The Pleasure of M (15 page)

“Ok,”
 she
 giggled,”
 you
 have
 to
 tell
 me
 what
 in
 the
 world
 that
 was
 all
 about.”
 

“I
  figured
  that
  would
  tickle
  your
  curiosity.
  I
  must
  have
  been
  twelve
  at
  most,
  and
  I
 
had
  only
  recently
  discovered
  my
  father’s
  stash
  of
  men’s
  magazines.
  The
  occasions
 
were
  rare
  for
  me
  at
  the
  time
  to
  get
  a
  few
  minutes
  alone
  in
  my
  parent’s
  room
  to
 
peruse
 at
 them
 and
 masturbate.
 One
 weekend
 afternoon,
 my
 father
 is
 away
 with
 my
 
brother
 and
 my
 mother
 leaves
 to
 run
 an
 errand
 which
 I
 misinterpret
 as
 requiring
 at
 
least
  an
  hour.
  She
  leaves,
  I
  wait
  a
  few
  minutes,
  enough
  for
  her
  to
  realize
  she
  has
 
forgotten
 something
 and
 come
 back,
 and
 then
 I
 venture
 into
 my
 parent’s
 room
 and
 
extirpate
 the
 magazines
 from
 their
 hiding
 place.
 I
 felt
 the
 pleasure
 coming
 as
 I
 heard
 
my
 mother
 return.
 Just
 putting
 the
 magazines
 back
 required
 quite
 some
 work,
 but
 
doing
 so
 one-‐handed
 while
 the
 other
 hand
 prevents
 the
 phallus
 from
 spraying
 the
 
walls
 with
 semen
 was
 quite
 a
 challenge,
 then
 getting
 out
 of
 their
 room
 and
 into
 my
 
bathroom
 without
 being
 spotted,
 very
 difficult.”
 

“So
  you
  had
  the
  stuff
  in
  your
  hands
  while
  running
  around?”
  she
  managed
  to
  ask
 
between
 two
 laughs.
 
“No,
 not
 at
 all,
 that’s
 what
 the
 prepuce
 is
 for.
 You
 gently
 squeeze
 the
 foreskin
 shut
 
and
 it
 works
 like
 a
 condom.
 No
 mess.
 Very
 nice.
 But
 doing
 that
 while
 running
 around
 
is
 non-‐trivial.”
 

She
 had
 never
 known
 intimacy
 with
 an
 uncircumcised
 man
 and
 had
 long
 held
 this
 
very
  American
  view
  that
  the
  circumcised
  version
  is
  the
  more
  natural
  one.
  Upon
 
learning
 that
 Michel
 was
 not,
 she
 had
 done
 some
 research
 and
 had
 arrived
 at
 a
 more
 
nuanced
  position
  on
  the
  topic
  and
  now
  was
  rather
  fascinated
  by
  what
  the
  other
 
version
  was
  like.
  He,
  of
  course,
  came
  from
  a
  world
  where
  this
  was
  a
  condition
 
generally
  considered
  a
  religious
  feature
  or
  arrived
  at
  by
  accidental
  medical
 
necessity.
 This
 last
 is
 why
 Michel’s
 cousin
 had
 been
 circumcised
 at
 the
 age
 of
 twenty
 
four
 subsequent
 to
 the
 tearing
 of
 the
 foreskin
 due
 to
 a
 very
 unfortunate
 encounter
 
with
 a
 hastily
 closed
 zipper.
 Michel
 had
 explored
 the
 topic
 with
 his
 cousin
 and
 with
 
a
  close
  childhood
  friend
  of
  Jewish
  faith,
  and
  had
  come
  to
  hold
  some
  pretty
  firm
 
opinions
  on
  the
  topic
  of
  circumcision,
  the
  main
  one
  being
  that
  one
  is
  better
  off
  as
 
one
 is
 born,
 whether
 male
 or
 female.
 He
 understood
 well
 that
 this
 view
 would
 have
 
been
 simpler
 to
 hold
 in
 a
 world
 where
 certain
 ills
 did
 not
 exist
 but
 felt
 strongly
 that
 
latex
  was
  the
  only
  real
  answer
  to
  unbridled
  behavior
  (this
  un-‐poetic
  aside
  was
 
intended
 only
 to
 illuminate
 his
 effusive
 championing
 of
 the
 uncircumcised
 cock).
 

“So
 is
 that
 why
 you
 so
 like
 your
 foreskin?”
 she
 teased,
 “No
 mess?”
 

“Oh
  good
  heaven,
  no!
  Well,
  since
  you
  decided
  to
  get
  me
  started
  on
  the
  topic,
  here
 
goes.
 It’s
 all
 about
 pleasure,
 you
 see?
 I
 mean,
 look,
 I’m
 a
 hedonist
 and
 an
 atheist,
 so
 I
 
can
 only
 view
 with
 suspicion
 any
 religiously
 mandated
 mutilation.
 And
 sure
 enough,
 
the
 main
 effect
 of
 it
 is
 to
 reduce
 pleasure,
 its
 potential
 and
 its
 intensity.
 You
 can
 view
 
that
  as
  a
  coincidence
  if
  you
  want
  and
  talk
  about
  hygiene
  until
  you
  are
  blue
  in
  the
 
face,
 but
 it
 will
 be
 hard
 to
 convince
 me.
 First
 of
 all,
 as
 anyone
 who
 remembers
 it
 will
 
tell
  you,
  it
  is
  painful.
  And
  by
  the
  way,
  all
  of
  this
  so
  far
  holds
  for
  both
  males
  and
 
females.
 It
 is
 very
 painful,
 and
 for
 several
 weeks,
 in
 fact,
 months.
 For
 the
 male,
 it
 is
 
bad
 enough
 while
 you
 scar,
 but
 after
 that
 the
 second
 ordeal
 begins,
 once
 they
 take
 
off
 the
 bandages.
 Then,
 the
 tip
 of
 the
 cock
 is
 exposed,
 typically
 to
 the
 gentle
 friction
 
with
 your
 underwear
 normally
 engendered
 by
 standard
 motion,
 like
 walking.
 Well
 
that
  is
  enough
  to
  give
  you
  an
  erection,
  which
  in
  turn
  makes
  the
  top
  of
  your
  cock
 
more
  sensitive,
  which
  eventually
  makes
  the
  erection
  painful.
  And
  I
  mean
  really
 
painful.
  It
  can
  be
  months
  before
  the
  penis
  is
  numb
  to
  the
  sensation.
  This
  is
  like
 
priapism.
  We
  are
  talking
  real
  pain
  here,
  especially
  since
  there
  is
  fresh
  scar
  tissue
 
there.
  So
  the
  notion
  that
  it
  is
  OK
  to
  do
  that
  to
  babies
  is
  really
  strange
  to
  me,
  you
 
know?
 I
 mean,
 obviously
 the
 discomforts
 are
 greatly
 multiplied
 for
 an
 adult,
 but
 still,
 
it
 does
 not
 strike
 me
 as
 a
 nice
 thing
 to
 do.
 But
 he
 point
 to
 be
 made
 much
 closer
 to
 
our
  main
  topics
  of
  preoccupation
  is
  the
  obvious
  long-‐lasting
  aftermath
  of
  the
 
procedure,
 which
 is
 that
 it
 desensitizes
 the
 male’s
 most
 erogenous
 zone.
 It
 is
 a
 pity.
 
There
 is
 no
 other
 word.
 A
 pity.”
 

“No
 redeeming
 features?”
 

 

“Well,
  I
  don’t
  know.
  It
  depends
  for
  whom,
  I
  guess.
  It
  has
  one
  perverse
  side
  effect.
 

Since
 it
 makes
 pleasure
 harder
 to
 procure,
 it
 can
 make
 the
 erection
 last
 longer,
 and
 
it
 can
 make
 it
 easier
 to
 start
 up
 again,
 because
 the
 tip
 needs
 much
 less
 time
 to
 shed
 
it’s
 oversensitivity
 after
 the
 orgasm.”
 

“Oh,”
 she
 exclaimed,
 “is
 that
 what
 you
 meant
 about
 the
 porno
 actors?”
 

“Yes,
 exactly.
 They
 seem
 to
 be
 able
 to
 put
 up
 longer
 and
 more
 physical
 performances
 
than
  their
  European
  counterparts
  on
  average.
  Mind
  you,
  there
  are
  guys
  that
  hold
 
their
 own
 on
 both
 sides.”
 

“I
 wouldn’t
 know”
 she
 quipped.
 
“Oh
 well,
 of
 course,
 you
 wouldn’t
 know
 any
 of
 the
 European
 stuff…!”
 

Quickly
 the
 topic
 turned
 to
 her
 knowledge
 of
 European
 film
 which
 was
 indeed
 based
 
in
  different
  genres
  than
  the
  one
  Michel
  had
  in
  mind
  in
  making
  his
  colorful
 
multicultural
  comparative
  analysis.
  She
  liked
  the
  movies
  of
  the
  French
  new-‐wave,
 
the
  Godard
  and
  Truffaut
  films
  of
  the
  sixties,
  the
  intensity
  of
  them,
  but
  also
  the
 
psychological
  thrillers
  of
  Deville,
  though
  she
  clearly
  had
  a
  bias
  for
  the
  more
 
sentimental
  vein
  and
  some
  of
  the
  work
  of
  Rohmer
  still
  made
  her
  knees
  clearly
 
wobbly
  (pun
  intended).
  She
  was
  fascinated
  by
  the
  emotional
  highs
  that
  could
  be
 
achieved
 with
 simple
 situations
 if
 the
 protagonists
 were
 up
 to
 the
 task.
 She
 liked
 the
 
story
  as
  pretext
  for
  emotion
  rather
  than
  the
  very
  American
  story
  as
  a
  pretext
  for
 
action.
 Not
 that
 she
 rejected
 the
 physical
 performance
 of
 the
 American
 actor,
 but
 she
 
felt
 that
 the
 early
 champions
 of
 the
 genre,
 Brando,
 Newman
 and
 of
 course
 Dean,
 had
 
exhausted
 much
 of
 the
 reservoir
 of
 freshness
 that
 stood
 at
 the
 base
 of
 the
 style.
 This
 
piqued
 Michel’s
 interest
 greatly.
 

“It
 is
 revealing
 of
 your
 taste
 in
 men”
 he
 explained.
 
“No
 it’s
 not,
 my
 taste
 in
 men
 is
 you!”
 
“Very
 kind
 of
 you,
 but
 I
 think
 saying
 that
 eludes
 a
 level
 of
 subtlety”
 
“Your
 way
 of
 saying
 I
 am
 wrong?”
 

“Absolutely.
 You
 see,
 there
 are
 several
 levels
 at
 which
 we
 operate
 when
 it
 comes
 to
 
taste.
 There
 is
 what
 you
 think
 you
 like,
 the
 abstract
 vision
 of
 perfection
 that
 comes
 
to
 mind
 unhindered,
 and
 this,
 to
 me
 is
 not
 very
 interesting.
 Then
 there
 is
 the
 bottom
 
layer,
  which
  is
  what
  you
  end
  up
  with,
  and
  this
  has
  more
  to
  do
  with
  accidents
  and
 
mistakes
  than
  choices.
  I’m
  sure
  that
  you
  like
  your
  husband
  and
  that
  you
  are
  quite
 
devoted
 to
 him,
 but
 I
 would
 bet
 anything
 that
 he
 is
 not
 your
 type.”
 

This
  line
  of
  talk
  made
  her
  a
  tad
  uncomfortable,
  of
  course,
  yet
  another
  case
  where
 
Michel’s
 openness
 and
 honesty
 came
 at
 a
 price.
 Michel
 was
 spot
 on,
 not
 because
 he
 
knew
 so
 much
 about
 her
 that
 he
 could
 guess
 every
 detail,
 but
 simply
 because
 he
 had
 
an
  understanding
  of
  the
  human
  condition
  that
  went
  a
  bit
  beyond
  the
  ordinary.
  It
 
was
  not
  a
  judgment
  that
  he
  was
  casting
  on
  her,
  but
  an
  observation
  of
  the
  state
  of
 
things
 most
 people
 find
 themselves
 in.
 

“It’s
  just
  that
  usually,
  when
  a
  guy
  asks
  a
  girl
  if
  she
  wants
  to
  have
  sex,
  it
  is
  not
 
because
 he
 wants
 to
 spend
 the
 rest
 of
 his
 life
 with
 her,
 it
 is
 because
 he
 wants
 to
 have
 
sex.
 And
 if
 she
 is
 crazy
 enough
 to
 say
 yes,
 then
 he
 is
 in
 a
 bind:
 there’s
 one
 that
 said
 
yes!
  Maybe
  he
  should
  quit
  while
  he
  is
  ahead!
  Why
  the
  girl
  says
  yes,
  I’m
  not
  sure
  I
 
understand,
 but
 for
 the
 guy,
 it
 tends
 to
 be
 straightforward.”