Interlude
All
you women's libbers are probably out there by now crying what a male
chauvinist pig I am. All right, so I admit it. At the age of 21 I was
very chauvinistic. That was the way I was brought up in this culture
and that was the way I was. Sure, I had love emotions, just like
other guys. But we only spoke in these terms to the women. (More like
girls, at this point. And yes, we were more like boys then too.) To
our male peers we had to portray the image of conqueror and speak in
crude, impersonal language to impress our friends of our manhood.
Now
that I'm 28 I've abandoned some of this crap and can openly express
love for my present lover, not only to her but to my male friends as
well. I'm living and learning and treating people with respect, or at
least trying to. But sure, there's still some of that macho left in
me, even though I detest it. It still gives me pleasure on occasion
to get drunk with the boys and talk about blow jobs we have known.
And women do it too, don't say you don't. It makes for a better novel
to describe things from a self-centered, immature viewpoint. It gives
a chance for all of us to relate to that cheap part of ourselves we
all have but hate to admit. Besides, this novel is from the point of
view of that 21 year old, in his voice and experience.
Meanwhile,
back to the story.
So
sure, I'll admit it. I liked Mary Beth. Maybe even loved her. OK, I
loved her. Are you happy now? I even told her one time in the heat of
passion: “Mary Beth, I love your cunt!” Well, that was close to
saying it, right? Give me a break, will ya? Those are the hardest
three words to say, especially if you don't really mean it. But I did
mean it. Or did I? I don't really know, so I guess I really did.
That's love, isn't it? When you temporarily don't know your ass from
a hole in the ground. Isn't it?
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