Sexual Life Catherine M. by Catherine Millet

Author:Catherine Millet [Millet, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Non-Fiction, Biography
ISBN: 9780802139863
Google: 0yqeyN5UE_4C
Amazon: 0802139868
Barnesnoble: 0802139868
Goodreads: 414343
Publisher: Corgi Books
Published: 2001-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

On the Threshold

The reader will understand more readily why I have made such an intimate connection between physical love and a mastering of space when I explain that I was born into a family of five living in a three-room apartment. And the first time I escaped the place was the first time that I fucked. That was not why I left, but that was what happened. Those who have been brought up in more well-off families where each member has his or her own room where privacy is at least respected, or also those who have walked to school in the country, may not have had the same experience. Discovering one’s body would not have been so much of a tributary to the need to expand the space within which the body moved. Whereas I had to cover geographical distances to reach parts of myself. I had to go from Paris to Dieppe in a Renault 4 and to sleep facing the sea to learn that somewhere in a part of me I could not see and had not imagined, I had an opening, a cavity that was so supple and so deep that the extension of flesh that made a boy a boy, and me not one, could be accommodated there.

The expression has fallen into disuse, but it used to be said of a young boy or girl who was not supposed to know how the human race is perpetuated—and by extension how love and the satisfaction of the senses are connected—was “innocent.” I remained almost completely innocent until I had direct experience of the first act of that process. I was twelve when my periods started. My mother and grandmother got into a state and called the doctor, my father popped his head around the door and asked with a laugh whether I had a nosebleed. So much for teaching me the facts of life. I had no clear idea of where this blood was coming from, and I couldn’t distinguish between the passages through which my urine and my periods passed. One day the doctor tactfully explained to me that I should clean myself rather more thoroughly than I had been with my washcloth; otherwise, he said, sniffing the latex-covered finger that had examined me, “it doesn’t smell very nice.” I eventually suspected something because of a scandal at a rock concert. My mother and her friends were talking about it in front of me. The concert had caused an outbreak of violence, and the police had had to intervene. “Apparently some of the girls were so far gone that they even took the billy clubs and stuck them up themselves!” Put them up where? And why exactly would they want billy clubs? Questions that unsettled me for a long time.

I was an adolescent but had retained the ignorance of my infantile onanism. As a very young girl, I had realized that some games afforded me exquisite and incomparable sensations. I played with dolls in a specific and unusual way.

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