Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Crawling on Your Knees Towards Him...

In The Plague of Fantasies Zizek, in his charming Puckish way, suggests that homosexual fist fucking is the closest "fallen" man [sic] can get to Edenic sex (following Aquinas' assertion that there is sex in Paradise). It's about the intensity of opening that which typically reacts with closure--the anus as a metaphor for the psyche. The closure ideology attempts (the banal heterosexual male's posture towards anal penetration in the form of homophobia) when confronted with the $ (barred subject, by necessity always already split, displaced, decentered). Thus, the pleasure of sex as a woman the prophet Tiresias attests to (recalling a Greek man could never assume the passive position in sexual intercourse) is, in Lacanian terms, precisely the pleasure of exploiting the constitutive "gap" of subjectivity. 

Well, it wasn't a fist per se, but I was blissfully opened. It's actually been quite terrible how, in recent months, all of the boys I've fucked have either been a) unable to get it up or b) not the sort of person I would let fuck me. Which is, to a certain extent, fine--I don't mind playing the top, and I think that as a good bottom I'm quite caring and responsive in that role. But, it is important to have that wonderfully unrivaled experience of ultimate vulnerability.

Last night Joseph came and gave me a ride on his Vespa--my first time on the back of a motor-something  (it's not a "scooter" proper since we were going 65mph down the Saw Mill Parkway). I wore his scarf which I made sure fluttered triumphantly behind my back, like a banner. When we pulled in Pleasantville some Dude-Bro nearly cut us off and, forgetting that there are no doors on a Vespa, my "douche bag" was audible, upon which the Dude-Bro demanded, "Do you know who I am?" And I started to laugh, as did Joseph... but I did clutch his stomach a bit tighter. "I'm making the turn," the guy said. "So am I," Joseph replied, "my blinker is on." But this guy wasn't going to let it go, so I demanded, with a flair that would make Zachary proud: "Do you like my Isadora Duncan scarf?" and flung the long, flowing wrap over my shoulder. The guy looked utterly perplexed, but managed, "It's cool, my family has lots of gay friends..." at which point the light mercifully changed, and Joseph sped off.

What was brilliant about the whole thing, I think, was the way redeploying this guy's exploitation of two skinny boys, one clutching the other, on a pistachio green Vespa proved a victory. Make the implicit power dynamic explicit: This guy would never have tried to pick a fight with a Dude-Bro his size, but he figured that a pair of queers (so far as he knew) were easy targets.... but words are hotter than flames and wetter than water. As Zizek claims, ideology works on the level of the implicit, unacknowledged (or with wink-and-a-nod disavowal) fantastic framing of discourse. So long as this guy wasn't called on his framing of the power dynamic he could act with impunity. 

Tonight I'm going to meet Lucy (Joseph's girlfriend) and see Ghazi again for the first time in months! I can't wait! Hopefully I'll get to see Paula on Thursday, and then Morris on Friday. And then it's off to Florida to get a tan. I bought very cute little swim trunks that should turn some heads in a county that voted over 85% for McCain/Palin (my gramsy actually campaigned for her!), and will get my pasty body nice and golden again. If only my mother would stop feeding me... I need to still fit into the damn things!

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