Sex Starts in the Mind

America is at war. It's been a few months since the airplane hijackings and World Trade Center disaster, The Pentagon and Pennsylvania. The world has gone crazy. I'm hiding out at home, stuck in cozy, Capitol Hill, Seattle, Washington. It seems far away, safe from all the terribleness, yet the whole nation strains from the after effects. 

 I was getting over a broken heart, dwelling in my own self-pity, when the unbelievable happened. Then I felt even more shame, realizing my petty, ruined, relationship meant nothing in the scheme of things. Though that is humanity, it reigns in the center of chaos. It lets us know we are alive. 

 It's a somber night here inside my penthouse. Fuck that, no it's not! I'm walking around naked with a bottle of Dom Perignon in my hand and a big hard-on protruding between my legs, pointing slightly skyward and directing me in candid surveillance. 

 Everything is turning into fantasy. I'm no longer sober. I'm peaking! I have the finest booze, pills and powders. I have needed this release. My come has been in my balls too long. My brain has lacked stimulation and become stagnant. The hours in front of the television watching CNN have deadened and depressed my psyche. Like everyone I struggle to make sense of the disastrous situation. Unlike other people, I don't think this happened for any other reason than misplaced hate, politics, and religion. 

 I'm not alone tonight. I think Molly wants to play. She reaches over me as I type. Molly confirms her closeness by rubbing her body against mine. I shiver with pleasurable anticipation. 

 Molly sees my dick and licks her lips. Instead of putting her mouth around me, she reaches down with her hand, gripping the shaft of my cock with her fingers. She says, "I have nothing to say." Without letting go she bends over to the side of the keyboard where the lines of cocaine are chopped. 

 Molly snorts a full line using her left nostril. Molly has the talent of snorting coke without the help of a straw or pinching one nostril closed with a finger. She can control her nose in a way that vacuums up the blow freestyle. It's her extreme sport, a great party trick. In the corner of the living room the television is still on with the sound turned down so we can hear the stereo. I glance and quickly look away. 

 War is the big picture. The government won't care for the little people. I am sick of Americans at the moment. The way Americans are choosing to grieve is the reason we have had this happen in the first place. Americans don't see the whole picture- the worldview. All the flags are sickening. We are not unpatriotic, but then we aren't truly Americans to begin with. I'm keeping this to myself. There is too much confusion and anger to articulate in much debate. 

 Now back to sex. I look around for Helen. I wish Helen wouldn't sit outside in the cold. In the penthouse it's warm and luscious. It has to be; Molly and I aren't wearing any clothes. When she rubs me it is flesh on flesh. 

 Helen comes in with more champagne. We are sharing the bubbly by taking sips, holding it in our mouths and passing on the lovely sparkling liquid by kissing another person. This way we all kiss and taste the wine. I kiss Molly, Molly kisses me, and we both kiss Helen. 

 I pour champagne down Molly's exposed luscious breasts. Helen is licking her right boob as I suck her left nipple. The champagne has gathered at the base of Molly's crotch and it is making her wetter and more excited than she already is. I slide my finger inside of her. Molly enjoys oral sex better so Helen places her tongue between Helen's thighs and laps up the wine. I take Helen from behind, and with my fingers I grab her right breast and left buttock. Let's get it on. I type away, keeping the fiction focused so I don't have to think about death.

 I look around for Helen. I see her silhouette through the blinds covering the window. She sits outside in the rain, under the awning, smoking a cigarette. I worry about her. She has a daughter, and two days ago on the way to work her car brakes gave out on the freeway. Without the car she can't get to work. That's the practicality of it, without mentioning her safety. Sometimes when she comes over for the feted fun she cries. I've told her she should maybe stay away from me. She has too much responsibility for this lifestyle, but she likes the insanity of it. She is a published poet. Says I have the ability to get through madness with words. 

 Outside it continues to rain. This is Seattle, no stranger to the downpour. All the streets glisten. Molly and I are sitting at the computer. I am typing a new story to be told. We both want it to happen. Will she sleep with me? She says no, for the moment. In life moments are short. Sexual sensations come on strong. 

 Helen continues to smoke her Marlboro light and drink a can of Mickey's Big Mouth Fine Malt Liquor. She needs the smoke that fills her lungs to help her forget. Death comes in many ways. Slow and fast. She is helping herself get from A to Z in the easiest way today. She comes back inside with her beer. She sees Molly and me. The way Molly sits in tight blue jeans and the way I hit the keys with two fingers without looking at the screen turns her on. She wouldn't admit to it, I see it in her pale green eyes. They are more expressive than she can help. 

 "What are you guys doing?" asks Helen. 

 "We are writing a sexy story to help with our boredom," I say. 

 "More like porno," says Molly. 

 Boredom and the fact I have felt nothing but loss since September 11th has added up. All the writing I do seems futile and pointless. I am searching for justification. An idea that will let me know it's worth it to continue. 

 I realize that we all have a part to play. And this story will take different parts; parts of the body, parts of the mind, hopefully parts of the human condition in a literary sense. 

 "The real sex starts with the mind," says Molly. 

 We look at each other. We speculate if the fantasy can become real. 

 "I don't think so," says Helen. 

 "Why not?" I ask. 

 "She is skeptical, but excited, as we all are," says Molly.

 I look at both of the young women. They are lonely and enticing and as a man I can only attempt to empathize. There is always something more. How can sex help? Usually sex leads emotions in the other way. It can never be easy. Then again, it's another rainy night in Seattle. 

 And we are at war. 

 Maybe sleeping with each other will help. Not with the emotions, just with the boredom. There is tension in the air. Terror is not far away. We are all young. We are all alone. And we are inside with the heat up. It wouldn't require much to take our clothes off. It could be the hardest and easiest thing we ever did. I wonder what it takes. 

 I look at Molly and predict she will be up for what I perversely perceive. I type and Molly looks at the screen. She reads what I have written. 

 "Real sex starts in the mind," she says. "This is a start."

 I hope she is willing, and what is in her mind can become something we can create physically. I write and she reads; the seduction appears on the screen. 

 "I want to take my clothes off!" I yell guzzling more beer, wishing we had some drugs. 

 "Look at what he has written," Molly points to the monitor. Helen reads my words. Sips her beer. 

 "Wow, that's sexy," says Helen.

 "Porn, more like," says Molly. 

 I want to pour the Malt Liquor over Molly but she would probably get upset if I soaked her clothes. She could complain about the smell or uncomfortable dampness. 

 "Can I kiss you guys?" I ask, not knowing if it will ruin the moment and friendship of the evening. 

 "You can kiss me," Molly says. 

 The suspense grew too much. I kiss Molly, our tongues become involved, what starts out as apprehensive affection turns to deep drunken passion. Molly's lips are pressed firmly against mine. Helen comes over to us and puts her arm around Molly's waist and sucks the back of my neck. 

 "It's like the Sixties," Molly says. " We all love each other and there is a war." She is drunk. 

 Then Helen and Molly are licking each other sloppily even though I remember Helen recently said she is over her kissing girls' phase. "I just like to look at them now," is what she said. 

 I gulp more beer and kiss each young tender mouth, one and then the other, because I like women too. 

 Outside the window the Northwest raindrops fall, tens of thousands of them. We are sheltered from the saturation. Getting it on. And far away, in the arid dry desert of the Middle East, a war rages and people are dying, unsheltered from the bombs.