…. no one ever forgets great head!


In 1992 three interrelated happenings put me down a path that I have never managed to get off of. A book was published that read more like a whores-who diary of sexcapades across the country between a women named Dita and a guy named John, a CD that was loosely based on the book, and a young impressionable boy who had his first experience with another boy. Almost a lifetime later the boy that became a fuck buddy in boarding school has moved on to a wife, children and a great job at an IT company and I have a great collection of bespoke suits that hang in my cupboard at home.

My name is Dita. I’ll be your mistress tonight. I’d like to put you in a trance.

Since I was overseas when my class had their 10-yrs reunion I didn’t go. I guess I didn’t feel too guilty either since I see many of them at the various old boys’ events through the year: Hilton vs. Michaelhouse rugby, the arts festival, Old Boy’s polo, Christmas mass, fund raisers and of course various school things that I somehow get onto my calendar. But every now and again I see him at a distance in a crowd, or standing in a queue for the boerewors rolls, or even at the club playing tennis on a Saturday morning. About a week ago I sent him a copy of the book, a copy of the CD, and a letter that told him pretty much how I feel whenever I see him although he doesn’t see me.

If I take you from behind, push myself into your mind when you least expect it. Will you try and reject it? If I’m in charge, and treat you like a child will you let yourself go wild? Let my mouth go where it wants to?

While I’m not holding out for a phone call, since his best friend is my ex-Squirrel, I have spent an extraordinary amount of time when alone thinking about what he might be thinking about. Since I started stripping away the layers I’ve come to realise that perhaps he was my first archetypical love and the one that I’ve based my whole sexual choices upon? In the end he was a prefect, first team rugby, swimming, and squash, and not quite the most popular boy but certainly one that many strived to emulate. But at night he wasn’t the asshole that plagued the corridors during the day. Quietly slipping into my room after lights out we would lie after sex for hours. Who was using whom?

Give it up, do as I say. Give it up and let me have my way. I’ll give you love; I’ll hit you like a truck. I’ll give you love, I’ll teach you how to … ahhh

Since our nocturnal nooky started I never seemed to be bothered much by the older kids a few forms a head of me. Not that I was ever bullied but every now and again you got pulled indiscriminately from a line and made to do something humiliating in front of a crowd. It had something to do with breaking you down and rebuilding your character in the shape of the school. And while we were never caught, I don’t think that it was a secret either, and as such I became an extension of him. One night, I remember we had just started kissing and things started getting pretty hot when there was a knock on my locked door. Panic!

Once you put your hand in the flame you can never be the same. There’s a certain satisfaction in a little bit of pain. I can see you understand, I can tell that you’re the same. If you’re afraid, well rise above I only hurt the ones I love.”

It was a friend in the same year as I who was bored and wanted to talk. We often did this sometimes over a packet of biscuits or crisps and wasn’t anything unusual. For 45-minutes he crouched in the cramped hanging space of my cupboard naked until a hamstring muscle cramp gave way to a small whimper and out the closet he tumbled. As my heart stopped for what seemed like a forever we both sat looking at my friend sitting at my study desk as he looked from me to my lover and back again. In the few seconds it took for the truth to dawn on him, and before either of us could say anything, he got up and left us to the night. He never said anything to anyone and always when ever he came back to my room checked the closets first before sitting down.

I don’t think you know what pain is. I don’t think you’ve gone that way. I could bring you so much pleasure. I’ll come to you when you say. I know you want me. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt you, just close your eyes.

It’s funny how a song can remind you of something that seems so far back in the distance. How your past and present are not connected but somehow meet at a certain point? And as I realise that my next confession stretches perhaps is over the line of decency but on those hot and humid summer nights deep in the KZN Midlands as the sweat gathered on his naked, hairless chest I learnt something that amazes people to this day. By taking your time during foreplay, learning what stimulates your partner, taking them on a physical journey that torments the pleasure of sex, will always awaken something in them that no one else ever can. It also means that they’ll remember you for a long time.

Only the one that hurts you can make you feel better. Only the one that inflicts pain can take it away.

After all you can forget a bad kisser, but you can never forget the best head of your life.



2 Responses to “…. no one ever forgets great head!”

  1. Roses are red, sky is blue, you’re a better writer than me for sure, lol 😉

  2. SOG knives…

    Interesting ideas… I wonder how the Hollywood media would portray this?…

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