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We’re having sex together, so any problems I’m having like this are supposed to be things you care about, too. I wish I was, but I’ve just been so stressed out, these antidepressants are doing a serious number on me, and I also think I’m just feeling unresolved with where we’re at with other parts of our relationship lately. You: I just didn’t want you to feel bad, and I don’t know how to tell you when it’s happening. You: I’m sorry: I can understand you being so upset with me and feeling like that. It’s just that, for starters, I need you to put less pressure on me to orgasm.
I think you do, but you’re too upset to have this talk now. Them: I can understand that, even though I wish you felt better. You: Maybe we could spend the time we have together for a while either just snuggling, or doing some different things together? I feel like you get really frustrated with me when I don’t come, and like a lot of the time, it’s seemed easier to just pretend. I feel like such an asshole: I must be awful in bed! Do you want me to keep talking, or do you need a minute? When you get so frustrated, it’s pretty hard for me to stay excited.
If not, Pat would claim her suitcase, change clothes in the rest room & she and I proceed to a hotel room for a night (years? The sister was not in sight, so She (note the capital) claimed her bag & retired to the toilet to change ––– long dash ––– This next paragraph must, of necessity, be written completely objectively –– Edith (her sister) & Patricia (my love) walked out of the pisshouse hand in hand (I shan't describe my emotions).
It seems Edith (bah) arrived at the bus depot early & while waiting for Patricia, feeling sleepy, retired to the head to sleep on a sofa. My desperate efforts to free Pat from Edith failed, even Pat's terror & slave-like feeling toward her rebelled enough to state she must see "someone" & would meet Edith later, all failed. Oh, yes, to free myself for a moment from my emotions, you must read "Dead Souls" parts of it (in which Gogol shows his insight) are quite like you. ) but at the moment I'm drunk and happy (after all, I'm free of Patricia already, due to the young virgin. At the happy note of Les Young's "jumping at Mesners" (which I'm hearing) I close till later.
Cassady's uninhibited, free-flowing prose was a huge influence on Kerouac's writing and this letter in particular caught his imagination.
After passing it around his circle of friends and singing its praises, Kerouac later dubbed it, the "Great Sex Letter." (Source: The First Third; Image: Neal Cassady & Jack Kerouac in 1952, via.) March 7, 1947 Dear Jack: I am sitting in a bar on Market St. I am here for 2 reasons; I must wait 5 hours for the bus to Denver & lastly but, most importantly, I'm here (drinking) because, of course, because of a woman & what a woman!
She (her name Patricia) got on the bus at 8 PM (Dark!
) I didn't speak until 10 PM – in the intervening 2 hours I not only of course, determined to make her, but, how to DO IT.
In my dejection over losing Pat, the perfect, I decided to sit on the bus (behind the driver) in broad daylight & seduce her, from AM to PM I talked.
I naturally can't quote the conversation verbally, however, I shall attempt to give you the gist of it from 10 PM to 2 AM. Please read this illegible letter as a continuous chain of undisciplined thought, thank you.
Without the slightest preliminaries of objective remarks (what's your name? etc.) I plunged into a completely knowing, completely subjective, personal & so to speak "penetrating her core" way of speech; to be shorter (since I'm getting unable to write) by 2 AM I had her swearing eternal love, complete subjectivity to me & immediate satisfaction.
To be chronological about it: I was sitting on the bus when it took on more passengers at Indianapolis, Indiana – a perfectly proportioned beautiful, intellectual, passionate, personification of Venus De Milo asked me if the seat beside me was taken!!! (Paradox of expression, after all, how can one stammer No!!? Postponed, postponed, postponed script, keep working hard, finish your novel & find, thru knowledge, strength in solitude instead of despair.
) She sat – I sweated – She started to speak, I knew it would be generalities, so to tempt her I remained silent. Incidentally I'm starting on a novel also, "believe it or not".
What I am saying is that when you’re finished, most of the time I’m not, and I need you to either care more about that, or if you already do, to show me that you care by asking if I’m finished, and when I’m not, by asking what else I want to do. You: You know, this is a hard talk for me to have, too, but with you being this angry about it, I don’t feel like we can have it right now.