Bobbing Buttocks

[DinoHajiyorgi]

“Oh, it was quite innocent, there was nothing sexual about it” she said and my mind caught fire. I pictured her and Uma and the friendly couple, Englishmen in their late fifties, stark naked and sweaty going into the water to cool themselves. Personally, I don’t buy the Adam and Eve fable, so, for the life of me, I can’t imagine who was the first human who said “Hey, these bits are naughty, let’s cover them up!” Good thing he did though, because I like the naughty bits, I like them all covered, enticing, mysterious. It was a start that gave birth to, drumroll please, The Roving Eye. The hungry, famished eye searching, guessing, being tormented by layers of clothing and feeding the imagination with glorious, lustful images. In the beginning, any hint of alabaster, ivory skin on neck or ankle would fill volumes of poetry. Later the menu begot richer, but the imagination poorer. As it turns out, the sight of a bare breast is not offensive as it was once believed, as long as, mind you, the nipple is covered. It alone is the naughty bit, it causes the damage. It is the nipple that casts healthy gentlemen down into the pits of sexual fiendom. But I digress.

 

“It was quite innocent” she said. I didn’t know if I was to feel sorry for her or envy her. Did she posses not the roving eye? Was nature rendered bland and sterile within her? Didn’t her stare go once to Tom’s dick for example? Didn’t she try to imagine it erect, performing on Grace? Men check each other out when naked, size being an issue, but don’t women have curiosities about each other’s nakedness? Didn’t she once looked at, my God, Uma? My dirty thoughts would have a field day just by looking at Uma clothed!! I don’t think she ever wore a bra. Her ample breasts were always there to study, thinly covered by a layer of silky blouse, her nipples betraying their position, poking hard to break through the fabric. Mary was with them there, in that secluded beach, under the hot sun, all that tormented my sleepless nights within her sight, and it felt innocent? What about Mary herself, offering her own nakedness to the sight of others so generously, a sight long withheld from me? The mysteries of the universe. Were the wonders of life revealed to her and them solely because they took them lightly? Were the wonders of life hidden from me because I yearned for them so hotly?

 

When sexuality is taken out of nudity, then sexuality itself loses the appeal of its nudity. As time passes by, sex in a couple’s life can only get better as day by day they learn what pleases most one another, still, no subsequent moment will ever top their first night together. The night full of anxieties, so awkward and full of mistakes, so exciting as new grounds are being discovered and explored. The cherry on the frosting is the first time they will see each other naked. Imagine now meeting the man or woman of your dreams in a nudist camp. What a spoiler! A major moment of the introductory intimacy gone, lost forever. Imagine a couple practicing nudism during their Summer vacation. It is Fall now, they’re back home, they’re watching television in their living room. There is a sport game on he’s interested in. She is suddenly in the mood for love. What will she do? Go change to something more comfortable? Will she stand next to the telly, leaving her robe half open to give him ideas? It is too late for that. “Honey, I’ve been looking on that all summer long. Please stand aside so I can watch the game.”

 

It was a hot Summer day. Mary, Uma, Tom and Grace took a hike round the island. Beautiful, ragged scenery, the bluest of waters and a burning sun. Having their swimming trunks handy did not occur to anyone. Soon the sea looked more inviting than sin and any thought of modesty felt droll at the least. Dust covered, sticking by perspiration bodies removed their clothing and dived joyfully into the water. Mary was telling me about it on the phone while I, at the other end of the line, found myself chewing my receiver cord. I knew not people of that quality, the kind of people she met, I would never find myself in such company or such situation, not in a hundred years. I wanted to ask her so many details, my pervert mind going berserk, having a field day, but her innocence -my foot- was an impenetrable wall. “There was nothing sexual about it” she said. She started laughing as she remembered a funny sight. Uma, Grace and Tom took a simultaneous dive, their butts bobbing on the water’s surface as they rolled under, making an odd row of funny buoys for a moment. Mary thought of it so funny she started laughing in the water, at danger of getting drowned. I could imagine the same picture but laughing was the last inclination in my dirty mind. I wished I was there, and then again it was good I wasn’t. I am not that innocent. They would have spotted the snake of paradise by a mile. They would have never suggested swimming in the buff, not in my presence. They’d know just by looking at me. It would had been apparent in my eyes. Not one but two roving eyes. Would I had gone along if they did anyway? Would I be successful on holding down the beast or would I had fled defeated? I don’t handle unrequited lust well. How evil am I?

 

I remember a train ride. A beautiful girl sitting two rows ahead of me. A gorgeous mane. Golden brown, long, thick hair. I fantasized about her. I fantasized sinking my hands into her hair, combing it with my fingers, burying my face in it, smelling its aura. I felt great envy about the man, that special one person who had the privilege of doing that to her every night. How would my ivory tower collapse had I known she had several male friends, purely friends, who had their hands up her mane all the time, her hair available to them all. Quite innocently of course, it could have not happen any other way. Then there was this girl to whom I was attracted to, she worked in an office I had business dealings with. I never tried flirting. I knew she had a boyfriend. She would tell me lots of “us” stories, meaning her and him. At an office party I was very curious to meet the privileged man. Through the noise, the banter and the music I saw her in a corner in his embrace. They were whispering to each other, their lips almost brushing on their ears. His hand was resting on her shoulder, his thumb going up and down the length of her neck. My heart sunk. And yet I was wrong. He was not her boyfriend. He was a friend and co-worker. In the duration of the party she exchanged body heat of similar intimacy with several other of her office mates. The boyfriend arrived much later. All the touching that preceded with the others was, yes, you guessed it, quite innocent. Can someone tell me where do they hand over such innocence? When did these people get it and why did nobody give me notice?

 

I cannot touch a woman innocently. Call it my martyrdom. The touch of her skin is like an electric current, cosmic fire, awe of death. I drool, I faint from desire, my loins implode. Remember the film The Piano? Harvey Kaitel is in love with Holy Hunter. He lets her play on her favorite piano in exchange for “sexual favors”. He crawls on the floor, under her skirt while she plays and he discovers a tiny hole on her thick, woolen socks. He places his finger on the hole to touch just a dot of her skin, a dot that is the world to him. I know that man very well, I know where he is coming from. What I need to know is where exactly is it that innocence ends for the privileged masses?! Is it on the actual penetration alone, on the actual intercourse itself?!

 

Yet, I do declare, you innocent people, you seem to have inherited the earth and the heavens. My last remaining questions are: Do you know it? Can you appreciate it? When eros, this most ancient and powerful of gods, knocks on your door does it sound like the bowels of the universe are braking asunder? Do you rush to open the door, or do you just lie sated, so sure that another opportunity will arrive knocking soon?

 

“I am sorry I wasn’t there” I said. She heard the dirty intent in my voice and her attitude changed. It bothered her that I lusted over Uma. She raised the defenses. “It was quite innocent, there was nothing sexual about it” she stressed as if fending an attack. I wanted to talk more about it, she changed the subject and I felt abandoned and punished like a naughty boy in my depraved corner. I was never successful in sharing it with her when we were an item. She would have switched off her attention on any conversation I would had tried to raise regarding what makes me tick in sex. In bed, while making love, I fantasized that our bed was the centerpiece of a porno film crew, members of which were women I’ve known in the past. They were watching me perform, they were checking my nakedness at work. This would help me reach orgasm. My wish is not just to see, to peep at, naked people. I want to be seen as well. I want to like myself enough to show the naked me in public. I do not wish to be invisible. I want roving eyes on me. And it must not be innocent, never innocent. It would have to be sexual.

 

“I do not wish to be cured. Cured feels so dead. So lacking of life. I want to hold on to my pain and remember my losses, I want to notice the changes when I try things differently in the next life. Next time I want to be in that beach, I want to be there with you all, I want to end my day comforted in your arms, my lust for life forgiven and rewarded.” I said to her none of it. Words could not express the force pounding within my chest. So far I’m damned just for wishing. I sit, I wait, I listen to Mary at the other end of the line. I close my eyes and I picture her on that beach, the sea drying on her skin under the sun. I’m lying on my bed. My bedroom hotter than hell.

[wordsmith]

Πολύ όμορφα γραμμένο, παλιού στυλ, μου θυμίζει βιβλία που κάναμε στη σχολή, Άγγλων μεσοπολεμικών και προπολεμικών, και επίσης μοιάζει πολύ με ένα κεφάλαιο του "Παλομαρ" του Καλβίνο. Επιβεβαιώνει τη θεωρία μου ότι, για να σταθεί ένα διήγημα χωρίς υπόθεση, ο συγγραφέας πρέπει να είναι καλός. Άν ήταν αντικείμενο, θα ήταν αγαλματάκι από ελεφαντόδοντο... Θα μπορούσε να είναι και ένα από τα τεράστια εξομολογητικά ποστ του ταλαντούχου κου Χατζηγιώργη.

[mman]

Πολύ ενδιαφέρον. Και δεν ξέρω αν φταίει το ότι ως αναγνώστης είμαι λιγότερο απαιτητικός με τα Αγγλικά, αλλά μήπως γράφεις καλύτερα σ' αυτή τη γλώσσα απ' ότι κι απ' τη μητρική σου;

[DinMacXanthi]

Η σημαντικότερη ερώτηση είναι "πότε το έγραψες;"

 

Θα επανέλθω όταν μου απαντήσεις.

[DinoHajiyorgi]

Η σημαντικότερη ερώτηση είναι "πότε το έγραψες;"

 

Θα επανέλθω όταν μου απαντήσεις.

Πρέπει να ήταν περίοδος 1999 με 2000, τον καιρό αφού χώρισα με την Mary. (Είναι τριλογία με τίτλο "Letters to Mary". Τα άλλα δύο είναι το "Still" και το “An Infinitesimal Piece Of Truth Caught In Eternity” τα οποία τα έχω ανεβάσει στη Βιβλιοθήκη μεταφρασμένα.)

[DinMacXanthi]

Αυτό φοβόμουν πως θα ακούσω. Αν το έγραφες χθες, θα σου έλεγα "μάζεψ'τα και τράβα UK".

My friend, διαβάζοντας αυτό και με βάση το τι λέγαμε τις προάλλες μεταξύ μας, η επιστροφή στην Ελλάδα πονάει ακόμα περισσότερο. Το κείμενο έχει αγγλική φωνή που βρίσκεις στο waterstones και στο blackwells, φωνή που αναρωτιέμαι αν μεταφράζεται στα ελληνικά και αντικατοπτρίζει και τους δικούς μου φόβους. Με βάση το τι έχω διαβάσει (κι έχω διαβάσει πολλά δικά σου), ο Hajiyorgis είχε ακόμα μεγαλύτερη συγγραφική ισχύ από τον Χατζηγιώργη.

Αν το διαβάσει ο Nihilio, (που έχω διαβάσει τα αγγλικά του κείμενα, πριν βγει έξω, και τώρα που έκατσε κι ένα χρόνο) είμαι σίγουρος πως θα σκεφτεί το ίδιο.

 

 

Η μοναδική διόρθωση που μπορώ να κάνω, για να προσφέρω έστω και ένα κομματάκι, είναι το telly: αν είναι στη Βρετανία, άστο έτσι, αν είναι στις ΗΠΑ, κάντο tv. Και το posses, possess. Τίποτα άλλο, πριν 10 χρόνια θα σου έδινα συγχαρητήρια για ένα ΓΑΜΑΤΟ κείμενο, τώρα μου βγαίνει μόνο δυσθυμία.

Edited September 18, 2010 by DinMacXanthi

[DinoHajiyorgi]

Τίποτα άλλο, πριν 10 χρόνια θα σου έδινα συγχαρητήρια για ένα ΓΑΜΑΤΟ κείμενο, τώρα μου βγαίνει μόνο δυσθυμία.

Ευχαριστώ για την εκτίμηση Din, αποδέχομαι το συμπέρασμα σου. Πρόσφατα συνεργάζομαι για ένα βιβλίο, με έναν φίλο μου ελληνοκαναδό (γράφεται στα αγγλικά) και έχω νιώσει κάπως σκουριασμένα τα αγγλικά μου. Χθες τυχαία άνοιξα το παρόν κείμενο, είχα την εντύπωση ότι το είχα ανολοκλήρωτο, και έμεινα άναυδος όταν είδα ότι όχι μόνο ήταν τελειωμένο αλλά ήταν και τρεις σελίδες word! Το διάβασα και η πρώτη πικρή μου διαπίστωση ήταν να αναρωτηθώ αν θα μπορούσα να γράψω σήμερα έτσι στα αγγλικά.

 

Να μην ξεχνάμε ότι αν η Ελλάδα είναι μια λιμνούλα, εκεί, το έξω, είναι ολόκληρος ωκεανός, άγριος ωκεανός, με πολλά, ακόμα περισσότερα, μεγαλύτερα και τρομακτικότερα ψάρια.

[Nihilio]

Αν το διαβάσει ο Nihilio, (που έχω διαβάσει τα αγγλικά του κείμενα, πριν βγει έξω, και τώρα που έκατσε κι ένα χρόνο) είμαι σίγουρος πως θα σκεφτεί το ίδιο.

Δε το διάβασα όλο, το έσωσα για το σπίτι, αλλά ναι, θα συμφωνήσω. Πολύ "Βρετανικό" γράψιμο.