Collapsing Through The Wetlands – Chapter Twelve

Ah, Helen, I missed you. Picking up this chapter was like coming home. Or maybe not home, because this book is fucked, more like going to a cottage that you’ve been to a few times so it’s cozy but not necessarily homey. This metaphor is going off the rails. Anyway. I was happy to be back in Helen Memel’s head. It’s a clusterfuck of beautiful grossness in there.

I once had a really old lover. I love to say “lover.” It sounds so old-fashioned. Better than “fucker.”

True. People don’t often use the term ‘lover’ anymore. Usually fuck buddy or FWB or something. I kind of like ‘fucker’, though, that should be a thing.

Helen talks about how this guy showed her all kinds of things about sex, so that she would be super experienced, for whatever reason. Then she drops this gem of wisdom:

[…] you should always stick your finger up a guy’s ass during sex. Makes him come harder. So far I can certainly concur. It’s always a hit. They go wild. But you shouldn’t discuss it with them beforehand or after. Otherwise they’ll worry they’re gay and get all uptight.

I don’t know why this made me laugh so hard, but it did. Also, kids, don’t go just willy nilly sticking your finger up dude’s asses without saying anything. I can’t imagine that is something that they really want as a surprise.

Can't quite tell if this is unpleasant or pleasantly surprised.

Can’t quite tell if this is unpleasantly or pleasantly surprised.

Helen talks about how she watched a ton of porn with this guy, and it was through that that she saw a black woman’s vagina for the first time.

That’s something. Because they have dark skin, the interior colors of the pussy really pop when it’s spread open. Much more than white women, where the contrast isn’t as extreme. Something to do with complementary colors, I think. […] Brown skin complements pussy-pink.

The new crayola colour, pussy pink!

Helen says that this beautiful colouring impressed her so much that she started putting makeup on her bits before going out on sex dates.

I use standard makeup that you’d normally put on your face. I have yet to find pussy makeup at the drugstore. A gap in the market.

LOL. The sad thing is, this would probably sell like crazy. And not just in Germany, either.

She describes in detail exactly how she rubs different makeup on and inside herself, including but not limited to her actual asshole (which she refers to as her ‘rosette’). Now I’m wondering if shoving lipstick up your ass causes hemorrhoids.

It makes the pussy and rosette more dramatic, deeper, more beguiling.

Your pussy beguiles me.

Your pussy beguiles me.

Also, as a dude, would you not be a little freaked out when your dick came out covered in purple and blue makeup? Because yeah, that would rub around everywhere. The sweat would be all tinted weird colours… yeah there is just nothing attractive about that.

Helen goes on to talk about how she could only see black pussy in porn or if she went to a hooker, because there weren’t any black women around willing to have sex with her all the time. Because every woman should just be available for Helen to inspect their genitals all the time.

She talks about this bad experience she had with a white hooker, where she was so excited for this redhead’s tits but when she got undressed she was disappointed by her flat nipples.

It’s as if someone has pushed the nipple back into the breast and it stayed there, cowering in fear. Like a little collapsed souffle.

Pictured: Sad Nipples. Now I want souflee. Thanks, Helen.

Pictured: Sad Nipples.

Now I really want souffle. Thanks, Helen.

She says that some of the hookers told her that men who weren’t happy when their lady got naked would come out and demand a different one without paying. I give Helen major brownie points here, because she says that she wouldn’t have the heart to tell the hooker to her face that she didn’t look good. For all her faults, Helen cares about other people’s feelings. It’s refreshing.

Then she goes on to say that this hooker was lazy, and Helen had to grind herself on her knee to come. The hooker asks if Helen has ever had anal sex, and then proceeds to ask her what it was like.

What? Who’s the hooker here? I decide that as a young client it’s not my job to explain anal sex to a hooker. I leave. But I pay. I did come, after all, even if the collapsed souffles were no help at all. It was simple mechanics.

So Helen pays for her orgasm and reflects on how even though the hookers are older than her and have sex for a living, they’re not always more experienced than her. She doesn’t understand why a lot of hookers say no anal. She wonders if maybe there are a lot of clients that don’t properly prepare before anal, and then it hurts too much. She talks about how she likes to take plenty of time to stretch out her own asshole before anal, or at least be really drunk.

Overall it was a bad experience with the redhead. […] she’s lazy in bed, has no hair – anywhere, like an alien – eats goldfish and has never had anything up her ass. And her nipples don’t stick out.

Helen decides to stare out the window in the hospital and ponder nature for a while, which is a nice change of pace.

Her thoughts stray to how much her dad knows about nature and the outdoors, and how she seems to remember his facts and lessons better than her mother’s. She reflects on how her mother hates the natural world, and fights against it.

 There seems to be nothing my mother isn’t bothered by. She once told me that sex with my father caused her pain. That his penis was too big for her insides. This is not information i wanted to know.

Does anyone want to know that about their parents? Gee, I wonder why your kid is so fucked up.

Boredom is creeping back.

Mom always says, “Boring people are bored.”

Oh well. She also says, “We aren’t put on this earth to be happy.”

Not your kids, anyway, mom.

What a fucked up life.

Helen decides to focus on the trees outside again instead of thinking about her parents’ sex life, which is probably a good idea. She notices a staghorn sumac tree, which her father has taught her to be afraid of because their not native to the area and they grow so fast that they don’t build a sturdy base for themselves.

This scares Helen. But masturbating with a razor handle is okay.

This scares Helen. But masturbating with a razor handle is okay.

I always walk a wide arc around staghorn sumac trees. I wouldn’t want one of them to become the epitaph on my gravestone.

I feel like that tree probably couldn’t kill a person. But that’s just me. This whole passage seems like it’s more for showing how religiously Helen listens to her father.

Unfortunately, not everyone has a father like mine who can teach them such useful things.

She talks about how the branches and leaves get so big and wide so fast that they kill everything underneath them by blocking the sun. I’m wondering if this is an allegory to Helen’s relationship with her parents. Her and her father are afraid of these trees that block the sun and kill everything below it’s overbearing branches, aka: her mother.

The chapter ends with her speculating about how the trunk is smooth and would feel nice if one were brave enough to walk underneath to touch it.

Til next time.



Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s