The Return of the Man Who Corrupted Darklady
It was 1983. He was 17 and then 18. His hair was long and blonde, his eyes languid and intelligent. He lived in the country and introduced me to The Doors, Fripp-Eno collaborations, Alan Watts, and Sundays free from church attendance. He represented everything my parents feared and hated – and I loved him.
It was 1983. I was 20 and then 21. My hair was dark and recovering from a bad perm. I lived in the suburbs, a Bohemian punk in a world of disco balls, Trans Ams, and rosary beads. I was looking for escape, for passion, for intellectual, physical, and emotional stimulation – and he loved me.
We were both more experienced and more naïve than one might expect, than either of us realized or admitted. I’d been around the block a few times sexually but not had much fun along the way. Mostly it had been interesting. It was – is – always interesting. He’d started younger, but not by much. His experiences had been more affectionate and relationship based. Mine had been more gritty and pragmatic. We were a grab bag of genius and stupidity, repression and indulgence, maturity and immaturity, hormones and romance.
That was nearly half my life ago. Half a life during which we’d broken up badly, I’d moved on to university and through a couple of wedding rings while he’d moved to Los Angeles and a gold band of his own. For more than a decade there was silence between us.
And then one day the silence broke, thanks to that modern miracle called the Internet. The man I’d once loved and made love to beneath his Janis Joplin poster wrote a touching, apologetic letter of greeting, sympathy, congratulations and tentative hope. Nearly two decades of vague resentment melted beneath my fingertips as I heard nearly two decades worth of amazement in his letters and our subsequent phone conversations. The girl too shy to pose for nude photos now has a web cam and appears in pictures scattered throughout Usenet. The girl who’d blanched at the thought of anal sex now writes professionally on that subject – and more. The girl who’d sat on his bed while watching her first pornographic films – 8mm and silent – now has three 50-gallon tubs of adult videos in her storage closet.
Now, fully employed and fresh from more than a decade and a half of monogamy, The Man Who Corrupted Darklady must decide how daring his new life will be as he explores the rocky terrain of being a single man again. His northern relocation will place him in the center of Darklady Territory, lushly landscaped with glorious perversions, passionate polyamory, vigorous political debate, recreational gun slinging, high weirdness of many flavors, adventures aplenty — and a lot of catching up.
A person can grow and change a lot in nearly two decades. Depending on your point of view that can be a good thing or a bad thing. I think it’s been a very good thing but either way, one thing’s remained the same — it’s always been an interesting thing.
– Originally published in Playtime Magazine –