“Do you think women feel humiliated by the act of penetration?” ~
This was all long ago in NYC. My friend Jill called to say her Boss wanted to interview me for his ‘book’. “No way!” I said. I already knew about this book as Jill had been whining about it for months.
“Please!” Jill mewled and whined until I buckled. Unenthusiastically I dragged off to a glass tower overlooking the Hudson River, to a spare affair on a high floor in dark leather and chrome. In an armchair by the window reclined a lanky aging fop in business attire, with a foulard of canary silk to compliment his canary socks. I disliked him on sight.
The Boss pointed to the empty seat across from him as he leaned languidly forward and fingered a small device on the glass table dividing us. “I’m going to tape our interview,” he said, by way of introduction, and he thumbed a red button, pressing until it hummed. The interview began with banal questions, mere prelude. After a few minutes of inanities the Boss presented his frightful question, “Do you think women feel humiliated by the act of penetration?”
I pursed my mouth. I was instantly enraged. I felt certain this was ‘off topic’ on a sinister level. And it sunk in this ‘book’ was strictly a vanity project, the purpose of which was a means for him to meet whomever he liked. A distinct glitter sparkled in his night dark eyes, like perhaps he was excited to get at the information.
“Am I embarrassing you?” he said, inappropriately coy. I pictured smacking the contempt from his face, knocking him and his hubris to the Persian carpeted floor. To mask my fury I watched the little machine on the table, with its tiny tape rolling around, capturing nothing.
“Embarrassed?” I spat up an involuntary chuckle. I sat straight, at the lip of my chair, and stared into his face and felt a sense of serenity came over me. “Tell me,” I began, in a steady tone, a smirk already on my face. “If a girl strapped on a dildo and fucked you up the ass would you feel humiliated?”
We stared at each other for a microsecond and then the Boss stood up bellowing, “Are you insane! Are you crazy!” He grabbed at the recording device and smashed it in the palm of his meaty hands. Bits flew.
I gathered my coat and stood up. “Good luck with your book!” I giggled, and exited, leaving his office door wide open behind me.