“…boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk - real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.”
- Jack Kerouac
I have no sex words. Rather, I have sex words, but not the ones I sometimes need.
Yesterday, I spent a couple hours with Shawna Thomas, a 20-year old in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. She clerks at the town’s art supplies shop and 10 minutes after I whooshed in, we were talking about sex. I plunged into sex chat partly because I’m a writer: it’s my business to be curious. And I did it because I’m human and sex is a part of life.
I don’t know why she did it. Most 20-year olds won’t sit with a stranger and chat about sex. Perhaps Shawna is precocious or braver than most. Or perhaps it’s because she’s knows she’s mortal in a way that eludes most 20-year olds: she knows it in her gut. Shawna has ovarian cancer and cancer in her kidneys, so she feels how ephemeral life is. I suspect that she doesn’t want to wait to discuss those things that matter to her, that matter to all of us, because she might not ever be 40. Or even 30.
But we had insufficient words. You see: we didn’t want the face-to-face equivalent of a 900 call.
She didn’t first grrr-purr, “Talk dirty to me, McKy.”
And she didn’t say, for I’m more than twice her age, “As an older woman, can you pontificate about sex? Please, as befits this dreadfully serious topic, employ clinical nomenclature. Use those polysyllabic words that thicken the tongue.”
So we talked about our naughty bits and the naughty bits of boys, but it didn’t feel naughty.
It felt awkward.
It was awkward partly because, sex-wise, we’re all guitar strings tuned a few turns too tight. Although I’d rather have some info about a car in a commercial, we are awash in pics of pecs and lush lips, just so more sedans, soda, and prescriptions can be sold. Sex sells, but it comes at the cost of perpetual agitation. At the start of each day, I have one chance of avoiding sexual provocation to purchase something: I must stay in bed with my comforter over my head.
And Shawna and I were also awkward, because in America, words and actions instruct us to loathe our bodies. The sites of life, the vagina and the nipples and the penis, are deemed dirty.
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