Gargoyle 50
Cover by Colin Winterbottom
Published 6/1/2005

Talking about Sex

Nin Andrews

The other day my therapist informed me that men, unlike women, don’t talk about sex. They are very sensitive about the subject, especially if they are macho types. They don’t appreciate it when women speak directly or use any terms that mean fucking, or words for the male anatomy such as penis, balls, prostate. Be subtle, she suggested, speak gently of it, things, that, those. So the other night while lying next to you on the couch, gazing longingly into your eyes (you were contemplating mutual funds I believe), I said simply, Honey, did you know the latest research on sex suggests that what you don’t use, you lose? You responded as always: a flick of the wrist, a nonverbal so what. Reminded me of how, as a kid, I liked to say, None of your beeswax. Not knowing what that was. Or it, for that matter. Then later, when we argued, you repeated your line about how IT is not important, and besides, you’d be just as happy to give IT up.Maybe you’re right. We should all be nuns and monks. Think how much easier life would be. Maybe we should just take sedatives and herbal remedies instead, like these terrific little lozenges you prescribed for my cough last night. Think how happy we could be, just humming along. So that’s what I’m doing now and every night. Yep, echinacea candies. They stick to my pillows and skin and hair. But that’s no problem. I like sleeping alone, licking my own sweet lips, here on my isotonic mattress, the latest sleep-enhancing design… Not that I sleep exactly, oh no. Nor do I think about IT or anything else. Not a bit. Right at this very minute I can’t even recall how your hands feel when they lift my hips or that look on your face, your lids lowering, the slide and tilt of things, it, and those, oh yes, those and oh, I forgot these, too, and, and oh yes, it… Paco, Paco! Where have you been? Paco! I’m telling you, this echinacea shit, it’s really great stuff. The best. In fact I think I’ll be cured in a flash, a glimmer, a hope, and then I’ll ascend in my own sweet time and there will be no more Paco. And no more singing the Paco blues.