Dirty Letters

I ran to the dictionary to look up the word genophobia: The psychological fear of sexual relations or sexual intercourse.

Great.

Well, he definitely wasted no time speaking his mind. In that sense, it was like no time had passed.

His questions certainly gave me a lot to ponder. The funny thing? I knew how I wanted to answer them, aside from one: how I felt about bacon. That was a dilemma I’d often struggled with. Gah! Why did he have to ask that?

I knew I wouldn’t be writing him back until tonight anyway; I was late for an appointment with Doc. While we normally took walks in the woods, the weather wasn’t cooperating today. So we planned to meet at Doc’s house.

It was a good thing I had agoraphobia and not claustrophobia, because Dr. Maxwell had a tiny house—literally—like the kind you see on those shows featured on HGTV. Until Doc, I hadn’t ever met anyone who actually lived in one.

Doc pointed to his favorite bird painting hanging on the wall. “This one still has to be my favorite, Luca. The hummingbird.”

About a year ago, Doc decided that he was going to strive toward a life of minimalism—thus, the tiny house. Apparently all he needed were air and birds. He also concluded that he no longer wished for me to pay for my therapy in dollars, because he had enough money. He insisted that I instead choose another way to compensate him and asked that I come up with something I felt was suitable.

What do you get the man who doesn’t apparently want or need anything? I knew it had to have something to do with birds.

Besides my writing, I’d always dabbled in art, just simple oil paintings. One afternoon, I Googled how to paint a bird. Over several months, I perfected the craft from the feather details down to the beak formation. I taught myself how to sketch and paint several types of birds but only presented him with the very best ones. The rest I kept in my basement. It was like a mortuary of birds down there. The one commonality among all the birds I’d painted? They all looked stoic, never flying, just posed. And their beaks were never open. We’d dubbed my art “The Stoic Bird Collection.” Doc theorized that the birds’ expressions were a reflection of how I felt inside. That’s some heavy shit. Anyway, my framed artwork now graced every small corner of Doc’s house, and I sort of cracked up every time I looked around at my creations.

Doc took a seat across from me. “So tell me, Luca, how has your correspondence with Griffin been going?”

The mere mention of Griffin’s name had me feeling all giddy inside. “It’s been really amazing. It feels like we sort of took up where we left off, which is pretty unbelievable, considering all we’ve both been through and the time that has passed.”

“What does he do in California exactly?”

“You know . . . he doesn’t go into the specifics of his job, but I know he works in the music industry and is an aspiring musician. I assume he must have taken any position to get his foot in the door.”

“Ah. Smart.”

“Something interesting, though . . . When I suggested that we exchange photos, he actually said he preferred that we keep the mystery going. I thought that was a little strange. In the past, he was always the one pushing to see what I looked like.”

“Are you thinking that maybe he’s ashamed of how he looks?”

“I’m not sure. Either that or he just enjoys the suspense.” I sighed. “Is it weird to not care at all what he looks like now? I mean . . . there’s a part of me that definitely imagines him as good-looking, like he was in the one photo I received from him when we were twelve. But at the same time, it just doesn’t matter to me.”

“I am actually a little surprised you were so eager to send him a photo of yourself. That’s not like you. You tend to be a bit more guarded than that.”

“Not with him. I think it’s a selfish need to let him know that I’m not unattractive—or at least I don’t think I am. I guess I kind of want him to want me. As awkward as I can be around other people, I’m pretty comfortable in my own skin. People have told me that I’m attractive enough times to believe it, even if some of those people were probably just trying to get into my pants.”

“I’m glad you see yourself as beautiful, Luca—as you should, both inside and out. Of course, it doesn’t matter what others think, only what you think.”

While I knew he was theoretically right—it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks—I definitely cared what Griff thought. Maybe a bit more than I should so soon.

“Sometimes at night when I’m bored, I put on makeup and get dressed up for no reason.”

“I would say that’s odd, but I spend half my life having one-sided philosophical conversations with birds.”

“Yeah. You really can’t talk, Doc.” I laughed. “Anyway . . . I get all dressed up with nowhere to go. It’s pretty pathetic. But I get to see what I’d look like if I actually left the house. I take a few photos. I clean up nicely.”

“You know you’re giving me a great idea for one of your next exposure exercises, right?”

“Let me guess. You’re gonna make me get dressed up and actually go out and be around people, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And I know just the place we’ll go.”

I should probably be concerned. “Great.”

Finally, nestled into my comfy spot on the couch with a hot cup of tea by my side, I began to write back to Griffin.

Dear Griffin,

I actually had to look up what genophobia is. At first, I thought you were referring to being a germophobe, which I certainly am not, considering I live with a pig! (I do keep her as clean as possible, although show her a pile of mud and all bets are off. Her true piggish tendencies come out.)

Am I a genophobe? No. I love the idea of sex, of opening myself up to someone like that—I guess opening myself up literally and figuratively. 🙂 It can be a little scary, but not to the point of a phobia. My sexual experiences haven’t exactly lived up to the potential I believe possible with the right partner, though. In other words, I haven’t had the mind-blowing sex that probably exists. At least, I hope it exists. I’m still waiting to experience it.

That leads me to answer your first question, which I basically just did. Did I finally have sex? Yes—but not until I was twenty. It took me a while to start dating after the fire. I ended up losing my virginity to a guy I’d met through a support group for people affected by the fire. Michael had lost his cousin. After one of the sessions, we ended up going to his car to talk and one thing led to another. He hadn’t a clue I was a virgin. Anyway, it was quick and painful. And incidentally, leather against a bare ass is not the most comfortable feeling. He stopped going to the meetings soon after and that was the end of him. Not exactly the “first time” story that dreams are made of. Then again, neither was yours. I’ve had two other partners since then who were nothing to write home about—or nothing to write my pen pal about. It wasn’t all their fault. It takes two to tango, and I just don’t think I let myself go to that place of vulnerability you probably need to in order to get lost in someone else. Do you have any pointers for me in that arena?

So karaoke . . . I’ve only done karaoke once but found it to be way more enjoyable than I’d ever imagined, even though I was alone in my living room with only Hortencia watching. I might have been a little drunk, sort of like you were when you first reached out to me again. (That was the best drunken decision anyone has ever made, by the way.) Okay, see? I’m stalling because I’m a little hesitant to tell you that my all-time favorite song to sing karaoke to is: (Drumroll) “Fernando” by ABBA! Then again, you might have guessed I would have chosen an ABBA song if you remembered anything I ever said in our dozens of letters.

I saved the hardest of your questions for last. It seriously took me all day to figure out how to answer this because it’s honestly a huge moral dilemma for me. While I no longer eat it, I LOVE bacon. I spent many years proclaiming it my favorite food: eggs and bacon, bacon bits, bacon-wrapped scallops. The craving just doesn’t go away overnight because you become the adoptive mother to a pig. The fact that my mouth is salivating now kind of sickens me. So I feel about bacon sort of how I feel about a lot of things in life. I stay away from it, but I can’t help the fact that I like it. (Sort of like porn, maybe?) Of course, as I write this, Hortencia is staring at me and I feel like Hannibal Lecter.

On that weird note, I hope you write back soon. I’m enjoying our reconnection so much. It’s really starting to feel like old times.

Do you still believe in God?

Your favorite pen pal,

Luca

P.S. Since you don’t want to exchange photos, I thought I would tell you a little about myself now. I’m five foot six, 125 pounds, and clean up nicely when I have to. When I don’t have to, I can be found most nights wrapped in a fleece blanket and looking like a potato.

P.P.S. That was your cue to tell me more about what you look like now.

The wait to receive a letter was always torture. I was never guaranteed that he’d write back. I just had to have blind faith each time. So while I waited, I’d pass the time moving on with my life: meeting my daily word count, attending sessions with Doc, caring for Hortencia. But the anticipation of more correspondence was ever present.

It took more than a week, but finally the bright-red envelope showed up in my PO box. The “letter days” were always something to celebrate. I’d drive home, get Hortencia settled, and relax into my chair to savor every single word.

Dear Luca,

Bacon and porn go awesomely together, by the way.

In my next life, I want to come back as a pig and be adopted by you. Is that weird?

I love your answers to my questions and how honest you are. I wouldn’t mind rolling around in the mud with you and Hortencia. Ironically, I had bacon for breakfast this morning, and I have to say, I found myself overanalyzing that decision, so thanks a lot for that.

I think if you’re going to choose an ABBA song, “Fernando” is a good choice. You could have chosen “Dancing Queen,” and that would have been too obviously basic and boring—two things you most definitely are not, Luca.

You asked me whether I still believe in God. I feel like God’s presence waxes and wanes in our lives, but yes, I do believe He or She exists. The times we feel more distanced from God are the times when we’re suffering or in pain. Despite the lack of strength during those times, God makes us work our way back to Him again. Then He rewards us for our faith and perseverance. I sometimes feel like reconnecting with you is an example of a reward, of the way God works His magic sometimes. Faith isn’t easy. I don’t think we’re supposed to have all the answers or to understand why bad things happen. We don’t know, for example, whether our loved ones are in a better place. Maybe we just think they were punished when they died, but maybe they were spared. Maybe we’re the ones in hell. We just don’t have all the answers, and we weren’t meant to know. You know? Note to Luca: don’t get Griffin started on philosophical speak, or he may never stop rambling.

Thank you for the visual you provided in describing what you look like. Now I can’t get it out of my mind. Me? I sort of look like the photo I sent you years back except a bit brawnier (thank God) with some facial hair now. I hope you don’t think I’m being shady in not wanting to share photos. This anonymity with you affords me a certain level of comfort that I can’t get anywhere else.

I’ve reread the section of your letter where you answered my question about sex a few times, but I haven’t figured something out. Have you never actually HAD an orgasm? Could I BE more intrusive? (Yes, I sound like Chandler from Friends.) Please tell me you came at least once during those times. I do get what you’re saying about needing to trust someone to truly let go. That’s the difference between sheer fucking and actually having a true sexual connection with someone. The latter is rare. I’ve had a lot of sex, but most of the time it’s a means to an end, and when it’s over, there is nothing worth clinging on to. I’m not proud of that, but women (at least out here) make it too easy for men. For the most part, we’ll take what you offer up, but it’s nice to have to fight for it sometimes. I get the impression you don’t make it easy and that’s hot, Luca. Believe me. I don’t want to be with someone who’s okay with me just sticking my dick inside her and going home. I want someone who understands that she’s worth more than that and who wants more than that. You wouldn’t believe how many shallow women I come across each day who are just perfectly fine with—as Americans say—“wham bam thank you ma’am.” I want to feel something more, too. I think you are the type of person who wants more and expects more, but that you weren’t in the place in your life to make wise choices when you had sex with those few lucky blokes. I think the person you are now is a lot wiser and more selective. That’s good, because you deserve more. For the record, I’d be perfectly fine if you decided never to have sex again. 😉 Kidding. Although I was jealous as all bloody hell of that football player boyfriend you had in high school. It killed me whenever you’d talk about the possibility of having sex with him. So I’m kind of glad it wasn’t him, even if you did waste your first time with an “alleged” cousin in mourning, who might have just been trolling that meeting for a vulnerable person. Anyway, that cheater you dated in high school wasn’t worthy. I love that I can admit my jealousy to you now. Or maybe I just think I can, but in reality I’m making you uncomfortable and you’re currently installing an ADP security system at your house. Tell me which it is. Also, has anyone ever gone down on you?

Later, gator,

Griff

P.S. You don’t have to answer that, but if you do, I might take it as a hint that you want to talk a bit more about sex. Now that we’re adults, I think it might be kind of fun to explore our options—and our fantasies.

P.P.S. In your letter, you stated that you hadn’t had “the mind-blowing sex that PROBABLY exists.” It most definitely exists, Luca.

P.P.P.S. Spring for the alarm system with the video camera.

I read that letter at least five times. God, he made me laugh and smile. And holy crap, he hadn’t even touched me, yet I found myself totally turned on by his words. It didn’t matter that I knew nothing about his looks. Our chemistry had never been based on physical things, but always the intense mental and emotional connection we had. I trusted him more than almost anyone, and that meant I most definitely wanted to explore wherever our words would take us. So much had happened to me since we were teenagers. The one good thing to come out of it was that I no longer believed in holding things inside. If you have something to say, say it, and if there’s something you want, do it. I’d yet to get over my agoraphobia, but from within the confines of my house, I felt like I could rule the world. At least, Griffin made me feel that way.