My work day was particularly long today, so I didn’t make it out of the gym until about 9:20pm. I left in a hurry, too aware of how little time I had for everything I had to do before my 12am bed time. But halfway home, NPR’s Terry Gross announced that actor Colin Firth, one of my older men fantasy lovers, was the guest coming up after the break. I slowed way down. Tori would have to wait a little longer.
I think Terry has a crush on Colin because she stuttered more than usual and asked my man some rather strange questions.
We know you’re not gay, so what were you thinking about in order to film the scene where you lustfully stare at a pair of sweaty, bare-chested, athletic, young tennis players on campus? (I’m paraphrasing. Am I the one getting carried away here?)
Colin paused, laughed nervously, and then carried on, ever so calm and eloquent, just as I imagine he would be while reading to me in bed (Sorry).
Jeez, what did I do? Ah yes, I remember. Actually, I wasn’t even looking at those particular men while filming that scene, I don’t think. But honestly, it isn’t really that hard; you can be quite comfortable in your sexuality and still channel what it is like to feel lust for a man, just as a straight man does for a woman.
I think Terry was rather embarrassed. I think she was hoping he’d entertain the sexually repressed, orgy-seeking submissive reporter inside of her.
I parked in front of my building and waited for the interview to end. When it did, Terry announced that the next topic would be Eve Ensler’s new project – she’s the lady who wrote the Vagina Monologues. Terry was on a roll tonight; Colin Firth, the man you want to have library sex with, discussing what he had to think about to get turned on while filming and now… explicit, unapologetic vaginas and vagina love.
My thoughts at this moment could only veer in one direction: that time I acted out a Vagina Monologues character in college. I think I was in my third year when I saw ads in the Campus Center about auditions. I figured I should try it. It was being run by a sorority house, but that did not deter me. I was pretty nervous because I was given a blurb to read about a boring vagina, and while I thought I could do it just fine, I would’ve preferred a happy or funny vagina – not to mention that all the candidates were in the room. Soooo embarrassing. I saw a lot of girls go before me, and most were incredibly dull. I imagined they had come for an adventure, just like me, and now they had totally chickened out. This would not be me. I read my vagina really well. The judging girls liked me and I got a call back that afternoon… except they wanted me to read a different character, and they wanted me to come by the house to talk about it. I went and they basically said, “We know this is probably a little scary, but we think you can do it.” My new character was a former attorney turned dominatrix who worked exclusively with women. She derived pleasure from watching sexually repressed women come out of their shells. She particularly enjoyed the different ways these women orgasmed and their individual sounds. So appropriately enough, my monologue culminated with my character reenacting about a dozen of these peculiar orgasms. The ‘direction’ I received for these reenactments was written in the script, like: “laughing,” “fast panting,” “oh, ah, oh, ah.” Yeah. The girls coordinating the show were busy with their own shit, so we would only meet again in a couple of weeks, and by then our scripts had to be memorized.
I paced around my dorm room for two days memorizing the 2-3 page script… and then I had to work on convincingly delivering lines such as:
Sometimes I use force
But not violent force, no.
More like dominating,
“I’m gonna take you someplace.
Why don’t you lay back, enjoy the ride” kind of force.
And then, of course, I had to decide on, memorize, and rehearse my twelve different moans. But first of all, I had to not give a shit. In sex, if you’re worried more about how you look than how good it feels, you’ll probably be bad (see, I avoided a pun here by not using “suck.” It took me a long time as an immigrant to understand puns. That’s another story). I knew I needed to pretend I was only doing this for myself. I chose my costume (pink lacy tank top, black mini skirt, heels, glasses, big hair and a cigarette) and before I knew it, we were waiting behind the curtains for our call.
I walked out to my lone chair in the center of the stage with about a butterfly per cell in my stomach, but I was serious and very into character. I figured she was a really calm but extremely confident woman. And because I had to act that way, I think I started really feeling that way. One third into it I wasn’t nervous anymore. I knew the lines so well, the words flew off my tongue and my only focus was in being that girl. By the time I got to the part where I began to moan, I was so into it (and I could see the positive reactions in a few people’s faces) that I didn’t give two shits. I went for it. If I remember correctly, my final orgasm had me dropping my glasses, shaking my open legs on my chair, screeching, moaning, and curling my toes. On stage. It was ridiculous. I got up to suddenly nervous legs and went backstage so happy, and also so happy it was over.
I did it again the next day. It was awesome.
I was walking Tori while running through these memories in my head, and I realized that I haven’t felt that liberated in a while. It’s a really cool rush you get by being so into an experience while watching other people react to it so enthusiastically.
And then I thought about sex. And Colin Firth. And how perfect was the movie “A Single Man.” And how this evening became one of lost memories thanks to “Fresh Air” with Terry Gross.