Sensuous

11 March — Thursday

I rented a Post Office box today in the name of Jennifer Starr.

You don’t need identification to do this. You have to give a name and address, that’s all. I gave an address on East 83rd Street. I don’t even know that there’s a building with that number. They don’t check these things. It’s just something for their records.

One of the girls at the office today was talking about her husband. There was nothing suggestive in the conversation but for one reason or another I got the impression that the two of them, she and her husband, had recently had sex together. Last night or this morning before she left for the office. And I found myself imagining the two of them in bed together. I had them doing rather unusual things in my mind. Got very excited at the image. Not I-want-to-masturbate excited. Just I’ve-got-a-secret-thought excited.

I have been doing this sort of thing more and more lately. Walking down the street and noticing people. Looking at men, trying not to stare at their crotches, and wondering what their cocks are like. The shape of them, the size of them, whether they are circumcised.

Bill is circumcised. Gary was not.

Interesting block — I cannot remember what Gary’s cock looked like.

After we both came Monday night, Bill handled things very well. (As he had handled things well before, in all senses of the phrase.) Just slumped in his seat exhausted at first, but then sucked in a deep breath and got to his feet. Told me very convincingly that I was beautiful and desirable and exciting, and that I had brought him great pleasure, and that he wanted to take a quick shower and would be back in a moment. Gathered up his clothes and went into the bathroom.

Sat wondering what sort of cue this was for me. Thought at first I ought to have the consideration to be gone when he returned, and that this might be his intention, a way to give me a convenient exit. Decided no, something in his tone that suggested he expected me to be there when he emerged. But naked or with clothes on?

I got dressed. Smoked a cigarette and waited while he showered quickly. He emerged wearing his clothes, which made me glad I had put mine on.

He made drinks and we talked. Mostly he talked. Essence was that he had had a good time, that my unique qualities more than compensated for the fact that we did not touch each other, that he could use my body only from a distance.

He told me things about me. That I am a voyeur. A Peeping Jennifer. That I can fight it or indulge it, and that if I fight it it will always be there, but that if I indulge it it may lead somewhere, and even if it doesn’t I’ll have a good time on the way.

I admitted a few things. Desire to look at movies and pictures. Desire to watch people screw.

“I can help you, Jennifer.”

Afraid to believe it, but I think perhaps he can. Help or not, he can give me things I need now. Or things I think I need.

He has pictures. He has films and a projector. And he hinted at other things. Hard to be sure what he meant, but the impression was that I might actually be able to watch people together. That he could arrange it.

Just before leaving I turned to him, unguarded. (I do not have to guard myself with him. Of this I am quite certain. My pleasure is his. His hangup, his neurosis, he calls it, but I call it one healthier by far than my own.)

Turned to him. “But won’t you feel cheated? Wasting your time in kids’ games with me? When you could be having a fuller thing with some other girl?”

“Were you excited tonight, Jennifer? And fulfilled?” “Yes.”

“And was I?” Hesitation on my part.

“Jennifer, you saw my passion. And my culmination. I rarely get as much pleasure fucking.” Does this mean that he’s an exhibitionist? He must be, to an extent. My observation thrilled him. Not merely my passion, not merely my presence, but that he was doing this solitary thing for a receptive audience. I’m seeing him Saturday afternoon. Can’t wait.