The creature inside the
zipper is like one of Spielberg's pocket demons, tyrannizing and
mesmerizing the fully-grown man. It has the power to transform the nice
guy into the satyr. The satyr, if you remember your Greek mythology,
was an ugly, inhuman god who lived in wild places. A single minded
predator always in hot pursuit of one nymph or another....The satyr is
always in there, lurking. He likes to interrupt inappropriately, like a
Touretter at a dinner with the Queen of England. It may happen in an
elevator or on the subway or at a crowded party, a sudden overheated
urge to kiss the neck of the lissome stranger standing in front of me.
I try not to be a control
freak about these natural urges. Instead I'm learning to be rational
about sex. I remind myself that it's just an encoded appetite like
hunger, only sex is "on" all the time, and is more or less insatiable.
It's funny to catch it running away with you, to coolly see yourself
starting to lose
your head when some girl in a wrap skirt crosses her legs so the skirt
falls away to above mid thigh as her eyes demurely lower from your
gaze. It's interesting to talk back to the satyr at that point, to say
there you are again, I know you. Ha ha.