patriarchy | Jerusalem Mortimer: Between the Lines

I’ve been thinking about how Lican and I couldn’t say anything complicated to each other, because I don’t speak any of her languages and she doesn’t speak much English.

Angelica could translate between us, but there were things we didn’t feel comfortable talking about, not if we had to talk about them through Angelica. It got easier once Angelica was brought inside our sexual circle, so we could all be more intimate about what we said and did with, or in front of, each other. Even then, there were things that we never said.

We never sorted out what was happening between us when she submitted. Lican feels, as best we’ve been able to clarify this, that a man should rule a woman. She sees that as a general principle: in any heterosexual couple, the man should rule. I just think that a man or a woman can be submissive, or dominant, or not interested in these categories at all. It’s something people can agree to explore, according to what feels right to them and turns them on.

I think I’m right, and that I’d naturally win that argument and convince her, if we were actually able to talk about it. No doubt Lican thinks the opposite.

But one of the first things we did in that hotel room back in Porvenir was to have a wrestling match. We were fighting over possession of her cunt, really. If I won, I’d fuck her. If she won, she’d stay unfucked. So ordinarily I’d have backed off immediately, because that’s pretty much a definition of rape.

But I started the wrestling match because Lican was clearly turned on and wanted to fuck, and she’d been enthusiastic about getting her outer layer of clothes off, and most of my clothes. She pushed me away and closed her legs suddenly, but she was laughing, so I thought it was just a playful, jokey thing. I was happy to hold her and wriggle around on a bed with her, and she seemed happy to be wriggling and rolling. She was laughing, and there was something encouraging about her eyes, but she was still keeping her knickers on, more or less, and her cunt out of my cock’s way.

That’s not the end of the topic, but I’m out of time.

I’m in Porvenir, in the Strait of Magellan. It’s in Chilean Tierra del Fuego.

It’s not much of a town. The Rollit docked here because it’s smaller than the township of Punta Arenas, whose lights I could see across the strait, late last night. I was standing on the wharf with Lican, a junior officer in the Chilean navy.

She speaks as much English as I speak Spanish. But she seems to like to fuck new-comers. Which isn’t so surprising, since there are only about 5,000 people here. She’s young, and she’s stuck here for another eight months.

Since I had no other way to flirt I walked her to a shady part of the wharf, where she looked over the strait with a half-smile while I got her blue-grey uniform shirt out of her pants and my hand on her left tit, which was cold and needed warmth and attention. We took occasional breaks for kissing, which she did in a bitey way.

I got us a room in the Hostel Colon, and I had her on the bed with that shirt off. And she bit me again. So I said, “Basta, basta”. It means, “stop that” in Italian.

I still don’t know if it means anything in Spanish, because she just grinned like a wolf and bit me twice more, giggling. I smacked her thigh. She still had her shorts on. The first smack was just a wild swipe, to show that I didn’t like being bitten. For the second smack, I pushed her down and subdued her, with her ribcage panting and breasts energetically bobbing. She abandoned the struggle then, and watched while I smacked her the second time, on the inside of her left thigh, very slowly to show that it wasn’t an accident, or momentary annoyance.

And then she got her legs round me and we rolled about some more, half fighting and half dry-fucking, until she took my belt out and got my pants undone and I got her pants completely off and we settled to wet-fucking, in a more cooperative way. She’s a vanilla girl, and not really submissive. But she did like the smack, and the additional set of hard smacks I gave her arse when she was bobbing up and down on my cock, about two in the morning.

She might not be submissive, but she does like your traditional sex roles. A man should be firm, and in charge. We’d have had a political argument, if we could talk to each other. Instead I smacked her legs and arse and she accepted that I was a man. So that will have to do.

In the morning, though, getting dressed, she said something about the Rollit, and “leones marines:” sea lions. So I should be paranoid. She’s seeing me again tonight; she said she’d bring a translator.”Traductor”: I know that one.

I don’t think I’m in enough trouble to make it worth making a run for it. I hope the translator’s a friend, not a soldier.