The Pleasure of M (13 page)

“I
  am
  reminded
  of
  an
  old
  Greek
  legend
  that
  I
  always
  liked.
  There
  once
  was
  this
 
fellow
 named
 Tiresias.
 He
 would
 become
 famous
 for
 telling
 Œdipus
 he
 was
 bedding
 
his
  mother.
  As
  a
  young
  man
  he
  saw
  two
  snakes
  copulating
  and
  did
  a
  very
  stupid
 
thing
 by
 separating
 them
 with
 a
 stick
 during
 the
 act.
 It
 turns
 out
 that
 one
 did
 not
 do
 
such
  things
  back
  then
  without
  severe
  consequences
  and
  he
  was
  instantly
  turned
 
into
 a
 woman.
 Seven
 years
 later
 and
 surely
 after
 much
 searching,
 he
 found
 another
 
reptilian
 spectacle
 and
 quickly
 separated
 them
 and
 was
 turned
 back
 into
 a
 man.
 Fast
 
forward
  to
  Zeus
  and
  Hera
  having
  their
  usual
  explosive
  disagreements
  about
  just
 
about
 anything
 that
 remotely
 reminded
 her
 what
 unbearable
 swine
 Zeus
 was.
 This
 
time
 they
 are
 arguing
 about
 who
 of
 the
 male
 or
 the
 female
 has
 more
 pleasure
 during
 
sex,
 Zeus
 pointing
 out
 that
 none
 of
 it
 would
 add
 up
 if
 the
 female
 did
 not
 receive
 a
 far
 
larger
 portion
 of
 the
 joys
 of
 orgasm
 than
 the
 man,
 and
 I
 would
 tend
 to
 agree
 since
 
that
  is
  the
  only
  explanation
  for
  the
  fact
  that
  you
  can
  even
  endure
  the
  presence
  of
 
men
 in
 your
 beds.
 So
 they
 decide
 to
 ask
 Tiresias,
 since
 he
 has
 been
 both.
 I
 suppose
 
that
 during
 his
 tenure
 as
 a
 woman,
 he
 had
 not
 been
 adverse
 to
 being
 with
 another
 
man.
  Anyway,
  they
  go
  to
  see
  him
  and
  ask
  him.
  He
  thinks
  about
  it
  a
  little
  and
  then
 
says
 ‘If
 the
 pleasure
 of
 sex
 were
 to
 be
 divided
 into
 ten
 parts,
 the
 male
 would
 get
 one
 
and
 the
 female
 nine’
 upon
 which
 Hera
 instantly
 removes
 his
 eyesight.
 Feeling
 a
 little
 
bit
  sheepish
  before
  the
  now
  blind
  hermaphrodite,
  Zeus
  gives
  him
  second
  sight
  to
 
compensate.”
 

“Well,
 you
 see,
 if
 the
 pleasure
 of
 the
 male
 in
 sex
 were
 divided
 into
 ten
 parts,
 man’s
 
hand
 would
 get
 one
 part
 and
 his
 woman
 would
 get
 nine.
 There
 is
 really
 no
 common
 
measure
  between
  the
  two.
  This
  might
  in
  fact
  explain
  why
  the
  manufacturers
  of
 
inflatable
 dolls
 and
 other
 gadgets
 do
 brisk
 business.
 But
 ultimately,
 what
 I
 want
 to
 
describe
 for
 you
 just
 does
 not
 happen
 with
 self-‐induced
 orgasm.”
 

This
  left
  Catherine
  a
  bit
  melancholy.
  She
  had
  had
  her
  modicum
  of
  orgasms
  and
  in
 
fact
 considered
 herself
 lucky
 that
 some
 of
 them
 had
 been
 brought
 on
 by
 men,
 unlike
 
a
 large
 number
 of
 women,
 but
 never
 had
 the
 presence
 of
 a
 man
 in
 her
 brought
 her
 to
 
climax.
 When
 Michel
 finally
 fulfilled
 his
 commitment
 it
 was,
 as
 always,
 nothing
 like
 
what
 she
 had
 expected
 though
 in
 this
 case
 she
 would
 have
 been
 hard
 put
 to
 describe
 
what
 she
 was
 expecting.
 

I
 have
 finally
 completed
 the
 long
 awaited
 description.
 It
 wasn't
 easy,
 but
 I
 am
 fairly
 
happy
 with
 it.
 Maybe
 not
 quite
 as
 good
 as
 I
 had
 hoped
 at
 first,
 but
 a
 really
 hard
 topic,
 
you
 will
 concur.
 Anyway,
 I
 am
 just
 piling
 on
 the
 excuses.
 You
 will
 be
 the
 judge.
 

I
 guess
 part
 of
 the
 problem
 is
 how
 much
 there
 is
 to
 talk
 about,
 and
 wanting
 to
 put
 
too
 much
 into
 one
 piece.
 But
 that
 is
 a
 pleasant
 aspect
 of
 our
 affair,
 that
 we
 will
 never
 
run
 out
 of
 things
 to
 talk
 about!
 So
 here
 goes…
 

If
 we
 define
 a
 sense
 as
 a
 vehicle
 of
 physical
 sensation,
 then
 there
 are
 indeed
 more
 
than
 five
 senses,
 and
 the
 sixth
 is
 called
 proprioception.
 
 Akin
 to
 the
 sense
 of
 balance,
 
it
 gives
 us
 the
 perception
 of
 our
 body
 with
 respect
 to
 itself.
 If
 you
 know
 where
 your
 
arm
  is
  when
  your
  eyes
  are
  closed,
  it
  is
  because
  of
  proprioception.
  It
  is
 
proprioception
  that
  informs
  a
  man
  that
  his
  phallus
  is
  not
  inside
  his
  body
  yet
 
somehow
 part
 of
 it.
 This
 physical
 paradox
 is
 essential
 to
 the
 sensations
 engendered
 
by
  an
  orgasm.
  My
  member
  hangs
  from
  me
  and
  I
  have
  no
  control
  over
  it
  directly.
 
When
 it
 is
 in
 repose,
 I
 have
 no
 way
 to
 move
 it
 other
 than
 by
 exerting
 great
 force
 on
 
my
  belly,
  thighs
  and
  groin
  in
  hopes
  that
  it
  will
  respond.
  It
  is
  a
  limp
  appendage
 
dissociated
 perceptually
 from
 the
 rest
 of
 the
 body.
 The
 normal
 feelings
 that
 emanate
 
from
 it
 are
 always
 vague,
 never
 precise:
 discomfort,
 warmth,
 even
 pain
 is
 somehow
 
always
 diffuse
 when
 it
 comes
 from
 there,
 however
 intense.
 

Unless,
 that
 is,
 the
 member
 is
 erect.
 Then,
 things
 are
 a
 little
 different.
 Now
 mind
 you,
 
it’s
 not
 as
 if
 there
 were
 only
 two
 states
 to
 the
 penis:
 flaccid
 or
 erect.
 
 It’s
 more
 like
 
three
 states:
 rest,
 en
 route,
 there,
 but
 the
 there
 part
 is
 hard
 to
 define
 or
 rather
 hard
 
to
  feel.
  As
  I
  said,
  inner
  sensations
  are
  only
  indirect,
  and
  so
  you
  know
  you’re
  hard
 
only
 when
 you
 feel
 the
 hardness
 against
 something
 else:
 a
 hand,
 stretched
 clothing…
 
But
  once
  the
  hardness
  is
  established,
  it
  is
  as
  if
  the
  member
  were
  fully
  part
  of
  the
 
body,
  as
  if
  it
  could
  be
  controlled.
  This
  is
  partially
  an
  illusion,
  since
  it
  possesses
  no
 
muscles
 of
 its
 own,
 but
 now
 it
 feels
 connected
 to
 the
 main,
 a
 part
 of
 the
 whole.
 The
 
tip
 of
 the
 phallus
 reacts
 to
 warmth,
 to
 humidity
 and
 to
 touch.
 The
 shaft
 reacts
 mainly
 
to
 touch,
 and
 at
 that
 mainly
 to
 friction
 against
 its
 skin:
 the
 more
 taut
 the
 skin
 (the
 
harder
 the
 phallus)
 the
 more
 sensitive.
 

Fast
  forward
  to
  a
  moment
  following
  a
  period
  of
  stimulation.
 
  Without
  specific
 
warning
 I
 enter
 a
 ‘zone’,
 a
 plane
 of
 perception:
 the
 orgasm
 is
 close
 at
 hand.
 Nothing
 
is
 decided
 yet
 but
 soon
 will
 be.
 It
 is
 as
 if
 a
 reversal,
 a
 subtle
 shift
 has
 occurred
 and
 
now
  sensations
  emanating
  from
  the
  tip
  of
  the
  cock
  shoot
  back
  into
  my
  groin,
  and
 
over
  the
  next
  few
  seconds,
  as
  these
  lance
  of
  warmth
  fire
  into
  me,
  they
  begin
  to
 
trigger
  responses
  from
  my
  groin,
  small
  contractions
  that
  start
  out
  vey
  subtle
  and
 
quickly
 grow
 in
 intensity.
 The
 rhythm
 of
 the
 pulses
 starts
 out
 every
 three
 seconds
 or
 
so,
  and
  once
  the
  interval
  shrinks
  to
  roughly
  one
  second,
  the
  die
  are
  cast.
  The
  true
 
moment
 is
 signified
 when
 a
 deluge
 of
 warmth
 flows
 from
 the
 tip
 into
 the
 shaft
 and
 
the
  testicles
  start
  to
  glow
  with
  pleasure:
  as
  it
  turns
  out,
  their
  temperature
  is…
 
decreasing.
 At
 this
 point,
 only
 a
 painful
 physical
 maneuver
 of
 near
 garroting
 could
 
prevent
 the
 semen
 from
 exiting.
 
 

The
 abdominals
 are
 beginning
 to
 enter
 the
 fray
 as
 the
 balls
 have
 begun
 shifting
 the
 
load
 into
 the
 pump
 at
 the
 base
 of
 the
 cock.
 The
 contractions
 which
 were
 up
 to
 now
 
very
  much
  internalized
  become
  muscle
  spasms
  combined
  with
  the
  thrust
  of
  the
 
pelvis.
  The
  first
  of
  these
  is
  the
  official
  beginning
  of
  the
  orgasm
  though
  the
 
ejaculation
 begins
 only
 at
 the
 third
 or
 fourth.
 It
 is
 always
 a
 surprise
 to
 feel
 the
 hot
 
semen
 flowing,
 no,
 pulsating
 through
 the
 shaft
 in
 the
 sense
 that
 everything
 seemed
 
to
 indicate
 it
 was
 already
 happening.
 
 The
 testicles
 remain
 a
 pure
 locus
 of
 dislocated
 
pleasure,
 still
 unattached
 to
 the
 body,
 but
 now
 irradiating
 it
 with
 waves
 of
 pleasure.
 

This
 is
 where
 I
 take
 a
 path
 quite
 different
 from
 most
 of
 my
 colleagues.
 Soon,
 there
 
will
  be
  a
  dislocation
  of
  spirit
  and
  body:
  the
  little
  death.
  Exerting
  control
  over
  the
 
body
  at
  that
  point
  not
  only
  immediately
  ends
  all
  true
  pleasure,
  it
  is
  also
  so
 
uncomfortable
 as
 to
 be
 painful.
 
 

The
 macho
 ones
 will
 choose
 to
 regain
 physical
 control
 before
 this
 happens,
 get
 up,
 
go
  have
  a
  cigarette
  or
  something
  to
  stimulate
  sensation
  into
  the
  wanting-‐to-‐die
 
nervous
 system
 to
 counteract
 the
 orgasm.
 

The
  others
  will
  place
  themselves
  into
  a
  position
  of
  stable
  equilibrium
  usually
  not
 
involving
 physical
 contact
 with
 their
 partner.
 This
 is
 like
 dawning
 a
 primitive
 armor,
 
retreating
 into
 a
 cave
 to
 pass
 the
 little
 death.
 

Me,
 I
 go
 surfing.
 Surf
 the
 wave.
 Make
 it
 last.
 Make
 it
 roar.
 Amplify
 everything,
 make
 
it
  resonate
  until
  I
  explode.
  The
  waves
  emanating
  from
  my
  groin
  turn
  into
 
contractions
 of
 my
 muscle
 groups
 each
 in
 turn,
 shoulders,
 arms,
 legs,
 feet…
 Usually,
 
one
  foot
  is
  oscillating
  at
  high
  speed
  (think
  Thumper
  in
  Bambi),
  I
  am
  punching
  a
 
pillow,
 a
 wall,
 or
 a
 mattress
 with
 one
 fist,
 my
 breathing
 gets
 faster
 and
 louder…
 I
 can
 
see
 nothing,
 hear
 barely
 a
 thing
 as
 the
 blood
 rushes
 through
 my
 ears,
 pounding
 in
 
joy.
  And
  finally,
  my
  abs
  seize
  in
  violent
  contractions,
  every
  few
  seconds,
  in
 
decreasing
  intensity
  over
  a
  couple
  of
  minutes,
  my
  breathing
  slowing
  down
  as
  I
 
gradually
  bring
  my
  heart
  rate
  back
  to
  ‘normal’.
  When
  almost
  all
  the
  contractions
 
have
 occurred,
 I
 let
 out
 all
 the
 air
 in
 my
 lungs
 in
 one,
 long
 breath.
 There
 is
 a
 point
 of
 
balance
 there
 that
 I
 reach.
 When
 I
 resurface
 for
 air,
 it
 feels
 as
 though
 that
 very
 air
 is
 
thick,
 strong,
 powerful.
 Not
 hard
 to
 breathe,
 just
 slow
 to
 breathe,
 more
 potent.
 My
 
spirit
 is
 at
 peace,
 radiating,
 slowly
 coming
 back
 into
 my
 body
 as
 said
 body
 rids
 itself
 
of
 the
 last
 few
 minor
 contractions.
 
 Every
 inch
 of
 my
 skin
 is
 hypersensitive
 and
 will
 
be
  for
  a
  few
  minutes.
  Contentment
  pervades.
  Motion
  is
  undesirable,
  as
  would
  be
 
contrast
 at
 this
 point.
 Soon,
 time
 will
 coalesce
 again
 and
 space
 will
 retake
 its
 shape.
 
Until
 then,
 my
 universe
 fills
 with
 the
 presence
 of
 the
 one
 who
 has
 created
 this
 bliss:
 
you.
 My
 hand
 reaches
 out…