My Friend Natalia by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epub3
Publisher: Liveright

RECOVERY PROGRAM WEEKS 5–6–7

Unforgettable experiences from adult life.

Instruction: In this exercise incorporate

a device that best characterizes the experience.

Do with it whatever you wish.

MR. DIAGONAL TESTICLE & THE HERMENEUTICS

One of my lovers had a diagonal testicle. He had been suffering from birth from a condition called cryptorchidism, in other words his left testicle hadn’t dropped into the scrotum but had remained hidden inside the pelvic cavity and therefore hung at a distinct diagonal angle in relation to the right testicle, which was where it was supposed to be. The man was a urologist by profession. In other words, he had made an entire profession out of his suffering; that’s what all people do when they suffer in such a way that Shame is omnipresent. I studied art history because I understood at an early age that whenever we create an image, be it an oil painting, a watercolor, an ink-jet printout, a chromatogenous photograph, a drawing in pastel, sepia, pencil or asphalt lacquer, and when that image is on a defined surface, a board, and whatever the base material of that work, jute canvas, acrylic board, corrugated iron, PVC fabric, a glass-blown mirror, Japanese wax paper, transparent paper, then it exists, with a single glance you can take it in and commit it to memory, and you can always return to it and look at it again, though after the fall of 1995 I was unable to look at Ear-Mouth again. Indeed, as early as high school I realized that Things, the kind of things that deserved a capital letter, like Shame, which I have tried to make my dearest friend, should be framed—and not only framed but displayed for all to see, for us to confront on a daily basis. Framing Things strips them of the squalor of secrecy. And so I studied art history and even harbored dreams of becoming an artist myself, though I quickly understood while sitting in lecture halls looking at slides of Rembrandts, Giorgiones, Michelangelos, Tizianos, Dürers and Botticellis that I didn’t have the skill, that my meager gifts would never rise as high as they should even if I were to shut myself away in an isolated cabin in no-man’s-land and paint for sixteen years. I realized I’d be better off reading and looking, honing my eye and my intellect, and leaving my hands to other kinds of work, to the work of love. And so I masturbated this urologist, I masturbated him with great gusto, saving neither effort nor energy. Because in addition to having a diagonal testicle of which he was ashamed, he had great difficulty penetrating a woman like me. His member was rather large an sich, it was perky, sinewy and veiny, right up until he tried to move it closer to my vagina, but as soon as the tip of his penis touched an intimate part of me, it became small, miserable, shriveled, soft and useless. He imagined that there existed within me a vagina dentata, and his member became flaccid.

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