Inhaling chocolate covered pomegranate berries, I watched
Michael Stone as he talked on my i-Phone screen and told me about the wise use
of sexual energy.
“Sexual energy is not personal,” said Michael Stone. Apparently sexual energy doesn’t belong to anybody. This is an interesting way of looking at it. My sexual energy feels very personal. And if I’m not the one who wants to hump the bed, who is? Michael Stone says that despite living in a world where sex is everywhere, few people are willing to talk about it. I tend to be one of those people. Along with shit, masturbation, and menstruation, sex is one of my favourite topics.
“Sexual energy is not personal,” said Michael Stone. Apparently sexual energy doesn’t belong to anybody. This is an interesting way of looking at it. My sexual energy feels very personal. And if I’m not the one who wants to hump the bed, who is? Michael Stone says that despite living in a world where sex is everywhere, few people are willing to talk about it. I tend to be one of those people. Along with shit, masturbation, and menstruation, sex is one of my favourite topics.
“You are different from anybody I’ve ever met.” People tell me this all the time. Either the phrase triggers my Special Person Syndrome or it makes me feel uncomfortably odd. How come everybody says that?
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| Odd? Me? |
“Boundaries,” I thought. “Should I look into getting some of those?”
My 60-year-old Jewish therapist from Westmount used to
describe some of my sexual endeavours as “Sport Fucking.” “So you’re just using
each other for sex,” she'd say. In English, they call this a Fuck Buddy. My
Quebecois roommates call it un ami
d’oreiller. A jPillow Friend. Sounds kind of nice. People say that it is easy to treat your
Pillow friends like objects. But I wonder if sometimes it is easier to treat a
person like an object within the context of an official relationship. Now that
you are MY boyfriend, shouldn’t we have sex whenever I want?
One Sunday morning last April, the Boatman picked a civil
war documentary over having sex with me. He made a valid choice, and yet, it
took me about three and a half weeks to get over this. If the Boatman had been
a Pillow Friend, I feel like it would have felt less personal. With Pillow
Friends and Fuck Buddies, whoever it is has no obligation to you. You have to
respect what they’re willing to give or take. Pros and Cons.
Michael Stone says that every sexual relationship builds
something, even if you don’t make a baby. What are you building, and with who?
Simon used to say, “We’re not writing a book, we’re writing
our lives.” Well, the book is done. He’s dead. I’m not. I love writing letters.
It is one of my favourite kinds of writing. As a child, I was an excellent pen
pal. So far I have already had at least three romantic relationships that were
based almost entirely on writing letters. It is so fun. But sometimes I am
too charming, too creative. I send too many locks of hair. (One is far too many.)
I also tend to send stickers. Who knew that grown men adore stickers? Me. When
I turn thirty, I will stop sending grown men stickers. I will look into getting
some boundaries.
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| Exciting Whale Stickers
|
It’s like we can’t get close enough.” In bed, I have
noticed that many people say this. Our tummies fuse together. Still we want to
be closer. We may as well just write letters because we’ll never get close
enough anyways.
This is a letter to Simon from “The Little Savage and the
Hermit.” I wrote it one third of the way into the book, at which point Simon thought it would be a good idea if we flipped the narrative on its head by turning ourselves into squirrels or airplane seats or something similarly groundbreaking. I didn't turn us into anything and the letter was supposed to help set boundaries. It didn’t exactly
work. The Wise Use of Sexual Energy also means treating all beings with dignity.
The year or so I had with Simon was not my best era for treating all beings
with dignity. Poor Simon got the brunt of it. But he really liked this letter.
It is called, “Cardboard Box.”
Cardboard
box
Dear Simon,
I am eating salad
again. These days, I am eating a lot of
seaweed. It goes right through me. I know that you find my digestive system
tiresome. I find it tiresome too. I’d apologize, but there are more important
things to say.
Perhaps you were
trying to inspire me to turn myself into a cardboard box and drastically
redirect the narrative. Not necessary. I
am already a cardboard box. I always
have been. The reason I didn’t want to
continue the narrative was... I can’t
tell you, it’s against the rules. Too
self-absorbed. So you don't get to hear
the story about the park bench and the man with the hole in his liver. This summer, emotionally dependent guys came
in packages of two, and my solution was to throw both of them out at the same time.
I saw a picture of you
on Facebook with Marcel, the man who drives a power wheelchair who I got you a
job with. Marcel's giving you a low five.
He looks a little dazed and delirious. I can tell he loves having you
on his team. Did you coordinate your
black shirts and blue pants on purpose?
Your smile is large and goofy and ridiculous and your eyes are bright. You have a long beard, as though for the last
two weeks you’ve rolled out of bed without having time to do anything except
run to the metro to get happy with Marcel.
I’m glad I gave you that job, even though now I’m financially desperate
and essentially unemployed. My job at
the swimming pool has been put on hold due to a leak. Throughout my frantic job hunt, I’ve applied
for a few adult gigs on Craigslist. Dominatrix, Threesome, Cleaning Lady in
Lingerie. I don’t own any lingerie. Only
yoga clothes. The Threesome man just got
back to me. He asked if I had a friend
who could join us. No, I don’t. No friend.
No friends.
I’ve been teaching
yoga to weightlifters. That’s probably
about all you want to know about that. I
also wrote some articles for a website that would pay me if enough people read
my stuff, but not enough people do.
My
last bad news is I’m seeing a new shrink.
He says I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Madonna Whore Complex and
Gifted Child Syndrome. I sort of hate
him so I drink vodka cocktails out of Mason jars before our sessions. That’s the good news. Also, I am about to roll up my duvet and hump
it. But before I do that, I want to make
amends. You’re probably right that it’s
best we never see or hear from each other ever again, except for in
letters. That said, I don’t want to be
that girl you never talk to anymore, who you pretend not to see when you run
into her on the street. I don’t believe
in that. I never want to be that girl,
and you’re not that guy for me. If I
ever see you again, I will smile and say hello.
Erica.
The End.
Besides exciting whale stickers, Dollarama has all kinds of titillating outlets for your sexual energy.
Besides exciting whale stickers, Dollarama has all kinds of titillating outlets for your sexual energy.
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| Jane Fonda's Biography About Me and Jane
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