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“Orgasm” to her, was a foreign word. Well, not a
foreign word, because she had looked it up in the dictionary. More
of an abstract word. A word for which she had no point of
reference. Like when a person blind from birth tries to form an
image of a goat. Puts all of the touches and sounds together in
their mind, tries to organize them into a shape. This was her,
organizing all the words she had read in the dictionary in her
brain, trying to wrap the folds around the concept, make it into a
palpable shape.
The word “sex” she knew about.
She knew well what that was. That was no abstraction. She had been
married since she was sixteen years old, and now at twenty-five,
she figured she had had sex about nine hundred times, if you figure
twice a week for nine years. But there at the beginning, they were
doing it five and six times a week. Her momma had told her about
sex, but she hadn’t ever said anything about an
“orgasm.”
Her mother had told her about all of the
hygienic issues, but never about an “orgasm.“ Her
daddy’s explanation of the whole thing was just
“Don’t let nobody get into your britches till yore
married.” She knew the word was somehow linked to her vagina,
but that too was almost an abstraction. The preacher talked about
vaginas like they were dirty things. Said it had ruined Joseph,
David, Solomon and Herod. Other than what the preacher said, this
is what she knew about it: She peed there. Her husband put his
penis there. (And she knew everything there was to know about a
penis. She had almost a thousand experiences with it.) Her husband
shot his load there. Made babies there. Babies came from there. She
had already had three from there. But there had to be something
more to it. It had to be more than a urinary organ, it had to be
more than a puzzle piece for a penis, it had to be more than a
birth canal, it had to be more than a cum dumpster. She needed to
find out. So, like rational, inquisitive people do, she went to the
local library.
But she could not ask the librarian for
books about the vagina. She could not do that. So she went to the
computer and punched the word in. She browsed through many titles
until one caught her eye. “The Vagina Monologues” by
Eve Ensler. The title intrigued her, so she went and found the
book. But she would not check it out, for fear of that librarian,
and for fear of what might happen if Earl found it in their house.
God, what a pervert he would think she was. She didn’t know,
maybe she was pervert, but she just had to know, you know?
She sat in a lonely corner of the library
and read the entire thing. And when she had done reading it, she
knew the truth about vaginas. So much so that when she went home,
she went straight to the bed. Pulled off all of her clothes, ran
her fingers down her stomach and found her vagina. Found her
“orgasm.” And she laughed and cried so hard that she
almost fainted.
She couldn’t wait to tell Earl about
it. Couldn’t wait for him to climb into bed with her. To
share this magic thing she had found. But when he started to climb
on top of her, she found that she could say nothing. How could she?
She didn’t even have the words to start. She laughed at the
thought of saying, “Listen baby, I’ve been reading
about the vagina, and this is what I would like for you to
do.” No, she could not say anything like that. So she slid up
from underneath him, tried to push it into his face. Surely he
would know what to do. But Earl had been raised on a farm. And he
had sex the same way animals did. A grunt, a groan and then
goodnight. He pulled his face away from her vagina.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He asked.
She dropped her butt back down to the bed.
“Oh, nothing. Just playing around.”
And Earl slipped himself into her vagina,
and she lay back. And the sex was not nothing now. It was worse
than nothing. For she had come to believe a special thing about
vaginas. And the word “orgasm” was no longer an
abstraction. But it would always be her secret. And she lived with
this secret for two more years.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As Fate would have it, Earl and a
co-worker were being sent to New York City for a vinyl siding
convention. Earl worked at a vinyl siding manufacturing company.
The company had said they could take their wives along. And for two
couples raised in the bluefields of Kentucky, this was the chance
of a lifetime. So they flew up to the Big Apple, she, Earl, his
co-worker Alvin, and his wife Jeanette.
But when they got there, they ended up
spending most of their time in the motel room. It seemed that Earl
and Alvin had taken in enough of the city on first glance, and for
them it was the hotel room that offered the most excitement. Free
room service, pay-per-view, open bar, and of course, the perfect
capper to a perfect night, sex with their wives. So for three days,
Earl and Alvin left their wives in the suite, went to their
conference, took their wives to eat in the hotel resturaunt,
watched pay-per-view and had sex.
She and Jeannette stayed in the hotel all
day long. And while their husbands were away, they spoke to each
other of their vaginas. Of the secret things they had done with
them. The explorations, and such. And together, they dreamed of a
way to let their husbands in on the secret. On the last day of
their stay, she came up with an ingenious plan. It seemed there was
a playing of “The Vagina Monologues” in an off Broadway
Playhouse, so the two connived together to find a way to get their
husbands to go. Perhaps if they themselves could not share the
secrets of the vagina with them, then strangers could. So they
secured two tickets from the consierge, and when their husbands
returned from their conference that evening, they presented them to
them as compliments of the hotel.
Earl opened the envelope. Looked at them.
“Lookie here, Alvin.” He said. “We got us tickets
to something called the Virginia Monologues. That sounds like it
arta be pretty fun. Probably have some guy dressed up like Robert
E. Lee, talking about Civil War stuff.”
Alvin was also excited. “Yeah, maybe
he’ll give old Grant Hell for plundering Richmond!”
And so they got ready, donned their
“American by Birth, Southern by the Grace of God” caps,
pulled on their blue jeans, slipped into their “It’s a
Southern Thaing.” t-shirts and went off to the show.
Two hours later, Earl and Alvin came
rushing into the room. Their faces panicked. They looked like they
had seen a ghost.
“Hurry up girls!” Earl said,
out of breath. “We gotta git outta here. These people is
crazy!”
But when they got into the room, and Earl
saw Jeanette and his wife lying naked on the bed, Jeannette’s
pink, wet Grant plundering his wife’s quivering Virginia, he
stopped cold. He looked at Alvin.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” He said.
“We’re too late! It’s got ‘a holt of them
too!”
“Let’s git the hell outta
here!” Alvin said, and they ran, stumbling over themselves
away from that place. You might say they skee-daddled. And she and
Jeannette rebuilt the south there in the bed of that hotel room in
New York City, and this Reconstruction was delicious.
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written by Mark Mika on March 28, 2008
I enjoyed this very much Mr. Doran. I love the way you move from the narritive softness in the beginning and bring out the characters in full country glory later in the piece. Very well crafted and I truly was caught up in the ride!
This was bursting with memorable moments but this line very well put me on my backside....
Like when a person blind from birth tries to form an image of a goat.- Fantastic
written by Ears on March 28, 2008
Great story Verless! I had read it before, but it was well worth reading again!
written by pablo vision on March 28, 2008
Just one of many great examples of this guy’s work – and it is all excellent.
I would recommend finding out more – you will not be disappointed.
written by Holly Henry on March 28, 2008
I have read this before, and its even better the second time around! Great work - watch out world - here comes Verless Doran!