Memory pills

Kim's been here for a couple of days; that is, of chronological time, which was both physically and psychically longer, since one never really sleeps properly --given the refreshments-- and the intense, pleasurable closeness of our time together.

We went to Morecambe and ran around on the beach and along the jetties and boulders, photographing each other amongst the various statuary on the prom, wandered around the formal gardens awash with turned-up colour, and formed a mutually protective closeness when we shrank from the rough boys. I noticed how men looked at her, and me.

The evening partly consisted of a conversation in which she said things which sometimes burned with the effect only her words can give, about how I conduct myself in relation to others, my moral and financial conduct--my life, really. As I lay next to her that night, my overcrowded mind was teeming with what she had said, occasionally frightened with its enormity. I don't want to summarise what she said here since I'd have to reduce it to generalities; suffice to say she has set in course, today, this morning, a new and practical change in all of the important aspects of my life.

The following day, both of us tacitly wanting to return to a more frolicsome way of being together, we went up to the park for some more silly photography, draping ourselves around trees and over rocks as Desdemona, Sisyphus and others. Watching the busy wind-shook trembling of a tree and the mutations of the sky. A strangely shaped horse ambled about ignobly in a field.

As quickly as I became close to Kim after meeting her four years ago, I understood that it was not to be a sexual relationship. Once this is demonstrated to me, I have an ability to turn my sexual response to that woman off, however attractive physically she might be. Kim, who is very attractive, is classifed thus.

This visit, I have never seen Kim looking so sexily well-dressed. When she went to Morecambe, she wore a tight black and white dress that curved round her figure in a way I could have just stared at for hours (yet without doing anything to alter the category to which she is allocated). As she got off the train, her arse curved in a paradaisical visual moment that is imprinted in my mind. In one of the many junk shops, she spotted a crude plastic pair of "busts", as their label said, of some stereotyped Roman figures, and asked me to photograph her as she pushed her tits out towards the figures.

In bed on our last night, my heart was pounding--half tachycardia, half something else. I turned away from her and almost said "I can't sleep in the same bed with you any more Kim; something's changed." I thought of the impossible effort of setting the sofa up in the living room.

A little later, I heard and felt her delicious wet, rapid movement of her hand and the quilt. It was exciting, secret yet shared, and I slowly shifted in the bed, hoping to indicate my awareness of what she was doing under a guise. Slowed by the synthetic cathinones, it took a gorgeously long time. After over two hours, it suddenly happened; I was forced to abandoning the pretence of secrecy, and I came and came with a shuddering orgasm that went on for ages, shaking uncontrollably with four years of affection and everything I feel towards Kim, expressed in this new way. Everything was understood silently; in the morning, it wasn't, and will never be, mentioned.