by Jeremy Edwards
(05/14/08)

Maya always wanted to know why.

"That's hard to answer," I said, the first day I was with her. "I suppose it's because you're a beautiful, fascinating woman."

"That's overly general. The world's full of beautiful, even fascinating, women. You don't want to have sex with all of them, do you?"

"No, not all at once, anyway. Okay, then...I want to have sex with you because you're you."

"That's overly specific. So specific as to be devoid of meaning. Don't you agree?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Damn it, Maya, I'm not comfortable with all this...language."

"Geoffrey, you have a PhD in linguistics."

It wasn't her intention to make me feel foolish. But it was definitely her result.

"That means I understand language as a device. I approach it as a scientific observer, an analyzer. It doesn't mean I'm any good at using it to answer complicated personal questions."

"I don't see how you can function if you don't conceptualize your emotions."

For Maya, defining her feelings -- giving each of her emotions a name -- made them more real. For me, it made them less real. Every time I attempted to explain my emotions, I felt my personality shrinking into a line drawing, tightly boxed and inadequately labeled...and then fading into the paper and disappearing altogether. I'm better at it now; but when I first entered Maya's world, emotions were difficult territory.

"You know, when you said you wanted to get me on the couch, Maya, I thought we were talking about fucking, not psychoanalysis. I may not be able to pass your screening test."

"This isn't a test," she assured me. "We can fuck. I'd welcome that." She patted my penis through my clothes, using touch as emphasis. "I just like to know the reasons."

"And what are your reasons?"

"There are many," she said with an air of satisfaction. "To begin with, you're glamorous."

I, a balding state university professor, was glamorous? Okay. She, a poised and aesthetic creature of cerebration, was certainly glamorous to me. It seemed we were a mutual glamoration society.

Was this going to be another relationship, I wondered, in which the two parties circled around each other's identities until they got sucked, like murky bathwater, down the identity drain? I thought of Penny, whom I'd dated sophomore year of college. In our four months together, Penny had unconsciously tried to become more like me, while I had unconsciously tried to become more like her. In retrospect, we'd been drifting into an artificial identity alien to both of us. And by the end of it, though the rhythm of our speech, the sound of our laughter, and even our body language showed great similarity, we'd become people we couldn't stand to be in the same room with.

But Maya was in no danger of assuming my personality, no matter how mysteriously glamorous she might find it.

"Another reason -- a more important one -- is that I completely trust you. I have no secrets from you, Geoffrey."

"I'm touched," I said sincerely. "But really? No secrets? Aren't there any things that --"

She interrupted. "Permit me to clarify. Yes, there are things you don't know about me. But there's nothing you can't know about me."

Something about the way she spoke made me want to tear off her panties and suck on her toes till she came. Why? I didn't know. Or at least I couldn't put it into words.

She wagged a finger at me. "My lust for you is buttressed by our intimacy."

Buttressed. She was always using words that I found too beautiful to say aloud, words that I was afraid I wasn't handsome enough to use. It was as if she could reach in and pluck all the finest nuggets from my passive vocabulary.

With comical simultaneity, we put our empty mugs on her kitchen counter, among the ghosts of our morning coffees, consumed hours ago.

I imagined what it would be like to recline and let her tickle me gently -- while my cock bobbed around for her, waiting for her to grab it and stroke, to kiss it into sticky, ticklish explosion. I imagined being in her hands.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Your hands," I answered. It was, if not the whole truth, at least a truth.

She glanced at her hands, as though she expected to find them stained with motor oil or something. Secure in the realization that they were immaculate, she smiled at me.

She looked so lovely, so timelessly wise and radiant that I wanted to take her immediately -- before the sunlight in the kitchen shifted, making her look lovely in some other way than this.

"You're demanding, Maya. I hope I can satisfy you."

She kissed me. "Never fear. I'm sure what you have to offer will leave me satisfied -- and, paradoxically, hungry for more."

"Okay."

Maya welcomed paradoxes. I think she felt she could tame them. Our first day we explored a variety of positions; but my most vivid memory is of Maya sitting on my face...and of how, regardless of how deeply I burrowed into her saucy depths, I could hear the echo of her seducing me with utterances like "paradoxically hungry for more."

After days and days naked together, it always surprised me what doughy little dumplings her breasts were. I don't know what I was expecting each time she undressed. Scrumptious they were, but somehow I kept forgetting they belonged to her.

Her ass, by contrast, never surprised me. It was a convex masterpiece, embodying curves that could only be described by some advanced calculus. It was so Maya. Each time I saw it, I felt as if an upscale photographer -- all right, a high-end photographer -- had snuck in and lit the room specially, just so I could see the glow of Maya's derrière. But the glow was inherent, not enhanced. I was amazed, sometimes, that it didn't glow in the dark.

"I want you inside me, Geoffrey. Even more than I did yesterday, when you penetrated me in the bathtub. Maybe not quite as much as last Saturday, on the Formica table...but a lot, Geoffrey. A lot."

I'd been methodically kissing every inch of her ass, and she'd been talking the entire time. Her juice flowed freely from her pulsing pussy, but, ah, her discourse flowed even more freely.

In any event, the gist was that she wanted me inside her. And since I wanted to be all over her, we could likely cut a mutually satisfactory deal.

She opted to be the one to cut, flipping over and sliding her thighs apart like two glistening chunks of plastic-coated playing cards -- revealing an ace.

I, of course, dealt.

Slipping into Maya always reassured me that she had a corporeal reality -- that she wasn't just an ambient intellect, generating a beautiful illusion of physical presence. The squelch of her wet slot around my cock was no illusion.

With our carnalities firmly anchored, I did my best to harness her electricity and channel it back to her, impulse by impulse, finger to receptor.

"Oh, keep doing that, please. Dear, dear Geoffrey, how did you know to select the right nipple over the left?"

"Instinct," I murmured into her breast.

"Don't you think you may have subconsciously noted something about my posture that indicated a higher level of erogeneity in my right nipple?"

"Damn it, Maya -- I'm trying to fuck you!"

"And succeeding," she attested, clenching her cunt hard around me. I did feel appreciated by this remarkable woman, whose every climax felt to me like a combination of plate tectonics and diploma ceremony.

She exclaimed, "I'm experiencing a tremendous ecstasy!" Some women might say Oh fuck yes don't stop yes yes oh my God.

I replied with no little passion, "Oh, I'm coming...coming in your tight little cunt!" Some men, of course, might use the word "coming" only once in that sentence.

I often feel silly after orgasm, as though I'd left the earth clutching a balloon, and -- the balloon having popped -- was returned to terra firma as a foreigner.

I told this to Maya that evening (though I don't think I actually said "terra firma" aloud). I expected she would chuckle indulgently, if a bit patronizingly, at my fanciful imagery -- a poor substitute for crisp examination.

But she didn't. She looked at me as if I were somehow...glamorous. As if there were something about me she envied.

Then she made more coffee, and we talked all night.

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