grubby fantasy paws

I was watching Louis C.K. on Netflix the other day when he had Parker Posey on as the love interest. She was the cutesie shop girl, helping him find a book for a made-up reason so he could talk to her.

When he finally works up the guts to ask her out, he goes on a long cute/awkward monologue about how it must be hard to be a cute girl in the city, because you just want to do your job and help someone out, and then they end up asking you out, and you just wanted to be helpful.

It cuts (like the show is wont to do) to a clip of him doing stand-up, and he talks about how being a pretty girl in the world means that you have to be every guy’s walking cum fantasy. That as soon as a guy looks at you, you feel shot in the eye with cum. You walk down the street, and have buckets of cum thrown at you.

Now, granted, this is hyperbole and intended for comedic effect, but. C’est vrai, non?

You know I’ve been working on how to walk authentically – how to carry myself authentically in the world, without feeling usurped by other people’s impressions and thoughts about me, particularly about my appearance, and therefore without hiding myself, internally or externally.

I’ve written about how when I notice you noticing me, I stand a little straighter, walk a little more precisely, and also stop breathing. I withdraw a part, an authentic part, of myself when I know you’re watching.

How, then, be an actor, eh?

And they’re related, but we’re talking more about beauty here, because one hopes that people see more than visage while I’m in performance. And that I offer more than visage, too.

But I was chiding myself, or simply noticing with intention to “change it,” that I withdraw, or protect a part of myself when I notice you noticing. I thought that if put up a shield around myself when I notice leers or glances or lolling tongues, that I was doing something inauthentic, that I was hiding myself, which is what I’m attempting not to do in this lifetime.

But, then I heard Louis C.K.’s joke, and I thought, Not everyone’s thoughts are benevolent. Not everyone who looks is looking with kindness. And I don’t want to be a target for cum-buckets.

So, in effect, I do have to put up some kind of armor or protection (or, erm, prophylactic) in the world of men. Sorry, guys. But, I can’t expose the all of me, because that lays it out to be perverted, literally. There is some kind of a way that I need to be able to walk with a bit of a buffer between me and you so that I don’t get thrown by all the lustful thoughts. 

And, perhaps, you think I’m conceited and self-centered and believe I’m hot shit. But, a) if you read this for any period of time, you know that’s not true, and b) so what. I know that I am not the most hideous thing to walk the planet, and I know I garner unwanted attention that is purely physical.

This weekend at the call-back (for the role I didn’t get; c’est la vie), the practice was over, and I was walking to the play house’s kitchen to throw away my tea. One of the men who’d been auditioning was milling around the entrance to the kitchen. He said he needed to use the bathroom which was why he was in that section of the house, but he never actually went. He made small talk, and then asked if he could give me his number.

Automatically, since I assume people are being benevolent and kind human beings, I said yeah, sure. And then he tried to get me to remember his phone number, to recite it, and when that was obviously not working, and I’d realized enough that this was an “advancement,” I made no significant effort to get a piece of paper or take out my phone, and the whole thing just faded and I said, maybe I’d see you at rehearsal sometime.

I want to be a person engaged in the world. I want to be authentic, and show up, and be present. And I don’t want your grubby fantasy paws on me, either.

Trust me: if I want your cum on me, I’ll ask for it.