perfect opportunity, and my mother wit was for once quick enough to take immediate advantage of it.

For the first time in my life I spit instead of swallowing.

I feel so triumphant I could burst.