Episode 37 - Girl Likes Boy

Transcript

Marcie Prohofsky: Welcome to A Taste of Sex: Erotic Poetry Reading. My name is Marcie Prohofsky. Today's show is recorded live at OneTaste in San Francisco, a retreat center where you can explore true connection, including one to your sex, and to your sensuality. You'll be hearing prose and poetry from people who are totally willing to share their intimate experiences with you. Anticipate turn-on, and even inspiration. Here's a taste from today's show.

Lauren: Before I moved to San Francisco, you know, I was...a bit involved in a few relationships and usually it was just like one person at a time.

[Singing while Strumming Guitar] Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, I'll say it all once more. Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, a story now unfurls.

Marcie Prohofsky: Hi, my name is Marcie Prohofsky and welcome to A Taste of Sex. We are here, live, at OneTaste, this is an erotic poetry event, and it is exploration on all levels for people to dive into sensuality, eroticism, relationships, and be as candid as they choose to be in this environment, with their work, with their voice...and so um, I want to thank you all for being here tonight, and we have this event on the first and third Thursday of every month, so I invite all of you to come back, and participate on any level that you want, you know if you're here just tonight just to check it out, to see if it's safe to come back another night to express yourself, I hope that you find that the answer is yes, and that you come back and share with us your thoughts and feelings about your sensuality. So we're going to get goin', and I think we're just going to start off with a song. Is that alright with you? Are you ready? Alright, we'll do one, one song, and then we'll bring Lauren back in a little bit. She's a house favorite at OneTaste, and she writes original music that's inspired by...orgasm. So this is Lauren. [Applause]

Lauren: Hi, good crowd, beautiful faces. So, before I moved to San Francisco, you know, I was...a bit involved in a few relationships and usually it was just like one person at a time. But then I got to this city, and you know...it's quite a normal occurrence that relationships can turn into more than two people, sometimes three, sometimes four. So this was my first experience with that.

[Singing while Playing Acoustic Guitar] Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes...Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, I'll say it all once more. Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes...Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, our story now unfurls. Mhmmmm.

Attraction grows, respect follows, I feel them in my dreams. Caressing her, possessing him, a conduit it seems. Following energy, direction yet unknown, if we're to see what's to be will be, we must learn to let go of folding arms.

Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, I'll say it all once more. Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, our story now unfurls.

I feel your breath upon my neck, you smell like Other Girl, and then I get all hot and think about what you've done before. Do you think of her when I lick your salty cock? Do you think of me when she rides for you from the top?

Oh, Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, wait there's still some more. Other Boy likes Other Girl, Other Girl likes That Boy too, Triangle to Rectangle, what are we to do?Mhmm.
What will the world think of me in this galactic scheme? What happened to simplicity, this question I am asking? Maybe this rectangular connection needs some space, or maybe we say fuck it all and plunge it all into the waste...

Oh, Boy likes Girl, Girl likes Boy, Girl likes Other Girl, the Other Girl likes Boy likes Girl, I'll say it all once more. Well the Other Boy likes the Other Girl, and the Other Girl likes That Boy too, triangle to rectangle, what are we to do? [Applause] Thank you.

Lauren: What are we to do? It's hard to know sometimes.

Marcie Prohofsky: Alright so, the question was, what are we to do, you know, when there's this triangle meeting this rectangle, you know, what are you to do? So that the complexities of relationships, essentially, and the complexities of saying yes to desire, so I'm just curious if you were to think...yeah? [Audience Member has Comment] Oh, ha ha, right on. Come on up here, I want you to say it all right into this mike, come on, so we have somebody here that has a perspective on what to do there.

Audience Member: I said, take the point of that triangle, stick it in the middle of that Square, and keep pushing until it crumble. [Laughter]

Marcie Prohofsky: Ha ha ha, yeah, keep pushing until it crumbles. So, ha ha, I love it. So...how about you? Yeah, ok.

Ross: Uh, my name's Ross. I was gonna first read three very short little one-liners.

Red ribbons in your hair are all I need to make me feel like it's okay to touch you.

You arch your back and show your strength, I do not move. This time I am not interested in defending myself.

Oh Lightness, Lightness, to be a trembling creature laid bare, still trembling. What brings a trembling creature, Lightness, to know its own beauty?

Ross: So this is um, the piece, Desire's Consciousness, it was written right at the time as my twenty-year marriage was ending.

Desire, cunt. Green ribbons, fuck. Toe. Foot. Fetish. Belt. Ribbon, your hair. Cream on your nose, toe in your cunt, carefully of course.

West, towards the daylight, Fuck-Up stares on the roof, in the rain, on my mat, in your trunk, locked, and driven away for another day. When I smoke, you steam. When you take out your wallet, I scream.

Feathers abound, but no one uses them. Just short, quick strokes that end too soon for both of us, but far too soon for you, so I'm in trouble now. I thought it was okay, I just couldn't stop. I'm not an expert you know, that's always my excuse. Yours is you're tired.

I see now the pear, it was just for eating, and not a prop. The TV stays on this time, we have to keep up with their pace of living and keep the wisecracks coming. Your anus, my finger. Feels good to finger in and out.

Ross: Hamburger time, or should we go to McDonald's for a Coke?

Do you want to live alone, or just see the Pope about your VD? The new STD is the Pope, and the old was the Pope. Somebody castrated long ago and everyone now pays by feeling guilty every time they lay eyes on a naked body, including their own.

It's not always the biggest gestures that count. Sometimes it's the hello when you're down, the phone call when you need it. That's sex. This is not sex, this is just a mindfuck poem.

There's a lot of debris in my head and heart that keeps me guessing instead of acting. What about you, are you a lesbian, or a saint? I married a lesbian, but now she's fucking a dad substitute. I'm not angry because I know it hurts you, now me, now you, then me, then today, and forever. We're like sheep getting sheared with a dull razor. Can't be helped.

We're trying to be good and be fucked at the same time. I guess I was sex-phobic like a robotic animal that gives you the creeps, only I was just a stranger watching you masturbate. That's all I want to do, so I keep asking. That was one of my fantasies. Now it's my reality when I take down a mirror and pretend to be you.

Slimy creeps from the past are remembered to have been true to avoid the grim reality of AIDS, the killer of fun.

The birth of Christ was met with mass mountings to get one last lay in before the act was prohibited. I went to the temple and had forty-two myself, that was when I was a man of unstinting proportions. Actually, I was a woman. I saw the Star of Bethlehem linger, so I switched to a man that evening, and got one in before it was too late to be a free man.

Your songs are phony, but your dreams are about lust. Each one takes you dripping, but I can't stay late, so I just act the part of the Scold. It's easier to be a part and pretend I want you, than to be with you and to try to think of something to say. Every morning I wake up to you talking, it was okay when I didn't know you, but now I know you.

I sit on your face but you're not hungry, so I gag you and fuck you. When the gag comes off, the bites start. Apparently, I took it off too soon.

West winds, stupid words, jogged my unconscious. Did I ever tell you about the time I was hit on at a bar, or caught the eyes of somebody who stared? I have a lot to regret, so I'll start crying now before it gets too late.

You look at me with disbelief. Nobody ever said that to you. I freeze, you cry. Moments later I understand why. Sometimes I don't think it's about sex, but eating bananas in bed after you wake up, and there's nothing to do, and I like you. I like being with you and feel content.

The movement stops, I can't get it up, because I can't stop crying afterwards. Better to eat a banana. I give you a backrub instead, but it lasts too long because you're too soft in certain places, and it's too much fun to wiggle things around in wet places and let caution be a master of someone else's life for a change.

Ross: This day, this way, is not gentle or rough. Just you, and me following the flow of my finger on your cunt, as we begin to see that sometimes a finger is just a finger, and a finger-fuck is just a finger-fuck, just like you always said it was. [Applause]

[Jazz Music followed by Commercials]

Marcie Prohofsky: So we're going to move on, Yia. She smiles, grinning from side to side. We're ready for you. [Applause]

Yia: I'm trying to decide if I should go PG-13, or a little bit hotter? Who wants a PG-13 reading, no? A little bit hotter? Ok, a little bit hotter, alright. So this piece is actually part one of a longer piece I did
a while ago, and it's called Permission, and if you want to listen to the rest of the piece you can go to Personallifemedia.com, which is where all of this is going to go on, Personallifemedia.com, and listen to the rest of the story that I have.

 In kindergarten, around five or six, my older brother and two nephews, one my age, and the other two years older, and I are alone in the bedroom. I don't remember if our parents are home, we are looking through a Playboy magazine. The naked faces of the women look back at me with their shiny red lips, round fake breasts, and shaved pussies.

The older boys tell me and my nephew to lick the pussies in the magazine. My nephew hesitates, and tells me to go first. I didn't at first, so we go back and forth, telling each other, no asking each other who is going to do it first. The two older boys nudge us; I give in. I lean down to one of the exposed pussies and stick my tongue out to lick her. I don't remember how I felt; excited, scared, angry, was I horny?

They nudged us again, to do it together. My other nephew takes his turn. Then do they tell us to kiss? Do they tell me to lick his cock? Do they tell him to lick my pussy? The rest of the story is a blur, I'm left to interpret and write the script for this scene based on my feelings around it now.

How did it end, how do I want it to end? There was a flicker of excitement in that instant, when I leaned down to lick another woman's pussy. I gave in pretending to be hesitant, pretending to be forced. But I wanted to do it, and I wanted them to force me to do it, so I didn't have to own that I wanted to do it on my own, and that I wanted to do it first, before my nephew. Permission. Thank you. [Applause]

Marcie Prohofsky: Yeah, feelings. Who's feeling something in their body right now? Alright, Patrick, you ready? This is a piece called Romance.

Patrick: I'm Patrick, I wrote this piece back in 2001. It is called Romance.

When you stand before me, I feel the delightful warmth of falling in love. I want to take you in my arms, embrace you tightly, caress your head lightly, feel your soft hair, breathe in your smell, so if I became blind, I'd always know it was you.

I wish we could lie down together, your body nuzzled next to mine, deep sighs of contentment as we let time pass right on by. If I could show you how I really feel about you, if I really had the courage, if I could just act in the moment, I would gaze into your eyes and let you see into my soul.

Patrick: I would lift your chin lightly, caress your face softly, move my face closer, and kiss you gently, ever so gently. That's what I hope for when you stand before me, the aura of an angel before my eyes, and I feel that delightful warmth of falling in love. [Applause]

Marcie Prohofsky: Beautiful, thank you. Have you read that to anyone before? That's been hiding out, 2001 you said you wrote that? That's been hiding out for seven years, wow. Alright, Jiwad.

Jiwad: Um, I have two short pieces.

I was sitting in the hot tub with my friend Jennifer last night, in her empty house. Jennifer is moving to Indiana, she's found a new job, and a new man. Jennifer and I have lived together in the same cities for exactly one million years, so this is our first time living apart, so it'll be fun. And out of the blue, she asked me, “Jiwad, have you ever let a beautiful woman slip through your fingers?”

And I felt the heat of that question, a little sweat broke out on my forehead. My mouth answered the question, I said something about the abundance of beauty, and something about having Bahar to Turkey maybe, which was one thing I should have done. But my words were just there to fill the space, we knew the heat of the moment.

Last night I shared, oh this morning, I shared the heat of the moment with my housemate Benny, and Benny's response was, “It's not how many beautiful women slip through your fingers, it's how many of your beautiful fingers slip through women.” [Laughter] And Benny has no sense of the sacred, she is just a smart ass.

My second piece is called The Male Form. We live in a culture that admires the female form, we're obsessed with it, girls make out with girls. Hardly any straight boys make out with straight boys. Even gay men admire the female form. But I was thinking about the male form. We admire maybe the athletes, and maybe the occasional black man, but the average white guy who works in an office building, who's middle-aged, we hardly ever admire his shape. And I was thinking of this, I was at the hottub at my gym the other day, and I was looking at Gary's ass. He was reading the Wall Street Journal, bent over the hot tub. His ass was perfectly-round, half-submerged in the bubbles, half sticking out. [Laughter]

I said to him, “Gary, I'm admiring your ass. I think I've seen this pose in a poster in the Castro somewhere.”

Gary is as Right-Wing Republican, Christian, Texan, Corporate, as middle-aged men come. And he laughed, he knows me. And I offered to turn around and let him admire my ass. [Laughter] A parade of equally-beautiful male asses entered the gym hot tub and out again, and Gary refused to discuss them with me. There were happy-looking asses, and sad-looking asses, and sweet-looking asses, and sour-looking asses. Maybe they weren't exactly the average white middle-aged men because they were the average athletic middle-aged men, but they were all shapely, and they were all beautiful.

And I felt straight, I wasn't sexually attracted to them, I was admiring their aesthetics, and I was thankful to God for creating this beauty. And I told this story to my friend Sunna, and she said, “That's what the Olympics were all about, they were about admiring the male form in the nude.”

And I said, “Wow, I would have liked to have been around back then.”
Then she said, “When you won your event, they threw an orgy for you.”
And I said, “Wow, I would have really liked to have been around back then.”
And she said, “Well, the orgy was thrown by your male admirers, and when you won the Long Jump, you came and they all fucked you in the ass. That was your reward, and theirs.”

And I thought, “You know, Gary wrestled in high school, I want to discuss the Olympics with him next time.” Thank you. [Laughter and Applause]

Marcie Prohofsky: Ha ha, I love you. I was always curious what my strong attraction was to the Olympics when I was growing up. You know, I slept next to a gold medal once. This girl, in high school, she won an Olympic gold medal for swimming. So I spent the night at her house, and on her bedside table she had this plexiglass case, and in it was the gold medal. She won it in swimming, she won a couple and she won a bronze, and you know she had like seven brothers too. [Laughter] So the potential was all there, damn I missed it! Shoot.

So I was in Spain, years ago, living there, and they have what's called the Rostro, which is their flea market. And I took the subway to the flea market, and I came up and there was this guy that was selling photocopies. And he was selling photocopies of little drawings of womens' breasts, they were just little sketches of different breast shapes, and none of them had a head on them, it was just like neck, to like, just underneath the breast, well the torso was a little longer depending on the type of breast it was. So there was a little more torso for the ones that were called Pepinos, which was the word for cucumber, so you know it was really long. And there was Sandia, which were like watermelons, and there were Globos, which were balloons, and those were like even rounder, and I can't remember the name for like, seed, but there's just like a tiny little nub, seeds, yeah.

So years later, you know, like I coveted this list, I just thought it was the funniest thing ever, and so I just came across it and so I still have it, it's quite inspiring. We don't actually describe them in that quite of detail and sophistication here, you know, it's a Spanish thing. So...we're moving on. Chelsea, alright.

Chelsea: Okay, I'm gonna do two. I'm gonna try to do one from the head, and one off the book.

Blondes, black women, big butts, or big tits. We're all in the same category. She must be a ho! Hold  your man or pull out your dollars, think I'm gonna say, “I'll holla, I'll holla!”

No, no, no, the stats read like this; virgin until twenty-six. Age thirty-six, nine kids deep and living in bliss, will you remember this? When you see this sweet ass walk from behind, or will you just think she's another dime on the stroll, I think not, that's not mine. [Applause]

Chelsea: However, I do have an erotic side, but because of that stereotype, it is rarely shown. So I am so glad to be here tonight, I'm going to loosen it up, take it off a little bit...oh yeah, that's the real me.

Yeah, I was a virgin until I was twenty-six, and now I am thirty-six, and people ask me all the time, “How did you do it?” [Laughter]

It was a lot of masturbation, I mean a lot, I mean A LOT, ha ha. It was a lot of oral sex, it was a lot of pleasing people and making them cum so hard that they didn't force me into anything, it was a lot of erotic encounters with...girls, it was a lot of bliss. So these poems are from the time when I just thought I was about to go crazy, about twenty-five and a half, I thought there was something wrong with me and all that good stuff, here we go. It turned out to be about nine little sonnets that became one poem, they should go pretty smooth and beautiful. These are really about waiting about waiting for that person that I'm still with, that I gave those children to, and about love. And it goes like this.
Chelsea: Into my core I present to you my soul, in its time there has only been one love, and tore through my heart he has, and left a bit of dust called 'Chelsea'.

Going on every day you think it hard, it's not, as long as I have you. You are me and I, you. Unrequited love, you grace me but do not come to me. I wait, for I long to come to you. They cannot see me, the very harsh things I do to myself to keep sane, the thoughts mulled my mind, I hear whispers in the light. I want to find God, I want to find you. The poetry spills from my hand as if I must write with every breath, there I create brilliance, how long before I go mad for you?

I have been yours forever, since the beginning of time until the end, when you are mine. Time never stops, so you say. Then I am yours every day. My desire for you in its most intense state, I open wide my eyes, my thighs, you touch my soul. Oh, just for a touch of you. I'd be your whore. I'd settle for your sister. Am I crass, will you say? I'd give my mouth, it's you I obey.

You are sex to me. I hold my breath as I wait for a kiss, the small white dot of bliss. You inside me, I feel you, I need nothing more. Hiding away in my safe, soft corner, visions of you. I am alone with only my hand to touch me, comfort me. I stir intensely, my heart murmurs of you. This is what I long for; breath lost, a wet face, a soft feel, a sweet taste, oh the room is spinning with the thoughts of you.

You take my sleep so that I am forced to write. You demand my time, I would gladly stop all and live for you but you make me go on in the physical world, and at night when the clocks are done and clothes are off and eyes are shut tight, I am awake using my fingers for you, my eyes for you, my body for you; my soul, mind, spirit, flesh, and death, all in the palm of you. And from this I never want to be free.

My neck is sore, my muscles tight, my hand is tired, yet still I write. My soul aches to be left alone, my soul cries for you to stay. Will you leave me? Am I to be a bride or spanked like a child? I know not what you create in this unending madness you've bestowed on me, how nice a name such as poetry, to have genius forced or called hack in course, none matters say you, as long as it is understood by two; the Poet, and the Muse. Thank you. [Applause]

[Jazz Music]

Marcie Prohofsky: Thank you for listening to A Taste of Sex: Erotic Poetry Reading, for online transcripts of this show, go to Personallifemedia.com. And for more information about OneTaste, including our erotic open mic nights, workshops, and other events, check out OneTaste.us. Tune in next week for more tastes of erotica, I'm Marcie Prohofsky, and thank you again for listening.