Adam Thirlwell - Politics

Oh Moshe. Moshe was scared. He was a grown-up. He was unable to cope with events.

5

Then, the next morning, guiltily, Nana was having sex with Moshe.

In case you have not understood, I want to make this clear. This is not their sex life. That is not what you are reading about. You are reading about their feelings. You are reading about their ethics.

As for Moshe, grown-up Moshe was not feeling guilty. He was just on top. He was making Nana’s vagina belch and squelch as he altered, like a pro, the dippy angle. But this was not Moshe’s ideal position. No, he wanted another position. He wanted his favourite thing. And what was Moshe’s favourite thing? Wait, wait, I am going to tell you. His favourite thing was for Nana’s legs to be bent backwards along her chest, her knees resting on her collarbones.

However, Moshe’s favoured position was not, this morning, Nana’s favourite thing. This morning was not a morning, thought Nana, for such prosaic acrobatics. No. She was feeling altruistic and remorseful. She was going to do something special for Moshe. She was going to do a thing she had always thought about. And Moshe always asked her to think about what she liked. She was going to lie there and be naughty.

Naughty equalled pissing.

She needed to go, said Nana, and she really did not know if she should go. Should she go? It was just she did not know if she could wait. She did not know if she could wait until a toilet.

Her name for this innovation was rudies. At this specialised moment, she said, ‘Can I do rudies?’ It seemed that Nana had blossomed out, that morning, into a boyish girl with toddler instincts. And instincts are uncontrollable, everyone knows that. Nana said, ‘Uwanna go. Uv gotta go.’ She said it to Moshe with her closed eyes and tight neck. She said, ‘Please can I go.’

This was her treat. This was her apology.

Nana had been unfaithful. And infidelity makes everyone at least momentarily remorseful. But Nana felt additionally guilty, because she did not even have the ordinary excuse for infidelity — a tragically high sex drive. Nana was not highly sexed. She knew that, if she was going to get into sex, she could at least have got into it with Moshe. So Nana was doubly remorseful. That was why she decided to explore the sexiness of pissing. She was being altruistic.

I have to say, if this is altruistic, there are good things in altruistic. If only more people were altruistic, they might find their lives were more complicated. They might find their sexual repertoire piquantly extended.

Moshe said, ‘Bu bu, Nana.’

Quite frankly, he was surprised.

I am not sure what the general attitude to pissing is. I do not know how most people view pissing as a sexual manoeuvre. Presumably, some people are not turned on by it. I assume that this group of people do not use visions of rustling entwined strands of clear and yellow streams as a masturbatory aid.

For other people, it is a gorgeous luxury. It is part of the whole sexual triumph. For these people, it is a delicious moment of abandonment, calling for the purchase of a rubber mattress protector, from Mothercare perhaps, or Asda.

As for reading about pissing during sex, each of these groups will have corresponding ideas about literary decorum. They will each find things to criticise in my description of Nana’s exploration. They will experience problems of identification. Either it will be too explicit, or it will not be explicit enough. I know that. But I am not interested in that kind of reading. I am not interested in readers who want to identify with Moshe and Nana. I am interested in readers getting this right. I want them especially to get Moshe’s position right.

Moshe’s position, you see, was neither pro nor con. He was persuadable, that was Moshe’s position.

At first, Moshe thought that pissing was just not his thing. He stopped moving and looked at her. But Nana would not let him be unsure. She was enjoying herself. She said, ‘I don’t think I can hold on.’

Yes, Nana wanted this.

There is a phenomenon perhaps underplayed by the propagandists for particular sexual practices. These propagandists believe that each particular sexual act needs to be longed for by each sexual participant. According to the propagandists, therefore, you cannot be a dilettante of anal fisting. You have to be committed. But as for me, I do not think this is true. If you do not share someone’s sexual fantasy, there is a range of feelings available to you. Someone else’s sexual fantasy can, of course, seem bizarre and disgusting. It is also true that it can simply seem boring. But another reaction is also just as common.

It is a turn on, when someone else is turned on.

It was a turn on for Moshe, when Nana was turned on. Just for that morning, pissing was Moshe’s dream come true.

She had told him that she could not hold on. So Moshe said, ‘You will have to hold on. You will absolutely have to hold on. I am not letting you soil this bed.’

He meant what he said. He was good at this fantasy. Moshe did not want Nana to piss in his bed, not entirely. This was because he had never bought a mattress protector. He had bought an expensive Dunlopillo mattress, but no mattress protector. So he was not absolutely keen on a naked Nana wetting herself.

Nana wailed. She wailed, ‘Bu I can’t. I can’t.’ And Moshe was more and more stern. He said, ‘If you go, I will be very angry.’ And Nana quavered, ‘Oh, oh.’ She seemed docile. He said, ‘If you go I will be very upset with you.’ And Nana did not want Moshe to be upset with her, but she was curious what he might resort to if displeased.

Underneath him, Nana was now wanking. Moshe could feel the back of her hand tight rubbing against his belly.

He said, ‘If you go, if you go without permission, then I will have to punish you.’ She said, ‘Punish me?’ He said, ‘Punish you.’ She said, ‘Mmm.’

Moshe put his left-hand palm on Nana’s furry pubic mound. And Nana’s eyes were shut. She was breathing, she was wheezing from her nose. She turned her head from side to side. He looked up at her. Her eyes were shut, her mouth was shut.

Then Moshe’s palm was wet.

Nana had been naughty. She had been oh so cleverly naughty. The webbing between Moshe’s fingers was stinging and wet. Nana pushed his hand with her hand against her wet cunt. Nana was dribbling it out.

Moshe worried about the effect of urine on eczema. He did not think it could be soothing. And he had to think what to do with the sheet. It was not that he wanted to look brisk. It was just that the mattress had been expensive. Dunlopillo was no mean brand. He wanted to whisk the sheet into the washing machine. He was especially worried because this was the morning. As every good undinist knows, piss in the morning is much much stronger than piss in the evening.

Nana opened her innocent eyes and looked at him. ‘You disgust me,’ said Moshe. Nana giggled.

7

This reminds me.

There is a short novel called Therese the Philosopher. It was the Marquis de Sade’s favourite novel. It was published around 1750. No one knows exactly who wrote it. The novel is narrated by Therese. One episode describes how she watched Mlle Eradice uncovering her buttocks to receive the discipline of her priest, Father Dirrag. First the priest whips her with a bundle of birch rods. Then he tells her that he is going to mortify her with the true ‘cord of St Francis’. The true cord of St Francis is his penis. She does not know it is his penis. Having thought about penetrating her anus, the priest in the end decides just to make love to Mlle Eradice from behind.

This is a quotation from Therese the Philosopher.