Now, as the new year approached, here Jake was at Bill Samuel's party with Joanie holding his fucking hand. She was always doing shit like that. It was embarrassing. If he wanted to hold her hand, he would for Chrissakes! Couldn't she give him some room? That lack of freedom, that sense of being smothered by Joanie was one of the major factors that last year had led Jake to his latest (and final) college drop-out period, just a semester shy of graduation. Once again, he had stayed away an entire year. This time, however, he spent it working as a paste-up artist in an advertising agency in a city, far from U-Town... and from Joanie. There he met an unbelievable number of horny chicks, many of whom he fucked and none of whose names he could even remember any more.
In thinking about that year of his life or recounting his sexual adventures during it to his good buddy Stephen, he always referred to it as the time of the Hundred Years’ War — not because it lasted a hundred years, obviously, but because he balled over a hundred different women in that one year, so obsessively that it seemed like he was attempting to conquer as many women as he could in as short a period of time as possible. He'd had all kinds: black ones, white ones, big ones, small ones, flat-chested ones, built ones, sweet ones, nasty ones. He'd slept with a woman who loved to take it in the ass and quite a few who preferred it in the mouth. He'd had one-night stands — lots of 'em — and a couple of chicks he'd balled off and on throughout that entire year. Once, he screwed three different women within 24 hours. And then there was the time he and this layout artist from the office fucked for 10 hours straight, just taking short breaks to piss and re-load on drugs. Another time, he and this older, married account exec had picked up a hooker and the three of them had done it. He'd really dug watching the two women making it.
But by the end of the year, he felt even worse about sex than he had when he split from the U. It had become, for him, an empty activity, lacking all meaning and even devoid of physical pleasure. So, upon his return to the U, he'd backed away from sex and ultimately from Joanie, herself.
The clock struck midnight and a chorus of cheers and jeers went up from the crowd at the party. Jake had just a moment to glance around the room before Joanie's mouth was fastened wetly on his. In that fleeting moment, he noticed Bill giving Christine a drunken, but surprisingly tame little kiss on the cheek.
Then, Jake's vision was blocked by Joanie's face directly before him, and he felt her tongue thrust deep into his mouth. He felt no pleasure in it. None. Even after months of celibacy, he was afraid of the painful emptiness he knew would follow if he and Joanie did have sex tonight. While he could still recall the thrill he’d once felt with her — his cock deep within her, she rocking rhythmically against his muscular abdomen, the smell of her hair, her small, solid breasts grazing his hairy chest and nipples tantalizingly — these recollections soon faded, replaced by memories of meaningless fucks of women he didn’t even know. When it came to sex now, all he really felt was a certain numbness, almost as though he were paralyzed from the waist down… or rather as though he’d had a lobotomy that had excised his sexual emotions.
Links
ad agency sex in the sixties
heterosexual anal intercourse
The Rolling Stones
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New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 6 "Visions of Viet Nam in the Living Room"
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New Year's Eve 1968: Jake, Scene 4 "Joanie, the Love of His Life"
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