For weeks I was running to massage parlors, sex clubs, porno-extravaganzas, S&M shows, bondage parades, swingers' groups, sex-aerobics classes. I peered through acqua blowups in periodicals sold hermetically sealed in plastic, titled Prude, Rapture, Squeeze, Shaved Pussy Special. I inspected countless pussies peeking through Fredericks' of Hollywood undies or wrinkle-free strippers' garbs. Like the Japanese businessmen around me, I placed $50 bills into sweaty g-strings so the dancers would show me their costly dull vaginas at close range. I watched girls do all kinds of absurd things to themselves, lick their own nipples, suck their own vaginas, push their own fingers up their asses, pretending they were two people fucking. I saw girls whose vaginal muscles were stronger than my pectorals, play ping pong with their vaginas, smoke with their vaginas, throw a lasso with their vaginas. I saw girls fucking with dobermen, with clotheslines, with a machine gun, fucking on stilts or while hanging from chandeliers. I saw hundreds of chains, metal cages, metal cocks, nameless instruments of torture. And I patiently continued to go from porno show to porno film to porno shop, anywhere I could locate an abundance of genitalia and audiences, certain that the cunt couldn't resist that combination.
I ran into it when I least expected it, of course. I was sitting in an XXX theater, exposed to the pervasive odors of sailors' cum and unwashed socks and to the prolonged discolored bleating on the screen. The moment that the soundtrack picked up as if the cavalry were coming and the pornostars repeated: "Yes," I saw the cunt.
It was sitting a few seats in front of me! I wouldn't have perceived it in the dark if it weren't for its familiar eerie glow that made it look as if it were made of sparkles. I ducked at once so that it wouldn't spot me and lurked in the shadows trying to form a plan.
I noticed then, to my astonishment, that it (or should I at this point say "she"?) was sitting next to someone who, after some more careful examination, proved to be nothing more than a substantial dick. Yes, loose in the theatre, by itself, a circumcised American dick out on its own! Where did she meet it? Did she abduct it from its owner? Did she severe it off to keep her company?
They were sharing the cracked vinyl seat and wildly imitating the fucking as it took place in the film, so that they would hurriedly change positions, and slow down or speed up or curve back in accordance to what was projected on screen as if playing at being the mirror.
The dick showed great talent: it performed the part of every changing position diligently and without for a moment losing its strong upward curve. The cunt, on the other hand, was clearly improvising, writhing when the pornostar's vagina remained still, changing rhythms and confusing its ambitious partner, obviously bored by the repetitive missionary positions of its movie counterparts. She pirouetted in and out of the pounding dick, spun around it as it penetrated her, undulating its belly, or hole, flirtatiously like a luminous oriental dancer
Even though I had peered at crass sexual imagery and genitals for the past few weeks, I could not control the surge of revulsion that overtook me at the sight of this terrifying obscenity, this mockery. I sat witnessing two unadorned genitals slurp and slosh in a small pool of secretion, fucking blindly on a public plastic seat!
I was surprised by how much the presence of legs, underbellies, waists, arms and heads contributes to, and perhaps even justifies, our interest in, and our tolerance of, sexual conduct. Genitals, I realized, though necessary and even enjoyable, require some sort of seasoning, a few extra touches, to give them the appropriate look; other-wise they are alien and disgusting like obscure protozoa or wormy salivating mollusks that have crawled high up on someone's clean white wall unnoticed. Oh no, this wasn't a sight of life!
It was now clear to me that the cunt had picked up this separated dick, and perhaps was planning to start a family of similar loose genitalia jerking themselves obliviously into eternity! This time I planned my next move, making certain I wouldn't overreact and lose it.
I rose, walked down the aisle, staring only at the action on the screen as if absorbed by it, hiding my face in my coat collar, until I reached their row and stepped sideways toward them as if to sit next to the mating couple. They were rolling in and out of each other with abandon, and I lost no time: I abruptly sat on them with all my force.
Now I had them trapped! I could feel the romancing genitalia fumbling under my coat, perhaps still unaware of their change of fate, the dick pushing toward the entrance of my buttocks and tickling me. I shook off my trenchcoat, let it fall over my prey under my ass and even tucked the sides under the borders of the seat. Then, once I had made sure they were still squiggling beneath my bottom, I carefully tied my coat ends into a makeshift parcel. I jumped up and pulled my crossed coatsleaves tight. I grabbed the struggling contents of my coat in both hands, turned it upside down so the flat back was under and bunched up all the openings. Quickly, joyfully, I ran out.
Now I had her! She was under my bondage! They fought like live cats locked in a bag and about to be drowned. I was in ecstasy!
I stormed into a dilapidated hotel next door, got myself a room, locked the shaky door, checked the stained windows which luckily were not broken and threw my derelict package on the unmade bed triumphant-ly. I was ready to dance, swirl, shout a pean, blow up the place!
How could I have imagined, after all my precautions, that under the scarlet lining of my coat lay only a single erect dick? Yet that was the spectacle afforded to my eyes as I untied the knot. What could I do? I checked if my coat had been torn by the exposed screws on the movie seat. No! I looked around the room even though I knew I would-n't find her. Perhaps she had detected me all along and escaped at the very last instant just to enrage me more. Perhaps she turned liquid and trickled out of my trap. All I knew was that she had run off, slipping through my hands again. I had it and yet I didn't have it.
Meanwhile, the excited dick seemed to have no consciousness of its new circumstances. It danced a lonely number on the bed standing on its wider base, blindly reaching around with its head right and left and upward, hoping to touch a penetrable surface. It had no idea where it was or what it looked like. I was so disappointed that my impulse was to take it out on this poor victim. I admit that I tried to strangle it. I put my hands tightly around it and pressed as hard as I could to choke it. That was a mistake, for the immediate result was a forceful arch of off-white liquid squirting out of its mouth and into my eyes. It occured to me that I had given it pleasure instead! Irony upon irony, faux pas after faux pas! I was not made for this plot! I considered, for a moment, giving up. I thought this wriggling writhing air-grasping tool was a clear sign. A mirror. Maybe I could put it in a jar of water, take it to Ela and say: "Look, use this. Forget womanhood. Be a man. You and I both will start over. With our singular looks, we only need to screw this on and we'll be perfect males too. We can get men's point of view, what they see inside a vagina, why they go mad, all those mysteries. Let's try both sides! Think of Tiresias: you'll be a seer. We can both be blind seers!" I knew I could persuade her. I have that power. That, I was made for. Perhaps there was a moral lesson somewhere here.
