“The chicken,” she said. “I hope she was treated well during her remaining years.”
“You can be assured on that score,” I said. “Max lived a full and productive life. Even in death she fulfilled her destiny with dignity … and good taste.”
She smiled and her face lit up. She’s still beautiful, I thought. There’s no harm in trying. Aloud I asked, “Do your brainchildren always wear loose underwear these days?”
Her eyes turned toward the window. “I don’t remember,” she said.
I left Rosella at that point. She was a melancholy figure who had been buffeted by circumstance. Much of her life had been fraught by one random episode after another not unlike the way squares fill up on a bingo card.
Adriana scowled at me and I quickly swallowed my brandy. “Terrible,” she said. “Imagine the church calling the absence of orgasm a cure — if Rosella were a man they would have called it a tragedy. Everything is upside down. Women have an organ whose only responsibility is pleasure but they often have difficulty achieving that pleasure. Meanwhile men lug around an appendage that has conflicting job descriptions and yet they experience gratification even when they sleep. Then they have the audacity to put pressure on women to react more like them.”
I know better than to reply when Adriana is giving a sermon so I poured myself another drink and settled back for the duration.
She continued. “You have answered one question about which I had curiosity, Old Chicken Gizzard. I thought, given your lack of skill in the bedroom, that perhaps not once in your many years had you been present during the ultimate female experience. Your tale has answered that question … but it has raised another. When faced with a woman who has transcended old saws like equal pay or equal opportunity and who has achieved real parity — equal orgasms — what happened?”
I opened my mouth but, like all who proselytize, Adriana answers her own questions. “I’ll tell you what happened,” she said. “When faced with real equality the World’s Greatest Lover … went fishing.”
“Hold on,” I said. But there was no room for even one ripple in Adriana’s verbal stream.
“Rosella’s accident forced her to dissociate intimacy from sex and thus to experience the world of passion from a male perspective. Her affliction removed the double standard that permeates most relationships, enabling her to avail herself of sexual pleasure as eagerly and as carefree as any man. However, because of societal pressure represented by her desire to join the convent, she was unable to maintain or even enjoy her freedom. You, old man, were only a bystander to a struggle that she had to lose in order to do what she wanted to do.
“Her brief fling with equal orgasms was for naught as she willingly leapt into the arms of the church — a leap which well illustrates the dilemma faced by all women who are raised surrounded by society’s precepts.”
I dared to interject. “But things are no longer as they used to be. Men and women are now equal.”
“Matters have not changed,” she said. “The only way that women could achieve true equality with men would be to count brains instead of skulls. The world gives only two choices to a woman who is so bold as to enjoy her own sexuality. She must either do it surreptitiously or in defiance of other’s opinions.”
The time was late. I left Adriana riding her soapbox and made my way home to bed where I pondered her assertions. As I drifted toward sleep a thought materialized: the brain is a human’s best sex organ because it is also the vessel wherein resides our capacity to love. My confusion arose because there are times when each of us is partitioned by the difference between reality and our dreams. This incongruity may be our closest friend. Without it, life would move forward without us.
A Sluggish Motor
WITH ROSELLA GONE, I WAS AGAIN left to wander alone on life’s landscape and to contemplate how it was that I should be so unlucky in love. It struck me that from a mathematical point of view the probabilities were such that by this stage of my existence I should have had at least one lasting relationship. As a consequence of this reasoning I decided that I should seek professional advice. Discrete enquiries led me to Professor Martina Aguilar who enjoyed a flawless reputation, not only for counselling couples who were experiencing bumps along the matrimonial turnpike, but also for providing sound advice to clients who were so unfortunate as to be romantically unattached.
I was ushered into her office by a young man who exhibited the confidence and supercilious manner implied by a slim waist, bulging muscles, and oily good looks. He sneered, used the back of his hand to wipe the juice that had dribbled from a mouthful of mango and mumbled, “Sweet Cakes will see you now.”
Professor Aguilar stood and came around her desk as I entered the room. She had a method of walking that entailed tipping forward on high heels so that it was necessary for her to quickly place one foot before the other to prevent a nose dive onto the floor. Her skirt had ridden up to expose a pair of black garters clutching the tops of dark nylons and a low cut blouse revealed the main portion of a balcony large enough to stage Romeo and Juliet.
She grasped a corner of her desk to gain stability as she spoke to the young man. “Thank you, Raoul. I’ll see you after my meeting.” He turned to leave and she surreptitiously reached out and squeezed his left buttock. He flicked her hand away with a shake of his hip, leered at me through unswallowed mango, made an obscene gesture with a thumb and two forefingers, and left closing the door behind him.
“Please excuse him,” the professor said. “He acts quite immature at times.” She sat on the corner of the desk, causing her skirt to gain further altitude. “But you’re not here to talk about Raoul. What can I do for you?”
“I need your help to untangle a dilemma,” I replied. “Though I am handsome, self-assured, and intelligent, and though I am desired by all members of the opposite sex, I have for years been unlucky in my relationships. I am here to determine how to correct that situation.”
“In what way are you unlucky?” she asked.
“From the time of my first awareness of the differences between male and female, every woman that I have been attracted to has wanted something from me. When they acquired what they desired, they left. During my limited years on this earth I have been used in multiple fashions: as a target for aggression; as an instrument of revenge; as a human cash dispenser; as an antidote to a boring marriage; and, most recently, as a source of sympathy.
Don’t get me wrong. I have been unstinting in fulfilling my partners wishes … including the donation of a mountain of money to my ex-wife. However, the relationships have all been fleeting no matter how much effort I gave to them. I find this discouraging as in most cases the women involved have gone on to lead interesting lives without me.”
The professor adjusted a garter. “Your tale is fascinating,” she said. “Please lie on my couch and tell me the details.”
I stretched out on the couch and began to relate the romantic exploits of my life. Professor Aguilar sat next to me and took notes while she absent-mindedly used her forefinger to curl and re-curl a lock of black hair that stuck out above her left ear. Once she leaned over to better hear what I was saying and the manoeuvre caused her breasts to burst into life. After a certain amount of practice I found that I could raise and lower my voice to the precise levels required to keep her chest in perpetual motion. However, it soon became necessary to close my eyes so that I could maintain my concentration.
We continued for weeks and she gradually learned the details of my life. Several times I became so relaxed under her quivering shade that my talk slowed and she was forced to poke me to rescue my train of thought. On one occasion she allowed me to drift off to sleep and I dreamed that the mountains surrounding Lake Albatross had magically come alive and were attempting to smother me. This was not an unpleasant experience and I managed to prolong the dream. However, by the time I allowed myself to come awake, Professor Aguilar had abandoned her chair and I was alone. Everything was quiet except for a rhy
thmical thumping sound coming from the waiting room. I called out and the thumping stopped. Raoul opened the door and peeked in. “We’ve had an emergency,” he said. “Your session is finished for the day.”
He pulled back out of sight but I caught a glimpse of him in a mirror hanging on the office wall. I wondered at the nature of an emergency that required him to deal with it dressed only in his socks.
After numerous appointments, and after relieving me of a great deal of burdensome cash, Professor Aguilar announced the results of her analysis. “First, you must know that romantic success is only part of the equation,” she said. “Failure at love is not the equivalent of not loving. The problem is that the women in your life have had fully formed personalities. They knew what they wanted and how to get it. You must find someone more compatible with yourself — a woman with no ideas at all. She ought to come equipped with a fiery nature as that indicates the capacity for passion.”
“But how will I find this person?”
“What I’m suggesting is not deep science. You simply search for someone who has the potential for boundless ardour but who has not yet fully developed her mental capacity. If you have difficulty return to my office and I will assist you.”
The instructions were simple and my task was clear. I knew the type of woman that I had to find but the professor had given no indication of where I was to find her. Therefore, in accordance with my logical nature I made a list of the places where men and women made contact and one by one I began to frequent them. Gymnasiums, bars, dance pavilions, theatres, libraries, and concert halls — I tried them all without success before I made my way back to Professor Aguilar’s office
“I have been expecting you,” she said. “Are you having difficulty with your quest?”
“Yes I am. I have frequented every location where men find women but the women that I find are not the women I am seeking.”
She looked at my list. “Surely you know that the ladies who patronize these establishments do so with a purpose and if they have a purpose they are not representative of the category of female that you are searching for — someone who is herself searching but who has not yet formulated what it is that she seeks, thereby eliminating the possibility that her goal has been rationally defined, and at the same time increasing the probability that she will find you interesting.”
She threw my list in the garbage. “I suspect you are the kind of man who takes a fishing rod to the desert or carries a shotgun to a trout stream. Do you not know that to attract ducks a hunter sets out a decoy, to catch a fish an angler puts a worm on a hook, and when you pursue a woman you must lure her to you?”
“I don’t comprehend,” I said. “What does a worm on a hook have to do with finding a woman?”
“Humans do not change,” she said. “The great grandchildren of individuals who fell prey to confidence men are today being duped by charlatans who practice trades of an equally dubious nature. There are words and phrases that are as attractive to the type of woman you seek as sugar water is to a hummingbird. It is an axiom that those with an ill-defined purpose are attracted by terms and situations that are themselves ill-defined and therefore imply the least mental effort.”
“I think I understand. What should I do?”
“You must go where the gullible go,” she said. “Read this.” She reached into a desk drawer and handed me a poster.
LECTURE TONIGHT
DO YOU KNOW THE SECRETS OF YOUTH?
DO YOU WANT TO STOP AGING AND CHANGE YOUR LIFE?
DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE MYSTERIES OF THE UNIVERSE?
FIND THE ANSWERS AT DR. FARSANTE’S LECTURE.
DISCOVER HOW TO:
REBALANCE YOUR LIFE WITH TAUTOLOGICAL ARGUMENTS,
PERFORM ALLOPATHIC DIAGNOSIS AND HOMEOPATHIC
TREATMENT BY TELEPATHIC COMMUNICATION, USE
INVISIBLE FORCES TO REVERSE AGING, AND INCREASE
MENTAL STRENGTH THROUGH SOPHISTRY.
LEARN HOW, AFTER WORKING 20 YEARS AS A QUALITY
CONTROL INSPECTOR ON THE GHERKIN LINE IN A PICKLE
FACTORY, DR FARSANTE TOOK THE BITE THAT CHANGED
HIS LIFE.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I have no knowledge of the topics on the poster.”
“Neither does anyone else,” she said. “The old fashioned snake oil salesman hasn’t disappeared; he has just transformed himself — no more horse and wagon. Now it’s a magazine advertisement and an office. Don’t worry. This is simply a screening device to find you a partner.”
“But I won’t understand any of it.”
She smiled again. “That’s why it works,” she said. “No one understands it, no one knows you don’t understand it and, most important, no one will admit ignorance.”
She again reached into her desk and handed me a sheet of paper. It was a list of words. I read the first few. “Akashic records, ketheric body, psychic umbilicus, dead orgone energy. What do they mean?” I asked.
“These are the terms that I mentioned. Memorize them and be prepared to use them.”
Adriana smirked. “It’s appropriate that you played a phony,” she said. “The professor must have known that you wouldn’t have to act. Tell me, Old Snake Oil, did you follow through? Did you go to the lecture? Did anyone show up?”
“Yes I did, and the hall was packed. Dr. Farsante was compelling and he held the audience spellbound from his welcoming statement.”
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I was forty when an aura outlined my morpho-genetic field and gave me super luminal connectedness. The infusion of this stressless scientific energy allowed me to practise toxicological and ortho-testicular medicine. I have found that combining hormones with vitamins and using an anti-aging chelational approach produces benefits to the reproductive system, including the placental subsystem. My approach, which is analogous to holistic nutrition and colonic cellulite formation, opens our irrigative capacity to protect us from free radicals. This sacred art thus allows personalized healing along with diuretic templates. As well, the reductive process detoxifies the psyche and tunes into the vibrating frequencies of divine consciousness and tantric emotional turmoil.
It is my basic premise that only colonic irrigation and multi-peroxidal therapies result in a sense of peace through control of our emotive and umbilical forces. This keeps the energy flow from spilling into our metabolic systems. Thus modalities are harnessed to remove blockages including biofeedback and ejaculation. The stimulation of our ozonal receptors is best done with metaphysical aromatherapy, ensuring our DNA as expressed in spermal nutrition is infused with entropy.
To purchase a jar of my detoxifying anti-plasmic foaming gel, and to enrol for personalized enteric meditation, see me after the lecture. Thank you.
The meeting then broke into small discussion groups and I found myself seated at a table with three ladies. We introduced ourselves. I was immediately attracted to a pretty brunette seated on my right who said her name was Prana. The other two introduced themselves as Chakra and Astra.
Prana began the discussion. “I think we should start by defining a unifying cosmic view of reality,” she said.
“I agree,” Chakra agreed. “But we can only do that by interpreting all biological findings on another plane. Isn’t that so, Astra?”
“Absolutely,” Astra said. “And if we can get to that higher plane of connectedness we should see the future.” She turned to me. “Am I not right … Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”
“My name is Alberto,” I said.
The look of disappointment on her face was so palpable that I immediately retrieved Professor Aguilar’s list from my pocket and consulted it under the edge of the table. Then I hastily corrected myself, “But my spiritual name is Yinyang.”
“Aren’t they two opposing forces?” Prana asked.
I glanced under the table. Professor Aguilar had run the two words together. “Yes they are,” I agreed. “I used to be just Yin but now that I’m in perfect ps
ychic and spiritual balance I have added the second name.”
Prana smiled at me and pressed her knee against mine under the table. I noticed a look pass between Chakra and Astra.
The meeting continued with a discussion of the seven levels of the human aura and how to not only touch the edges of our energy bodies together but to fuse them by combining our emotional and tantric spheres. I was distracted during much of the conversation as at least one layer of my auric field high on my right thigh was being penetrated by Prana’s left hand. She directed her energy flow toward my cosmic centre and my etheric body began to swell and take on a high level of vibration. I looked at her and she winked, unnoticed by Chakra and Astra who were in deep disagreement about the location of energy strands in our bodies. I declined to comment although at that moment Prana’s hand began to rhythmically send revitalizing energy into my strand. It was all I could do to maintain psychic balance as she manipulated my external matrix. I closed my eyes and a bluish white light moved through my nebular opening and dissolved itself into a stain on my trousers.
I opened my eyes to see Prana smiling at me. She leaned over and whispered, “I sense some residual rigidity in your external matrix. Let’s find a quiet place where we can merge our astral bodies.”
We took our leave and made our way to her apartment where the light that outlined our auras flickered wildly until eventually my etheric body grew too fatigued to seek out her cosmic centre. Weary beyond sleep, we talked.
“I think empyrean forces have brought us together. Don’t you?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I have a confession,” I confessed. “I have no knowledge whatsoever of the topics that have consumed most of our evening. I only attended because I was sent by my relationship counsellor, Professor Martina Aguilar.”
The Greatest Lover of Last Tuesday Page 11