The Daily Write: My Brother (November 9, 2012)

I've been wondering lately if they have good sex in communist countries. Does giving yourself to the State equal the end of erotic desire? How does it fit in with the rhetoric of The Party? And what of totalitarian regimes? Is sex the only good thing left when everything else is controlled, bloody, gray and you are half starved?

These are the kinds of things that go through my mind as I stand in the backyard of the 69-year-old across the street drinking white wine from a pink plastic cup while he smokes American Spirits and talks about what his house was like when he bought it, how it feels to be leaving after 22 years, and every now and then mentions Bob Avakian, Chairman of The Revolutionary Communist Party. It's not that I'm all that interested in his beliefs, but there is an erotic charge to talking to a man driven by passion for his politics and for righting the wrongs of the world.

Frank is short, gray haired and loose-eyed the way someone who drinks too much tends to be. He doesn't remember my name but he likes to talk. He's a grumbler and a mumbler so I can't always understand what he's saying. When he invited me over to tour his house I couldn't tell for sure if he wanted me to come in, and then he got annoyed that I hesitated before entering. Then standing in his bathroom admiring his tile work seemed so intimate, with the bedroom beyond.

I like that we are developing this friendship across generations, genders and the street. Only, he's about to move and I have no business, as a married woman with two kids, flirting with a man who can't see straight and is 22 years my senior.

But then thing is, I've never been with a man. I'm curious. And I like the ones that have experience, and who pay attention to me but don't, all in one breath. I find his cranky demeanor a turn on. And plus, there is that notion of conquest. Like, could I get under his skin enough to make him forget the politics? Or maybe he would grunt sweet Avakianisms into my ear in a moment of passion. On the the other hand, he may be spent at this point in his life. In which case, I'd still like to get drunk with him and hang out.

Perhaps I am a Commie after all.