Adam Thirlwell - Politics

Moshe, you see, did not know what was going on. He thought this was the first time Nana and Anjali had become this intimate. In fact, he never found out that Anjali and Nana had had sex already. He thought that the threesome was their very first time.

But as well as feeling resigned, Moshe was also, as you can imagine, very turned on. And I do not think you can blame him for this. His girlfriend and another girl, who was in no way unattractive, were behaving homosexually in front of him. He was feeling generous, Moshe. But he was also wondering when the evening would get properly pornographic. Even if Moshe was not involved, it would still be fun to watch.

15

And just as Moshe was thinking that the evening needed pornography, Anjali — what synchronisation — stretched her arms up and crossed them, unwrapping her turquoise T- shirt. Then she pinched her bra clasp apart. The bra slid forward from under her breasts.

At last, some nakedness! Anjali was topless.

At this point, I am going to describe Anjali’s breasts. This is not because I am seedy. No. The look of Anjali’s breasts was important, because it was the opposite look to the look of Nana’s breasts. As you may remember, Nana’s breasts were large and entirely pale, with only the palest smudge for areolae, and the softest small pink circles for nipples. While Anjali’s were smaller. Each breast was stained by an areola. Her nipples were thick and blackly maroon.

It is true, of course, that I am enjoying this description of Anjali’s breasts. But this still does not mean I am seedy. There is a crucial psychological detail to be inferred from this comparison. It is crucial that Nana and Anjali had different kinds of breasts. It was a distinct turn on for Moshe, and a slight difficulty for Nana. Anjali’s breasts made Nana feel faintly insecure. Anjali, thought Nana, was much more attractive than Nana.

Nana placed her hands at either side of Anjali’s ribcage. She sucked at Anjali’s blackly maroon nipples. Anjali leaned over to help her. This positioned Anjali face to face with Moshe. So above Nana’s suckling mouth Moshe and Anjali started kissing.

Now the evening was sexual. Now they were having a threesome.

But Moshe pulled apart for a moment. He was finding it odd kissing Anjali, his lesbian friend. He wondered if this was really what she wanted. He could not quite believe it. So Moshe said, ‘Iz this okay?’ Anjali nodded and pulled him towards her from the back of his neck, and Moshe said no no no, was this really what she wanted. And Anjali kept nodding and kissed him. Then Moshe said to Nana, ‘Iz this okay?’ and Nana also nodded.

16

If I were a pornographer, what happened next would be a hitch. I have to describe my characters undressing. Undressing embarrasses pornographers. But luckily, I am not a pornographer. I hate pornography, I hate its magic realism. Me, I believe in nineteenth-century realism.

Undressing is no problem for me.

The three of them stood up. Anjali removed all her clothes. This did not take very long, because all she was wearing by now was a denim skirt and black knickers. She rolled them both off together. Nana took off her dress and bra and then felt coy about taking off her knickers too. For the moment she kept them on. Moshe had unbuttoned his shirt. He pushed his jeans and his Converse boxer shorts off. Then, with a curving erection sticking into his belly as he bent down, he struggled with his recalcitrant ribbed Gap socks.

Moshe joined his two girls who were kissing on his bed.

17

Anjali was sitting, like a cello, between Nana’s legs, so that Nana could touch her from behind and kiss her neck. Moshe crawled across the bed and lay on Anjali and kissed her. But this was complicated. Nana, thin Nana, was squashed. So they arranged themselves differently. They moved back to the floor. There was more space on the floor.

Well, two of them moved to the floor. Nana just rolled on to her front and hung her head over the side of the bed.

From this position, Nana watched Moshe get carried away. He kissed Anjali, he kissed her roughly. Then he pushed her legs apart with his right knee, so his penis was hovering in front of Anjali’s vagina. And when Moshe judged that the time was right he held his penis with his left hand and pushed it into Anjali. Then Anjali and Moshe started to have sex. Moshe reared. Anjali’s breasts shook from side to side, flattened out over her ribs.

But this was not pornography. It was confused.

You see, Moshe was happy. He was having sex, legitimately, with another girl. And he was feeling particularly happy because Anjali was not as thin as Nana. Toned and elegant Nana had always made Moshe feel tubby. Whenever Moshe and Nana’s bodies entwined and writhed, there always seemed to be more of Moshe than Nana. Whereas Anjali was the real physical thing. Anjali, thought Moshe, was uncompromisingly sexual. She was physical and uncomplicated and luscious.

Obviously, Moshe was wrong. Anjali was complicated.

Moshe had pushed himself into her without her deciding. And Anjali knew that not deciding was not the same as not consenting. It was just she wasn’t sure that immediate sex was the correct scenario. She was not certain that this was Nana’s plan. So she tried not to look at Nana. Anjali looked at the joins of the plaster where the ceiling became magnolia walls. She followed the ins and outs of the foliage of the dado. It was odd looking at a room from the floor. It made the room unusual. She could see a peeking patch of mustard yellow by the radiator.

And Anjali also felt aggrieved. She had expected more involvement from Nana. This was not what she had imagined. A threesome was not a prosy floor show. And this was just a floor show. Moshe was shoving her. This was meant to be more fun. It was meant to be more caring. This was not a threesome at all.

Lonely Anjali decided to hasten the fated end. And she knew what she was meant to do. ‘Christ this is wunful!’ Anjali exclaimed. ‘Christ. Sweet Jesus. Oh Jesus that’s good! No that’s just so. Oh. Sweet fucking mother of.’ She wrenched her hips round Moshe. She kissed the paler skin over the tendons on his veering neck, tightening the muscles in her cunt to make herself smaller for massive, so achemaking Moshe. ‘Oh no that’s no no yes oh that’s. God,’ she said.

This was the entertainment business.

Anjali pushed her feet up and down Moshe’s back so Moshe could manoeuvre further in. She just wanted him to come. She just wanted the solace of all the objective signs. So she could curl up and be pretty.

OK, I will write some pornography. I will write one paragraph.

As he pulled out she made her cunt grip him like she was coming and whispered, ‘Fuck me please fuck me hard.’ And then she felt him, tight and thickening, so she cried out, ‘Oh oh oh oh oh. Oh.’ She was drifting. ‘Oo,’ she said. He was pulsing and (‘mmm’) she could feel it, she said to him, relieved.

She rubbed her cheek on his sharp face. Moshe felt heavy. He was a lot heavier than Zosia. He twitched,

pushing his cock further in, for the last of it.

As for Nana, Nana was sad. Because, as you can see, multiple sex scenes don’t work. I am not embarrassed to say so. The flaw in a threesome, Nana had discovered, was not exhaustion. Contrary to what she might have expected, the flaw was not the busyness. It was being unemployed. ‘Threesome’ was a euphemism. ‘Threesome’ was the word for infidelity. She was jealous.

Moshe was very proud. He felt weird, and he felt proud.

18

But what is infidelity?

On the night of 16/17 May 1934, the poet Osip Mandelstam was arrested. You know about Osip. You know about how he met his wife. The secret police knocked on his door when Osip was on the loo, despondently, his back straight and his neck back. He had been on the loo for the last fourteen minutes, trying to crap. As he heard the secret police arrive, he quickly wiped himself, although, even in his hurry, he still inspected the stain on the loo paper before flushing it away.