Excerpt 25

“All art is the result of one’s having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end.”

—Rainer Maria Rilke

My mother’s wedding night was a threesome:  My mother, father, and Joe,  an Episcopal priest, who was my father’s favorite lover. They were in Fairhope, Alabama, an artsy town on the Gulf.

No family members attended.

It was 1949.

My mother told me this when I was twelve years old. We were having dinner at Britling’s, the local cafeteria, in Memphis. I really liked their shredded carrots with raisins.

 

###

1971

Weeks later in New York City, I lost my virginity to Noah—a not nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn—on a large, heated waterbed behind blood-red padded leather doors in a closed wing of Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital on First Avenue.

I was terrified, but just wanted to get it done.

My college roommate had nicknamed me: LVOC (last virgin on campus).

After fucking, Noah complained, “I feel like I’ve been through a meat grinder.”

He had an amphetamine-addicted roommate who shared his East 24th Street apartment. Both were dental students at New York University and had easy access to  the closed wing at Bellevue, the spooky, dark,  gothic hospital for crazies.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.