In Session (2)
The Secret Journals of a lay psychiatrist continued
I was gesticulating with my right hand as I spoke, playing with perspective, crushing his — or her — head like a grape, using just my fingers in the air. This person was a well known cross dresser, red lipped and with mascaraed almond eyes. The hair was gathered back in a bun and a large hatpin was stuck into it like an elven sword.
I’m a professional wrestler, big as a bodyguard in Harlem. We are like a different race of people, bigger and stronger than other people, so we have to be non threatening with them. “I have the highest regard for your people,” I said, changing the pronunciation slightly so that it might have been ‘peephole’. I watched for the reaction but there was none. I made a note that he, or she, was probably not a voyeur.
“My people?” the voice wasn’t decisively male or female.
“That’s right. I saw you on that HBO documentary where you were lip synching Dolly Parton.” I opened my hand like turning loose of a bird, considering to myself that maybe if I’m imagining crushing this person’s skull, harmless as that might be in reality, it could cause weird psychic vibrations in the therapy setting. It’s supposed to be a safe place.
Knowing that I’d seen the Dance of Thieves brought a smile that was purely feminine. I knew what I was seeing; this was a duality searching for resolution. “You’ve got a sword and a scabbard,” I said, realizing the pronoun to use was they, not you. They nodded, charmed that I had seen them on television, performing under the stage name of Clit Eastwood.
“Let’s have a look, Ms. Eastwood,” I said.
“Call me Clit.”
I suggested Clit step up onto the wooden coffee table. “Just leave the heels on,” I said. “You can’t hurt that thing, it’s imaginary. Just pull up the skirt and show me what it looks like down there. It’s fine. I’m a lay psychiatrist.” I sat on a straight backed chair looking with critical intelligence at genitalia so unusual I’d not heard of it even in Krafft-Ebbing. “It grows in a reverse curve backward,” I observed, “as if it’s trying to, as if you’re trying to …”
“To fuck myself?” Clit introjected. “That’s exactly it. It is so tantalizingly close, and trying so hard, and god knows I try to help. I’ve been doing yoga every goddamned day. Uttanasana, halasana, Gomukhas, you name it I’ve tried it, and still I can’t fuck myself. People throw that line off like it’s nothing. Have they ever tried it? It’s a heartache. What good is this penis that will only come between us?” Poetry embarrasses me so I pretended to not hear it, and took a few shots with the iPhone while making small talk.
“They normally curve upward and out toward the world, but this one must have been turned around in the womb, it curves downward, so it’s ideal for your line of work, as you don’t have tie it down. But … it’s no good trying to fuck somebody else with it I suppose.” I extended an arm on which Clit placed a hand as they stepped down from the coffee table and returned to the yellow chair.
“Perhaps a beast mounted me in the womb, like Dracula over poor Lucy, what a business that was.” They stopped to regain composure. After awhile, Clit faced the issue head on. “You can’t solve the problem until you define it. It’s at the wrong angle to ever know satisfaction in and of itself, so to speak. That’s the problem in a nutshell.”
“At least you aren’t alone,” I said. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people with the same problem. Have you looked for a Facebook group? If the penis curved out the other way I’d advise you not wear this kind of dress, but nobody asks a wrestler about fashion. They think we’re garish. One of the most vicious wrestlers in the trade sits alone, at night, in front of a dresser mirror, and drinks tea from a blue willow cup while listening to the aria from Madame Butterfly. He looks himself in the eye and the pinkie of his right hand slowly extends, and he has a spontaneous orgasm.”
“Really?”
“Sure! A vicious personality except for that. There’s nothing new under the sun. Now put some more imagination into it and go fuck yourself.”
“I’m referring you to all my friends.”
