This week, instead of a guest post, I thought I’d share a project in which I participated some years ago. The website is now defunct, unfortunately, but it was a really cool idea. People were invited to submit stories which they related to a certain song. The website was Jams Bio, and while you read the story online the song played in the background. I was actually requested to record this story for the website, which I did. This was the first record I ever owned.
This, and other stories I wrote for Jams Bio, appear in the collection Musical Chairs-A Jamming Bio.
The Goddess of Love
I will always remember the day I found out how men and women have sex.
The funky beat of The Shocking Blue screaming about Venus and the Goddess punctuates my stepsister’s attempt to educate me about the physical act of lovemaking.
“Are you kidding? People really do that?” The Goddess on a mountain top, was burning like a silver flame…
She nods. “See, the boy gets like this. Then, he tries that.” The summit of Beauty in love, and Venus was her name…
I’m puzzled. I’m more than puzzled, actually, I’m morbidly curious and a little bit grossed out, if you want to know the truth.
“It feels good.” She’s got it. Yeah, baby, she’s got it.
“How do you know?” At sixteen, she’s the Goddess of All Knowledge, for me. Every word is Gospel, every pronouncement The Word as I knew it. We sit at the kitchen table in the dingy apartment on Clark Street, windows open to the hot air of summertime. Sissy draws crude figures on my notebook cover; I would study these later, like Egyptian hieroglyphics.
“I just know. Pay attention.” She taps the pencil in the notebook. The 45 spins on the turntable, and The Shocking Blue continues their hymn to the Goddess of Desire. My foot taps in rhythm. I feel the beat in my blood. Sissy’s pencil keeps time.
She drones on, pointing to this part of the picture and that part; I’m singing with the band and imagining a stage, a sparkly dress, a microphone. I’m your Venus, I’m your fire, at your desire…
The music swirls and jives, and I can’t take it anymore. Jumping up, I dance around the kitchen and Sissy laughs. I pull her up and make her dance with me. We shimmy and shake until we’re breathless with exertion and laughter.
Collapsing on the kitchen chair and gasping for air, I say, “Play it again!” and Sissy laughs.
The phone rings and Sissy curls up on the couch to discuss with her best friend how difficult it is to teach a little sister about sex. I ignore the snide remarks and snickering, replacing Venus on the turntable and study the pictures.