Читать книгу ALCHEMIES OF THE HEART - David Dorian - Страница 20

Teen Angel

If I had caressed Marge DiAngelo’s breasts that evening, my life would have been altered forever. While waiting in line outside the Forest Hills movie theater featuring shorts of Charlie Chaplin, she had deliberately struck up a conversation. During the film, she had put her arm on the armrest. The imagined scent of her nipples preoccupied me more than the spastic gestures of that English comic. Hold her hand! I kept saying to myself. It was a defining moment, trivial, distorted, grotesque. The afternoon ended in a terrible emptiness. It could be summed up in a single word: dread.

At the age of fifteen, progesterone and estrogen, secreted by the ovaries, produce pads of fatty tissue around the breast and buttocks. Samantha Waters’s face was exceptional. When I saw her the first time making an entrance in my chemistry class in the hallway, I felt violent contractions in my lower abdomen. Sexual frustration manifests itself as intense tightening of the abdominal area as sperm backs up.

At the age of fifteen, she had not noticed that silence reigned when she entered in a public place: classroom, café, bookstore, library. Like everyone else, I revered her, from a distance. Idolatry is a religion. Teenagers are pagans. They’ve not been converted yet to the cult of compassion. Because of her beauty, she was deemed unapproachable. Everybody felt she was out of their league. Good guys didn’t have the guts to ask her out. They couldn’t imagine they could ever get near her breasts. The low-life elements in school hit on her.

Great beauty seems invariably to foreshadow some tragic fate. She lost her virginity to a meth addict who wasn’t intimidated by her unearthly beauty. I couldn’t explain why Dante’s Beatrice would suck a gnome’s cock? Didn’t Venus marry that ugly god of war, Mars? As a future medical student curious about the behavior of organs, I learned that the shaft of the clitoris is covered by Krause’s corpuscles rich in nerve endings. When touched, they send signals to the brain which releases endorphins.

It isn’t the first time a classy woman fell for a simian. There’s nothing more archaic and pathetic than a teenage boy with a perennial hard-on. I’ve read in some book on the psychopathology of seduction that ancillary affairs have an erotic component. It’s the eternal theme of the beauty and the beast.

Samantha Waters’s association with Antonio Lope de Vega spelled doom for this angel of light. It was a first step in an irrevocable decline. Her boyfriend sent her on errands to his clients. She was bartered for drugs. And then one day, she stopped coming to school. The principal told the kids in the assembly hall that she had vanished. Agents came to interrogate her friends in school.

I remember, after the disappearance of Samantha, I became addicted to serial-killers novels and movies. The perpetrators were all psychotic, autistic, mentally deranged boys who couldn’t get laid. I studied the high school and college homicidal maniacs who went on a rampage on campuses all over the country. I collected and cataloged mountains of data. What became apparent and was lost on all the state forensic psychologists, reporters, journalists, radio and TV commentators was that those kids were horny adolescents who couldn’t get laid. The sexual frustration was so piercing, the orgastic blockage so oppressive that they detonated in the only way they could, through a different kind of sublimated discharge. They disburdened themselves, unloaded their repressed lust through the barrels of handguns. They experienced the euphoria and hysteria, the spasms, their body racked by the coital recoil of a fired Glock.