part 16
Subject: I’ve been pondering
To: BoPeep
From: MackAttack
Date: 01/16 10:26 p.m.
My dearest Aimee,
Is it so forlorn being you right now that you crave my contact even just in letters? Yes, I remember the sonata I wrote for you (it wasn’t a concerto). It was for your 17th birthday. You listened to me play it, but I knew you were disappointed I hadn’t got something else. Brought you something. Each thing I gave to you came from a certain intention of my own, and I remember how you took each into a wild interpretation of your own. It could seem funny to other people. Comic. I had to wonder if you did that deliberately, as if playing to an audience who roared with laughter at the charming kooky girl and the forever chagrined, too-serious guy. The myth of Psycho and Stupid.
The one time it worked well was the day in my room when I grabbed you. Listening to you twist the meanings of each thing I had given to you made me boil over. You thought I was making love to you, primal love. At some point when in fact I was raping you, it turned into primal love for me, too. I felt it go clear like when a fever breaks. The murderous rage changed. Where the rage came from? Heck, I had felt like the one who was in trouble with you for taking you to a play you found stupid and boring. Yes, I thought it reflected on me, that you found me stupid and boring and were just wasting your time. You didn’t know it in your mind but your body responded when I grabbed you. And that really was how I wanted to “master” you (for whatever that means about me) — master, the effective one, the communicator who could bring you over and over to creamy orgasms.
Then I thought things had changed, that we really did have a breakthrough together. You shivered a few times and then wiped out to a deep, peaceful sleep. I was used to seeing you nervous in your sleep, twitching and making noises I thought sounded like a chattering mink. But you were breathing deeply and at peace, and I knew it was my power that had put you there. And I felt good, Aimee. A good man, and not a bad guy, or some crackpot loser who wasn’t worth knowing.
When you woke, you did feel good. But you didn’t want to think about what had happened. “Wow, you were like an animal, Mack.” You were glad we were back together as boyfriend and girlfriend, back the Psycho and Stupid act.
I’ve had time to think of your recent letter. I don’t want you out of my life. My suggestion and offer about therapy still stands. I hate thinking of using you as a subject in a medical experiment, but it would sort of be like that. It wouldn’t really hurt you, and I know you have seen far more “kinky” things than this. Akiko may wish to photograph you in various positions (there does seem to be some Japanese thing about cameras). But this is something for you to consider, and I’m already curious to hear your interpretation. If nothing else, it will help your body become limber.
Think about it.
Love, Mack
p.s. Did the guy say anything about my music? Did he like it?
Subject: What ARE you thinking?
To: MackAttack
From: BoPeep
Date: 01/17 9:15 a.m.
Mack,
Fuck you, I hate you. I can’t believe you changed your phone number. Fine! Be it. That’s just like you — wanting to cut communication off and call it not cruel. Guys are so stupid. Totally jerky and assholes. I guess you fall right into the mold there, huh? Yeah well, seems so.
Yeah, it hurts me to think that you could be so instant ga-ga over some woman you just met and know nothing about except what you are pretending is in her head. Why can’t you just make this a fling, and just let it be what it is, instead of making this, yet another, big huge love of your life? You always have to put on airs and make things more than they are, bigger than life. Why is that Mack? Isn’t real life good enough for you?
Mack, I didn’t get the damn job of dressing windows. Why can’t you get that straight? See, this is another example of you reading, hearing, seeing what you want to see, but not what’s really there. I don’t get it, Mack. And, what’s the difference between a sonata and concerto? Who cares…it’s like what? A nuance, a little thing, just words and names. I can call it what I want, can’t I? You don’t have to correct every little thing, it’s not like I’m attacking YOU, but you’d think that by the way you are so picky about stuff.
You live so much inside your own head that there is no way for anyone to share anything WITH YOU. You’re the judge and the jury, always, and the director and script writer. Can’t you ever just BE, and let it BE? I mean, everything is so cold and calculated.
So, what are you proposing? That I come and be tied up by you and your Japanese girl? Sure, Mack, then you come and watch me get screwed by one of the guys I see. Is that a deal? Want to do that? Want to sit there and watch me get boinked by some guy? Isn’t that what you’re aiming at, here? Okay, how about if I find some guy who wants to boink YOU, and I can sit and watch? How would that be? I think you should write my mother or my sister if you want scenes like that. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind bringing you over to see that friend of Mom and Gils, what was her name…Mercedes and let you be the dog. (Fuck, the dog is probably a better lay.)
What in the hell are you thinking?
Mack, I think you’re the one who needs therapy, not me. I mean, I’m not the one gushing over some girl who doesn’t even speak your language. I’m not the one who goes from total hermit to bound and ga-ga boy in one leap. There is never any middle ground with you, is there?
Aimee
Aimee Is A Little Crazy 