I'll Be Your "Push a Button Any Time," Lover
An ode to anyone who has ever fallen in love with someone they shouldn't have.
Welcome to my Nightmare. My name is Borderland Delia-Ann and I have written a book titled, I Can Only Give You Everything, about sex addiction recovery, punk rock culture, and the spiritual initiation of a accidental mystic.
The following is an excerpt from (the unpublished sequel to) I Can Only Give You Everything.
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The most provocative thing I ever did was masturbate in a plumber’s car while he was driving me over the Golden Gate Bridge. His name was Fred, and he wanted me to move to Oakland and be his Punk Rock, “push a button any time” lover.
In retrospect, I thought he was a nice guy, although the first time I hooked up with him, I was sixteen and he was twenty-three. But I wasn’t thinking about that when he asked me at a stoplight mid orgasm to move from Portland to his third-story loft full of nothing but duct taped drum equipment, and testosterone.
The stoplight turned from red to green. He pulled up to a pay-by-the-week hotel. A brick shit house rotting on a side street just beyond the peep shows and strip clubs lining up and down North Beach’s infamous Broadway avenue.
I was twenty-two, all bones and breasts and legs. I was tall, but still looked childlike, androgynous in a silent movie star bob. I had natural black hair that no one believed belonged to me and eyes the color of someone else’s tears, clear with a tinge of blue.
I was the mohawked plumber’s fantasy, and I kinda knew it. Sex was a game to me, and I was always one step ahead of everyone else I was playing. The real reason I wouldn’t agree to move in with the plumber was that I felt guilty. Unbeknownst to him, he was driving me to hook up with a legally blind skateboarder before my poor mother drove me to the airport to see me off on yet another failed mother/daughter trip.
I fucked the skateboarder with nothing but my Chuck Taylors on. I was riding on top of him. He was grinning like a kid at the carnival who could go on any ride he wanted. He was telling me how beautiful I was, and I was thinking to myself, how the fuck would you know, you’re blind.
The skateboarder wanted me to stay, too. He worked as an MC at a peep show around the corner from his furnished room. He had less to offer me than the plumber. We smoked cigarettes on his fire escape, and he asked me if I wanted to go up to the top of Nob Hill and smoke a joint with him. I was still wearing nothing but my shoes. I was high off the sex and feeling wanted, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.
By the time my mother found me in my white collared baby doll dress, drinking espresso and smoking cigarettes like a movie star in front of Francis Ford Coppola’s famous Pizzeria and wine bar, she was so pissed off she couldn’t speak. She could smell the debauchery all over me. The glow of my freckled skin, the unnatural red tone of my lips. I had fucked two guys in two hours.
