Archive for April 7th, 2009
To be in sexual harmony is to affirm life and negate death. This is the essence of good sexuality, and it takes us back to the dual concept that I introduced at the beginning of this book: Eros and Thanatos. Each time a couple can break through the resistances to effective bonding, they have scored a victory over death. The act itself is a victory, for it affirms their own vitality, arouses their emotions, senses, and intellect, and clears up perceptual confusions. When we are having loving sex, life suddenly takes on a more optimistic meaning and we become more loving and accepting of ourselves and of humanity in general. Our characterological rigidity (a kind of death itself) recedes: We are less obsessive, less impulsive, less hysterical, less critical, less demanding, less opinionated, less argumentative, and generally less intolerant, even—and this is most important—of our enemies.
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The moment of truth comes on a particularly appropriate evening. The husband sets the stage while the wife is gone. When she comes home she finds the lights dimmed, her favorite music playing, and a dining table covered with a white tablecloth, with candles, wine, and roses beautifully displayed. Maybe there is a special gift—a bracelet, ring, or necklace. There’s also an envelope on her plate that says “To My Dear Lady.”
“What’s all this?” she asks. “Read the note,” he replies.
This game has never failed to elicit a response of tenderness, even from the most uninterested spouse. It can, of course, be played by most of the other types of couples described in this book. I have saved it for last because it is the most surefire game in the book—the one to try when all others fail.
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“Excuse me. I got a little excited. Sorry about that. I lost control of myself for a moment and started spearing you. Did you feel raped just then?”
“No, I didn’t feel raped.”
“I shouldn’t spear, though. I really shouldn’t. I’ll try to slow down.” “Just do it!”
“But isn’t it rude to stick my penis inside you like this? I’m sorry to invade your space like this.” “I want you to.” “You don’t feel assaulted?” “Shut up!”
“You don’t feel you’re giving in to a male oppressor? You don’t feel degraded?”
“Would you stop with the male oppressor stuff?”
“I just want to be politically correct.”
“What are you doing? Why are you saying these things? You’re mocking me!”
“I just want to make sure everything’s politically correct.”
“Stop it!”
“But I . . .”
“Stop it, I said, and fuck me!”
Obviously this game involves a kind of teasing by the husband—so it could go awry at any moment. If the wife becomes upset, the husband should drop it and attempt instead to discuss what has happened and what kind of feelings the game has aroused. On the other hand, the wife might find herself becoming both annoyed and passionate at the same time (as in the dialogue above). Her fears of losing control to a man, which she had been warding off through her demands that the sex be politically correct, are now assuaged and made to feel absurd by his ultracautious approach. She suddenly gets in touch with the most primitive well of her sexuality, like the heroines in books like Lady Chatterley’s Lover (by D. H. Lawrence) and movies like Swept Away (by Lina Wertmtiller). Down deep she wants to be swept away by passion, as all humans do—but she also fears it. This game helps her to become aware both of that fear and of how it usually is politicized.
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“Who are you?” she asks in a frightened tone.
“You can call me Mr. B,” the husband growls. He may wear some kind of costume or mask, or he may just use his own sourest expression and most menacing posture. “Come with me.”
“Because I made a deal with your father. I paid him a thousand dollars, and now you must be my wife.” “I will not be your wife. You are a beast.” “I said come!”
He “drags” her to the cabin. Once inside it, he asks her to take off all her clothes, and he removes his. He makes himself look as hideous as possible, playing up all the very features that his wife has generally criticized. For instance, if the wife has told him in the past that his belly is big and grotesque, he now protrudes it even more. If she has complained that he is too hairy, he is now twice as hairy (perhaps sporting a beard).
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He: “I’m a ladies’ underwear salesman. Which reminds me: What’s your name—if I may be so bold?” She: “Kitty.” He: “Kitty what?” She: “Just Kitty.”
He: “Oh, I see—the mysterious type. And what do you do, Kitty?”
She: “Well, you promise you won’t laugh? I’m a stripper. I work in the Hellcat Lounge.” He: “So this is called kissing?” She: “I think that’s what it’s called.”
They continue to stay in character throughout the night, making love in both old and new ways. The test will come in the morning. Each may want to run, but instead they must stay in bed and spend an hour or so talking about the experience—how it made them feel to play out their roles, and what they did not say to each other last night. During this part of the game, each partner becomes the other’s disciplinarian, preventing the other from running. The subsequent review will beneficially transform their sexuality.
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