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Celebrities
Good luck finding evidence of an acclaimed movie actress having fondled a horse to full release. Your best bet is to go to sleep and hope for visitations in dream. When celebrities visit me in dream they are both celebrities and ordinary people at the same time. The line has somehow blurred, or gone runny. These celebrities, who in the waking world are known to all of us by their first names — Clem, Vincenzo, Sarafina — seem suddenly devoid of grace, as though they’d developed an infection of the inner ear. They knock drinks to the carpet and mispronounce the names of modern composers. You never really see them naked. You see them seem so, though.
Group Sex
There’s FFM and MMF and MMMFF and all kinds of other combinatory possibilities. Infinity is so refreshing. Why is it we have no problem digesting the wholesale slaughter of armies on the field of battle — consider the gruesome carnage of Visby — but inviting fifteen friends over to suck and fuck is frowned upon? The naked people shuddering and losing fluids on your furniture will eventually get up, get dressed, and drive off into the night-colored dark. The corpses of Swedish soldiers buried in their armor against custom rotted in their mail coats for six hundred years. Who would you rather be: the man who just got a blowjob from the president of the PTA or Sven Svensen, all of twenty, killed by an ax blade to his sun-blasted cheek?
Teens
There are all sorts of teens and some of them you should talk to about sex. You should tell them how beautiful they are and then you should beg them to have sex with you. There are other kinds of teens it would be wrong to beg because they are the kinds of teens who do not understand the wondrous new feelings coursing through their bodies. When I was a teen I’d get quite sweaty playing crab soccer and my nipples would sting. It was not so wondrous because of the pain but it was definitely a new feeling I did not understand, and still don’t.
Asians
Native Americans are the descendants of Asians who crossed the Bering Strait land bridge thousands of years ago. This, at least, was the information given to me by a teacher named Mrs. Markowski in the early part of my life. I never knew any Asians in my town, just Japanese kids and Korean kids and Chinese kids and some Vietnamese kids. I remember in the back of my school there was a bricked-in area sunk in the ground, a basement exit, I believe. We called it the Pit and it was here that our after-school fisticuffs were conducted. One afternoon James Chung and Herbert Kwak fought down there as a result of an enmity which had been festering for some time. Though James was of Chinese descent and Herbert Korean, I’m not to understand there were any ethnic dimensions to their dispute. The theory of the era had it the two boys simply didn’t care for one another. The day of the fight a rumor spread through our school that Herbert, a brown belt in karate, had sworn an oath to break James Chung’s windpipe with the edge of his hand. James, with no training in the martial arts, had countered with a promise to “kick the shit out of that faggot.” James and Herbert entered the Pit at approximately 3:17 p.m. on a blustery November afternoon in the year 1981. Amid chants of “Chink,” “Gook,” and, incongruously enough, “Nigger,” they commenced their duel. No sooner had James landed a blow which opened a small cut on Herbert’s cheek then Mr. Barrow, a geometry teacher who’d once been discovered by his students finger-banging Mrs. Markowski in the coat closet, leaped into the Pit. Herbert, attempting to launch his vaunted windpipe chop, caught Mr. Barrow in the belly. Mr. Barrow fell to his knees. Both James and Herbert were later suspended but the blemish was expunged from their records when they were graduated to high school. James went on to a successful career in advertising. Herbert is a child psychiatrist living in Austin. These are just two of the countless examples of Asians experiencing both joy and sadness in their lives. As for myself, I would descend to the Pit for the first time in April of 1982, amid a hail of pennies and the jeer, “Kike!”
Oral
The oral tradition probably began when men first learned to walk upright on their tongues. Through the ages our kind has gathered around some sort of warming conflagration to swap tales of heroism or cautionary fables which concern a toad and instill in the listener a desire to proceed with fear. No one can ascertain when the first oral recitation was delivered and we know even less about how it was received. Perhaps there were grunts of approbation, or perhaps we simply like to imagine ourselves grunting in a similar situation. Probably there was a pounding of sharpened stones in the dirt. This would notify the orator that his material was “fresh.” Fellatio and cunnilingus first appeared much later in the woods of Connecticut on an abandoned mattress.
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All photography by Richard Kern, except where noted.
©2002 Sam Lipsyte and hooksexup.com
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: |
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Sam Lipsyte is the author of a story collection, Venus Drive, and a novel,The Subject Steve. His fiction has been published in The Quarterly and Open City. |
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