"You prefer to be on the bottom?" I ask her

by Eric Disco
Mar 6

On the wall in front of us, projected 20 feet high, is a video of a guy holding his penis.

He’s playing his balls like he’s strumming an electric guitar.

I’m at an art gallery opening with Lee.

We’re standing in a room with an installation piece projecting full-frontal male nudity.

On the other side of the room, I notice a very cute girl. She’s artsy and dressed to the nines.

I walk away from Lee and go over and stand next to her, looking at the projection.

“We’re relying on you to explain the meaning of this to us,” I say to her.

“I got nothing,” she says with a smile.

“What? You look like the expert.”

She laughs. “I have no idea what’s going on there.”

I look at her. “You have no penis… guitar playing experience? ” I look back up at the video.

“Not my specialty. I’ve never done that.”


“No. Have you?”

“Hey,” I say, “what guy hasn’t strummed out a few power chords on his penis?”

She laughs again.

“So I take it this isn’t your piece here?” I ask.

“Oh no. I don’t have any pieces here.”

“You’re just observing?”

She tells me that she’s here supporting her friend. She tells me a bit about how she knows her friend.

“You strike me as an artist as well,” I say. “Wait, don’t tell me what you do, I’m gonna guess. I’m really good at this.” I look her up and down.

“Lemme see your hand,” I say. She gives me her hand.

I hold her hand and say, “Send me some psychic waves.”

She closes her eyes.

“Nothing dirty,” I say. “Keep it clean.”

I let go of her hand. She still has her hand out. “Okay, you can put your hand down now,” I say.

“I was still sending you waves,” she says.

“Oh yeah? It’s a very complex thing that you do. You’re a dolphin trainer.”

“I wish,” she says. “I do scuba diving, so maybe that was the vibe you were getting.”

“You’re a fashion designer,” I say.

“I was.”

“And now you’re done with that,” I say.

She tells me she designs prints for textiles. And that she’s going to be a yoga instructor.

“You didn’t pick up on the yoga, did you?” she says.

“It was the glittery shoes that threw me off,” I say. “You teach?”

“I teach my first class on Monday,” she says, beaming a smile.

“Are you excited?” I say.

“I’m really pumped.”

“You’ve never taught a class before?”


“Are you nervous?”

“I was nervous last week.”

“Now you’re done, you’re over the nervousness?” I ask.

We talk a bit more about yoga. It’s time to turn the conversation to me.

“So guess what I do,” I tell her.

Eventually I tell her I’m a writer.

“What do you write about?” she asks. They always ask.

“I like to tell stories-but true stories. Stories about my life. I feel like very few people can tell a good story. When one person tells another person a good story, it’s like their brains are having sex.”

“So the person telling the story is on top and the other person on the bottom is listening…” she says going with the sex analogy.


“I get that,” she say.

“Are you good at telling stories?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” she says.

“Or you prefer to be on the bottom,” I say.

“I prefer both. Switching it up,” she says.

“You got a good story?” I ask.

“I don’t.”

“What if I gave you a topic?”

“Maybe..” she says.

“I’m not gonna say penis guitar-playing, because that would be too easy.”

From there, the interaction winds down. We exchange contact info and she contacts me later that night.


posted in Field Reports

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