That Thing You Do With Your Mouth: The Sexual Autobiography of Samantha Matthews as Told to David Shields by David Shields, Samantha Matthews Page B

110 pounds to his 180. To this day, I have no idea how I was physically capable of it.
    Some people don’t like sex, some people like sex but don’t see it as an especially important part of their life, and some people see sex as a journey. It’s never been a minor part of my life, even when I wasn’t having sex regularly for years.
    I’ve stopped hoping I can fuck William tonight. Two days ago was plenty for the next couple weeks, right? Barricades are up. Man space. Leave me alone. He keeps me at arm’s length, keeps the feral girl down. He’s rationing. I’m in the sex breadline.
    The further into man space he goes, the more I desire him. Cuando te prohibe algo, despierta el deseo . His what-I-feel-as-a-lack-of-desire for me makes me want to drown myself in a bottle of wine, smoke a pack of cigarettes, find a corner with a curtain where my libido can be naked, and do a jig. Definitely not a jig—that has to be the least sexy dance in the world. A pole dance would be better (which I secretly would love to try, but no one wants to see me pole dance now that I’m forty…). Aaaaand this is when I need to scream. I’m a petulant child. “You should talk to David about that,” he says. “Foot-stamping. You love a good foot-stamp, dontcha, darling?”
    I got him to turn off the TV after six hours of sports today. I think that’s enough. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. I’m sitting in his place on the sofa. I don’t know how that happened, that this is his space on the sofa. I’m a sofa-spot enabler. I’m irritated now and want him out of the back of the house. He looks shocked and amused. As if the shit on the TV were close to silent, as if what was on there were gentle and fun. Hands in theair, like, Oh so sorry, your majesty . I’m just annoyed ’cause I want to fuck him. What’s wrong with me? Had he rolled me in the hay, he could have watched the tennis match, the darts match, footie, cricket, and Formula 1 at deafening volume all day long.
    I think I’ve been horny all my life and finally I have someone I’m horny for. He says I should take up painting again. Why can’t I be horny for painting?
    Now that I finally have a partner I’m extremely attracted to, it feels almost like an addiction. I always want more. I’m never satisfied. I don’t understand why he doesn’t want it all the time. That’s never happened to me before. If he were all over me, surely I wouldn’t want it, as he’s told me himself. Do you think in any couple both people desire each other equally? I’m constantly staring at him. When he comes into the room after showering, I’m waiting for him to drop his towel so I can get a peek at him. I find him so incredibly sexy. But just him. No one else. In a joking way, he says I love him for his cock, but he’s not joking. His cock is him; it’s imbued by his person.
    In a tantrum the other day, I said to him maybe we should just be buddies, since that’s pretty much all we are, anyway. Maybe we can sip hot chocolate together and play Sudoku. Let’s make a date, go out to dinner, nottalk, and read our own newspapers. Let’s be settled. Let’s be normal. Bland. Beige. Let’s die. Together.
    I have man legs; William has lady legs. I hate it when both of us are wearing shorts and you can see our shadows on the pavement. I’m nearly a foot shorter than he is and my leg shadows are bigger. I always hope he isn’t noticing that.
    Were William’s exes sexy? I find myself feeling it’s somehow unfair I haven’t screwed these girls as well. Do they have porn pussies, all perfect and neat and little, or the lettuce leaf hanging between the two lips? I used to get one of my exes to tell me what his other girlfriends’ pussies looked like. I don’t know if it made me feel better or worse. I think better.