White Man Ascendant - A Stephen Miller Memoir circa 2011

 We were apart for two years. During that time Katie and I only stayed together through words. Every night we talked for an hour before bed. We saw each other on long weekends when we could drive, then later fly, the distance, but it was hard not seeing each other for months. I remained faithful. She did too, I believe. Somehow we had lost those communication skills when living together. In the olden days, during that nocturnal hour on the phone, we embraced the day’s memory, sharing it with the person closest to us. Neither had an ear to speak into except the others. Those were two miserable years apart. Now that I was around her for almost 8 waking hours daily, what did I have to say that I’d not already said, couldn’t be put off, or she did with me? “I got carrots for you.” “I was with you when you bought them.” “They could have been for something else!” “For what? You don’t cook!” “No, and I don’t want to when you say things like that.” “Then that’s best for both of us.” These ...

          Katie and I had a pleasant weekend. We spent little and lounged lots. Sunday night, I rubbed her back as she lay topless upon the bed in her snowflake boxers. Her shoulders ached from going bra-less most of the weekend. I nestled next to her, and we kissed. There were no ulterior motives. At the commencement of kissing, I wanted only to be nearer to her, to share these last moments of a quiet weekend together before stress and demands of another workweek destroyed our peace. Our Lost Weekend. No grinding or even rubbing, simply sweet kisses of a husband and a wife in silence.         In a burst, the kisses grew impassioned, emboldened. I yanked off her boxers as she put me in her mouth. I kissed her full lips and buried two fingers deep in her. The moan vibrated along my shaft. In a second, I was deep in her. We kissed differently than before. She did plaintive undulations that accomplished nothing but ...

         My office is very grey, and the skyscrapers are taupe. I do have a superb view of the sky. Indoors a meeting will convene soon. The topic? Budget issues? Research demands? Shitting in sinks? God, I don't care. Why meet? This study is doomed. Why act otherwise? In the Washington suburbs, a conference call begins. The program’s big boss, the Director, a doctor in an overly specialized field, speaks in metaphors. When on these conference calls, the participants speak in tropes and try to incorporate imagery from one expression into another. This charade is an attempt to appeal to the Director’s vanity. "It's like Harry Potter, and processing environmental samples is He Who Shall Not Be Named and..." "We've got to magically weave a tapestry into a boat to cross the cloud." The Director was the biggest offender; power led to prolonged, nonsensical descriptions of unicorns and dragons as mythical analogies for the various study components, to h...

 My wife and I cruised for our honeymoon. We had dinner with another couple about the same age and education as us. We chatted coolly, each couple curious how long we had to eat before we could go back to our separate rooms, get naked, have sex, and order room service. The husband and I discussed television. We both enjoyed unsanctimonious, puerile shows. I mentioned a particularly vile series at which we guffawed, interrupting our wives’ conversation. “What is it?” Katie asked with a smile. My laughter turned to shame as I gazed across the table to his wife.  The husband eyed my wife as well. “Later.” He said something similar to his wife. Back in our room after an abridged dinner, I told my wife the story - a man married his daughter in order to get an inheritance. They banged. Stupid shit like that. Katie shrugged. I said, “I know, but …” “Yeah, I’d be pissed if you had let him say those things in front of me.” “Exactly!” We ordered cheeseburgers and fries then had sex on t...

 My wife and I sexed more often now. Our previous encounters could be described as tender or even gentle. This was fucking - wonderfully selfish and haughty and contemptuous. Disgust bound us. What did this mean for us? How had we come to the best sex of our relationship? Orgasms are implications in addition to sensations. The one who can arouse the more forceful come has control over the other, and this power exists at a primordial, constant state. Fear and attraction yowl behind well-mannered facades. The societal veil between civility and criminality is far thinner than we’ve become accustomed to believe. Abuse, battery, cruelty  can even be incorporated into society, thereby normalizing them. In this spirit, I wanted to see if pain got me off. For one of our quickies, Katie rode me, grinding her clit against my bony hips. Her head bent closer to me. I slapped her face. Not hard enough to topple her. Still, Katie knew it was not an accident as her quaking hand felt the crim...

When my complicated friend Stephen Miller died in Summer 2012, his widow Katie gave me a small box of his journals. I alone could read his idiosyncratic cursive, and their relationship had become rocky recently. Slowly deciphering the pages, I informed the late/former Mrs. Stephen Miller of their contents. Her face turned ashen, and she told me none of it was true. Furthermore Katie did not need to be kept apprised, that I could do whatever I wanted with the smut. Such a cruel, dismissive word - smut. Translating and organizing continued. I’ve not corroborated the events depicted in this narrative. Where possible, I’ve kept the language the same. When I had to guess what Stephen had written, I went with past vocabulary decisions that I had been able to confirm. It was a slow process due to the writing’s tedium and graphic material. Given the crisis of manliness that our country currently faces, I hope my late friend’s perspective can further the conversation. JPB Summer 2025