Guess what? Two of my roommates are fucking. There are four of us. One’s asleep. I’m writing in the strip of light from the window like I always do. The other two snuck out together a few minutes ago.
So much for this being a sexless paradise. My dick is hard as a rock imagining what they’re up to. One of them is the mouthy Frenchman who keeps trying to control the whole group, always dominates the conversation at dinner, and is always trying to get Jenn and the other few women to like him. The women are supremely uninterested in him. I wonder if having struck out with the ladies he’s decided he has to plant his flag somewhere else. The guy he went with is one of those quiet-mild-mannered guys who is so effeminate it can come across as an advertisement. I don’t mean he’s clownish about it, either, but most American guys wouldn’t dare act like that because that’s how much they fear being mistaken for faggots. Which is fucked up and is probably my least favorite thing about the United States. But anyway, having been raised in America, it raises a flag to see anyone not conforming to the minimum acceptable standards for demonstrating a standard heterosexual demeanor. It makes it hard to believe any somewhat feminine mannerism is innocent and not a come-on.
Because of this my mind figures it must be Frenchman on top. I know it’s probably not that simple. Sex rarely is. But I’m curious. And my dick is curious.
Okay, just tried meditating to see if I could make my erection go down. No. Because when I meditate my consciousness expands, I hear every little sound in the whole house, and I can hear them. They’re all the way across the courtyard, on the first floor, by the kitchens. They’re in the common room. I heard one little scrape of a table against the floor. Femmy is bent over it, I’m sure. I could hear his breath. Frenchy has his hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, but that means his panting goes through his nose.
This is not my imagination. I could hear all that. Now I’m trying not to listen. I’m writing. Let’s write about… something else. How about this. Is music a privilege or a right? In the states we treat it like a privilege, a luxury, but how can something that is a basic component of all cultures be that? It’s a right the same as food is a right. Everyone has a right to sing or clap or make sounds together with others. People have a right to music the same as the right to food or the right to their own language. I’d think that would be obvious. But in the States we’ve skewed it so much–or the dominant white culture has skewed it so much–as if the only music that can be made at all these days is made by a privileged class: musicians. And only the privileged of the privileged can make a living doing it. But if people were honest and open about their need for music would more musicians be supported in doing it or would fewer? I think more. More would make better livings while fewer would be multimillionaires. Jenn thinks the same about sex, I think. She has this idea that if people were as open and honest about their need for sex we wouldn’t have the entertainment industry as a whole. She’s not just talking about porn films but regular films too. If people didn’t lust after movie stars because their own lives didn’t have enough sex in them then not enough people would go to the movies to sustain a multibillion dollar industry.
I think maybe she goes a little far with that assessment and that Jenn has her own internal self-esteem reasons for wanting to believe that being a professional actress is the modern equivalent to being a sacred whore.
I know what I forgot to write in yesterday’s diary entry, and today’s. I haven’t said a word in several days now. Not to Jenn. Not to anyone.
It’s freeing to do it by choice like this. When I couldn’t speak because of the way I ripped my throat to shreds on the tour, it was like being in chains. At first, anyway. But there were moments when I realized so much of what I say in a given day is obligatory stuff. Hello, goodbye, thank you, et cetera. I fantasized a little about what it would be like to live free from the obligation of speech.
I haven’t taken a vow of silence, but I can understand why someone might.
(Note from ctan: Two quick things I wanted to mention! 1) The Best Bi Short Stories Kickstarter past the halfway point in fundraising over the weekend! It hit $2,000 on Saturday. See it here: http://kck.st/1gKb0tm 2) I signed up with a service called Authorgraph. If you’ve got DGC vol 1 or any of the other ebooks on your Kindle or other e-reading device, I can now autograph it electronically. Here’s the list of books available: https://www.authorgraph.com/authors/ceciliatan)