Cet après-midi dans mon cours de creative writing, il s’est passé un truc bizarre.
Le cours se déroule de la manière suivante : nous devons écrire, pour chaque séance, un petit texte de fiction, histoire de se délier les doigts.
Règle du jeu pour celui d’aujourd’hui: un texte court qui suivait le schéma « Ce que tout le monde sait de X / Ce que moi je sais de X ».
Après que j’ai eu fini de lire le mien, il y a eu un silence vaguement gêné puis tout le monde a éclaté de rire.
Je sais pas trop quoi en penser. J’y avais pas tellement réfléchi en l’écrivant mais ça a dû faire un peu bizarre mon histoire de play-boy qui simule ses orgasmes et qui va cacher ses capotes vides aux toilettes. Peut-être qu’on parle pas de sexe en classe, même quand c’est supposé être un atelier créatif? Peut-être que c’était mon accent? Le prof, me voyant rougir, a juste dit « don’t be shy, don’t be shy », et il avait son petit sourire en coin indéchiffrable (je vais le prendre en photo vous verrez).
L’histoire est là:
What everyone knows about him is that he’s a player. He admits he loves women. He walks confidently and looks healthy. He is well-read and has a sure taste in wine. His friends say he can get whomever he wants. He understands how to play the game. He knows how to make compliments on the flattering color of a lipstick. When he touches women’s shoulders and backs, they don’t protest.
Men respect and envy him. Women are puzzled, both attracted and defiant. They want him and they swear they will never surrender. He doesn’t pride himself on his conquests, but he is happy to give advice when asked. His friends listen carefully to what he has to teach them – sexual tricks in particular. They know he drives women mad with pleasure and they want to be the same – it’s a power-thing.
What I know about him is that he doesn’t enjoy sex. He can hardly come. Whenever he is in a woman, he looks at the white wall in front of his bed and he fights to stay excited. He applies himself, though. He plays all the tricks he had explained to his friends – n° 52 (put your fingers there while holding her back and pushing lightly towards her stomach.) He concentrates on her gorgeous breast, her smell, the way she arches her back and opens her mouth. He thinks about how good it felt to take her out of the bar, in front of all their friends.
But soon, random images start running into his head: a greasy microwave, a grandmother knitting, an empty chair, the grocery’s list, smelly socks. He battles painfully against his own imagination and tries to live in the moment. After long minutes of this unpleasant comedy, he gives it up.
He squirms and gasps and grimaces and lays still a few seconds, so she thinks he came. Then he runs to the bathroom and flushes the empty condom in the toilet.
He calls a taxi for his date and says it was great.
And then he falls asleep reading comics.