It Was the Dictionary Definition of Lust.
If I had to categorize the relationship I had with Larry, I would not say it was love. It was the dictionary definition of lust.
In Larry’s world, having a woman on the back of the bike was the only essential thing to complete his lifestyle. I don’t believe it mattered to him who I was, how deeply I felt about things, what I thought about the state of the world, or how much intelligence I had.
It mattered that I looked good on the back of the bike, that I was always there when he went places, and that we had plenty of sex.
While I was still wishing I had more intellectual companionship than Larry could provide, I knew my place. I knew that in order to have unlimited beer and chocolate milk, I needed to do whatever Larry wanted to do, go wherever Larry wanted to go, be whoever Larry wanted me to be.
Larry wanted me to be a hard-core biker chick with no qualms about risk – so that’s what I became.
In addition, we had a physical relationship that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Given that we had little else to do, and little money with which to do anything, we had sex all the time. We had sex in the morning and sex at night, and often found time for sex once or twice during the day, too.
Larry’s vasectomy gave me the freedom to enjoy sex for the first time in my life. As a result, we had mind-blowing sex almost every time we connected. We could have sex anywhere at any time, virtually always resulting in simultaneous orgasms.
So we had sex a lot.
It helped me that he played guitar and sang, because I was in love with music. It also helped that we had absolutely nothing in common. There was no thinking involved – just animal instinct. Our conversations were baseless and dull. He talked about the bike; I thought about the meaning of life.
We rarely connected emotionally or philosophically. My head was swimming with ideas and observations about this new life I’d started. Looking at Larry, watching Larry, listening to Larry … it fascinated me – like Jane Goodall, observing the apes.
I’d never experienced anything as wild as Larry. He was tough and simple and confident. He was sure and determined and free. He had nothing, including ambition, yet he was extremely comfortable with himself – and that never wavered.
While I believed that he was 100% in charge of everything, he spent his time pacifying me – my requests for camping, comfort foods, beer, or leather. He even occasionally got me cocaine, in spite of its expense. He wanted me to be happy, and would have given me anything I’d asked for, if he could afford it.
He couldn’t afford things like traveling on the toll roads, or flying anywhere. He couldn’t afford a vehicle off the showroom floor or a custom-tailored suit. But those weren’t things I wanted anyway. I just wanted to drink, to stay drunk, and to get cocaine occasionally.
Being with Larry, I had everything I wanted, except sometimes there was no heat.
Fortunately his body kept me from freezing, and the desire for warmth added to our sexual activity. It was a simple life, really.
Looking back often makes me forget the pleasurable parts. I recognize all of my idiocy – and his. But there were pleasurable parts – and those memories are still inside my brain somewhere, swimming around with my animal observations.
