I Waited for You By The River of Time

I waited for you
by the river of time
but you didn’t come.

Is it impolite to fuck someone because I’m sad and tired of being sad? I don’t know. Perhaps it is. But the rain has started and it’s a long way back to my hotel. His is closer and more expensive.

He’s middle aged and Russian, and has a bald spot like a monk’s tonsure. There are fine golden hairs on his knuckles; they glint in the watery light as he smokes cheap Cambodian cigarettes and fondles his weeping glass of beer like an old lover.

“A game of chess?” he asks.

So we play for a while as the rain buckets down and spatters the board with mist.

I stood by the river of time
and waited for a word
but none came.

These days, time stalls like a cranky engine. On this sodden afternoon, when minutes are hours, Sergei opens with a classic Spasky sequence. I’ll let him beat me because he probably will anyway, and why draw out the inevitable? I’m a good loser, being so practiced at it.

“Check,” he grunts and grins.

How can you deny people the little things that mean so much to them?

I sat by the river and wept,
and let you float away,
because there’s no fighting
this mother of a river.
She’s too wide and too deep.

The boy behind the reception desk stares at me as if I’m a ghost. All the whores he’s ever seen have been Cambodian or Vietnamese.

The Russian kisses me in the cramped elevator. I suspect he feels he ought to – which is odd, because whores don’t expect to be kissed. Perhaps the colour of my skin, the shape of my eyes have him confused as well. His thumb finds my clothed nipple, hard in the chill of the aircon. He takes this for arousal and a prompt to kiss me again with extra passion.

I’m not aroused. I don’t like this man or the taste of stale beer and cigarettes on his tongue. It makes my stomach churn. So, you might ask what I’m doing watching him turn the key to the door of room number 418.

I knelt at the river’s bank
and weep into its heartless brown waters,
carrying my salt out to sea.

It’s just like every other mid-priced hotel room in Phnom Penh, with a creaking, rattling air-conditioning unit and manufacturer’s stickers on the bar fridge. I eye the gaudy bedspread and ignore Sergei’s murmurs of unfelt but apparently obligatory emotion, while he pulls off my tank top and pushes down the cups of my bra.

Where the fuck did he learn the word ‘succulent,’ I wonder, unzipping my skirt. I don’t want all this preamble. I’m simply hoping that he’ll fuck me hard enough to jolt something loose inside me. That this raw act will uncouple me from the agonizing attachment I have to you.

The Russian stands there for a moment, his erection distorting the front of his rain speckled beige chinos. If he thinks I’m going to undress him, he’s wrong. I may be a fucking whore, but I’m not *that* kind of a whore. If he’s getting laid for free, he can take off his own pants.

“Got a condom?” I ask.

“Sure. Of course. But I’m clean.”

I manage to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Yeah? Me too. Put the bloody condom on.” Because he’s not going to have anything to complain about friction-wise.

As he tugs me down onto the bed and attempts to enter me, he gets it. I haven’t had a cock in seven years and I’m not wet. The tightness makes him hesitate. He wrestles an ugly hand between us and tries to change my frame of mind via my clit. It’s not going to make a difference.

“Just fuck me.”

“But you don’t seem,” he searches his Russian brain for the word and comes up with something ESLish. “Interested.”

“Listen, asshole. Just fuck me.”

I lay down beside the river
and begged her to take me
somewhere, anywhere,
away from here,
away from now,
away from me.

I don’t scream at that first inward thrust. He’s big but not that big. Instead, I lie there with my teeth clenched and wait for my body to remember what to do. Sergei paws my breast and groans. His cock is only halfway in and the stretch hurts like a sonofabitch. But in that moment, when he thrusts again to hilt himself inside me, the world turns. He changes into something cruel, just as I become something acquiescent.

“Is this what you want?” His voice is a croak. The hand on my breast tightens painfully.

The thrusts are punctuated with questions that at first I don’t feel the need to answer.

“And this…and this…and this…?”

Until the fury of it makes me gasp. “Yes.”

Because this is what I want. Because I feel the hinges of my heart creak under the strain. The violence of it nags at the bolts that moor me to you. Boards rattle, tear-rusted threads strip and shriek.

“Harder. Can’t you fuck me any harder?”

He makes a noise like a wounded dog and closes a hand around my neck. “Shut up, you bitch,” he hisses.

I smile and close my eyes. Good to know we’re on the same page. Even better to know this new paradigm has done nothing to quell his ardour.

I dipped my hand into the river
and felt the warm, silt-laded water
gritty between my fingers.
So much of the world
borne away on the flow.

My body inches across the bed under the pounding. As it produces enough lubrication to protect itself, my cunt stings. What traitorous things our bodies are. I still don’t feel the least bit aroused, but I’m wet anyway. And I don’t much care if I never get up off this bed, but still I gasp and claw for air as his grip tightens around my throat.

Poor Sergei, I muse. I hope he doesn’t kill me. It would be a bitch to get rid of a white corpse.

Not that I’m too worried about it. All I know is that the wood inside me is splintering, the brackets snarling loose in the wrenching storm. The structure of every dream I’ve ever had about you is coming down around my head. And the Russian is going to come any second now.

I push you out with every hindered, rasping gasp. My cunt muscles are spasmed shut, my back arches and my spine locks. I’m coming. Because it’s easy enough to do when it’s not you I’m holding inside. When it’s not you whose touch I imagine. When it’s not you fucking me. Sergei collapses onto me like a beached whale. His pale flesh twitches in the afterstorm of his orgasm.

I turned my back on the river of time.
Let someone else sit, wooing it uselessly,
someone stronger than me.
I always knew you’d make me wait too long.

The Russian gives a small, embarrassed chuckle and rolls off. “You,” he says, wagging a fat finger at me, “you’re quite the puzzle. But I have figured you out. You’re like another woman I used to date in Moscow.”

“Really?” I sit up and begin to dress, adjusting my bra, pulling on my shirt.

“Yes. A Georgian girl. Very beautiful. Some kind of refugee.”

“Funny, ” I say, standing up and stepping back into my skirt. “So am I.”

  49 comments for “I Waited for You By The River of Time

  1. Mr.Chien
    August 14, 2010 at 8:00 pm

    Great post, love the rawness of the sex and how it’s so different from the emotion part

  2. August 14, 2010 at 8:06 pm

    I completely and heartily agree with your view on erotica; done tastefully, it is beautiful. I thank you for reminding me of that fact. Additionally, your combination of story and intertwining poem was extremely intriguing. Much success in all your endeavors.

    Cheers,

    David

    • August 14, 2010 at 8:19 pm

      hehe…oh, I never said erotica should be done tastefully. *grin* I just said the sex needed context.

      • Reed Wilson
        September 11, 2016 at 9:34 am

        Time stops wind disappears the feel of the sun no longer warms your body when being burnt, hours in deep mental and physical lust geels as if it only lasted seconds. Words written down with hidden a persons dark secrets last untill the paper is unreadable, are you still a numb refuge

  3. August 14, 2010 at 8:10 pm

    Wow.

    It’s these pieces of yours, RG, that always grab me. Grab me with claws and squeeze until my mind bleeds emotions as I read, wrapped up in the twisted barbed wire of the story.

    Gorgeous. Painfully so.

  4. ZeWitness
    August 14, 2010 at 8:12 pm

    Excellent piece. I love that so many levels of emotion and need are wrapped inside a single tapestry. It is a fascinating challenge that you offer to the reader directly. But one we feel compelled to accept.

    Outstanding.

  5. August 14, 2010 at 8:27 pm

    Thank you for the vicarious heartbreak over breakfast. Better than the morning news, for sure. You have such a way of getting at that overlap of longing/desire/despair/anger . . .

  6. August 14, 2010 at 10:27 pm

    Hi-i!

    There’s so much wonderful music to this piece. And so much intensity. Such precision. A very mental moment in sex.

    Lovely! :O)

    Sunshine & Blessings,

    Giovani

  7. August 15, 2010 at 6:52 am

    I’ve imagined the poem written chained in a shack by the river because “All I know is that the wood inside me is splintering, the brackets snarling loose in the wrenching storm. The structure of every dream I’ve ever had about you is coming down around my head.” and then I turned my back on the river of time. and can only do this because of the mix of the two. Were they written seperately?

    • August 15, 2010 at 8:46 am

      No – they were written at the same time. But one is part of the prose and the narrative, and the other is part of the poem, and metaphor.

  8. August 15, 2010 at 2:03 pm

    In crushing dreams

    I realize time as a reality

    Wandering in life

    I try to fix the emptiness

    Unwittingly left by him

    But I always wake up

  9. lablu
    August 15, 2010 at 6:21 pm

    fantastic. I enjoyed. It is not at all a fucking. It is a good fiction.

  10. Brian Carlin
    August 15, 2010 at 7:44 pm

    As you say, context…. the line of “fuck me hard enough to jolt something loose inside me” the Spartan nature of the encounter played on the backdrop of “the river of time”…. All beautifully done. Much to enjoy.

  11. Absinthene
    August 15, 2010 at 8:21 pm

    “How can you deny people the little things that mean so much to them?”

    This line really resonated with me. Thank you again for sharing your work with us, RG. You never disappoint. 🙂

  12. August 15, 2010 at 9:11 pm

    I have seen the river and no one there but still passes in time. The dreams you dream whether bitter or sweet say that in the end time is all we have. There is no more or no less

  13. Snarkyxanf
    August 15, 2010 at 10:07 pm

    Another fascinating story. How is it that every time you write, you seem to come up with a new reason to fuck, a new bundle of emotions to explore?

  14. August 15, 2010 at 11:16 pm

    Simply powerful ~

  15. August 16, 2010 at 5:17 am

    reality x 2. Wow.

  16. City Different
    August 16, 2010 at 7:28 am

    The interlacing of poem and narrative is perfect, Rgrl. And the whole piece…beautiful, a window, what erotica should be.

  17. August 16, 2010 at 8:49 am

    Glad to see you’re back — was afraid that we wouldn’t hear from you for a while.

  18. August 16, 2010 at 4:34 pm

    This is so powerful. A rewarding, if painful, read that shines a bright light on emotions that one thought were fully understood. After reading, they are.

    Superb.

  19. August 30, 2010 at 3:52 pm

    That was beautiful. I liked the interweaving of the poem and the prose. It works.

  20. Dara
    April 1, 2014 at 5:16 am

    This was awfully sexily awesome. im defiantly aroused!

  21. M
    April 25, 2014 at 8:27 am

    You have drawn me in…
    Your direction, intense and beautiful..

  22. Shannon
    June 2, 2014 at 12:41 pm

    Wonderfully done. The interspersed poem and her actual thought process takes the depth of a sex seen to a whole new level you would never feel just seeing it.

  23. June 28, 2014 at 5:35 pm

    I liked the style and the set up, but fun rough would be nice too. I feel like everything your stories is great but that the sex should last longer and have more detail. Personal opinion, I still love the shorts.

  24. Hector
    September 23, 2014 at 10:59 am

    Amazing and well carried story. Thank you for sharing it with us.

  25. niki
    January 6, 2015 at 12:53 pm

    Turned me on 😉

  26. Jennifer
    May 10, 2015 at 9:16 am

    Amazing. Very relatable, sad and beautiful.

  27. Hannah
    September 18, 2015 at 4:14 am

    I’ve never read erotic fiction done like this. You make it beautiful in a way I never thought it could be.

  28. randy
    October 1, 2015 at 4:22 am

    Alot of it is in the foreplay and he didn’t do enough of it to help you enjoy it more but then he IS a Russki. aragan

    • October 1, 2015 at 5:37 pm

      Um… this is a piece of fiction. You get that, right?

      • Ian mulcahy
        October 24, 2015 at 6:35 am

        Well that was a little bit different. I I liked it and felt a little bit uncomfortable. Will read more in the future. Thank you, best wishes on

        • October 24, 2015 at 8:34 am

          A lot of my stories are aimed at getting readers to a state where they are both aroused and also disgusted.

  29. Ian mulcahy
    October 24, 2015 at 6:36 am

    Ian not on

  30. Needingitbadly
    November 9, 2015 at 11:58 am

    I was quickly drawn in and couldn’t stop reading it. Looking forward to reading more!!!

  31. Leah
    March 7, 2016 at 8:42 pm

    Well this just made me cry and I can’t really explain why. I’m sure I could if I really tried, but best leave that for another time.

  32. Bella
    April 3, 2016 at 11:55 am

    I love your voice and style, this touches on raw, elemental, & universal truth about the darkest desires of a soul ripped apart… beautiful.

  33. WritersInk
    May 9, 2016 at 8:18 am

    This is amazing. A powerful story that arouses and turns off. Was the poetry included yours or something you found?

  34. Cathy
    June 6, 2016 at 7:02 am

    This is so so good! I love the layering of the poem alonside the prose, and the metaphorical use of the ship and anchoring with emotions towards a lover you wish to detach from. Really good exploration of different types of love – really really well written and good luck to you with all your ideas! Excellent!

  35. ^DS
    August 17, 2016 at 5:18 pm

    Far better literary prowess than I’ve come across online. I guess I enjoy stories with slightly more passion in them but that’s just me. This was the first story I read on your blog, you’ve left me yearning for more.

  36. Angeltripping
    October 5, 2016 at 9:02 pm

    I love erotica that makes me masterbate and come. I’m sorry the peom did nothing for me. I don’t know why others read erotica but I read it when I haven’t had a damn good ‘seeing to’ in a while.

    • October 9, 2016 at 4:03 pm

      Yeah, I’m guessing you hit my page and thought…whoah, this isn’t what I was looking for! Erotica is a very wide genre that overlaps with textual pornography. But good news, there’s miles and miles of it over at Literotica!

  37. Musing_stoner
    January 13, 2017 at 1:01 pm

    I fucking love how real it is.. thank your for writing something that doesn’t make me roll my eyes ♡

  38. Raf
    March 31, 2017 at 7:47 am

    The ending. I like it.

  39. Rickita Ellis
    April 11, 2017 at 12:04 am

    This was very interesting it left me asking questions as to if she was the same girl… I wanted the story to keep going. You definitely know how to get your audiences attention.

  40. Nadine Davis
    July 3, 2017 at 6:09 am

    That was extremely excellent. Trying to get one out of my head by having sex with another one. And I found myself asking, can that work? And answering myself, just for a moment.
    For both the prose and the raw, engaging story: thank you.

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