Posts Tagged ‘Norman’
Josephine: Introspection
Posted on: March 6, 2009
Josephine (Addendum #6 of auto-biography)
Twenty Kitties around Josephine (Nov. 2002)
I met Josephine at the Zanzibar, a dancing night club; a club in a hole of a University town. I’m told the town has expanded so much it is almost a city. This is the fate of any town, close to a major city, Oklahoma City. That was about 1988.
She was with a couple of her girlfriends; and like them, in their late thirties’ or mid-forty’s. Josephine was pretty, skinny with reddish long, long hair. She was looking surreptitiously at me and I invited her to dance. We danced a lot and crazily. The slow dances turned much slower, tight and erotic.
We had a date the next day. Josephine came a little late as it should be. She parked her old, heavy, noisy and yellow American car in front of my apartment complex.
It was my friends’ apartment; one from Tunisia and the other from Morocco. They were on an extended vacation trip.
Josephine had had her hair cut short “a la garcon” in the morning, a major let down. I didn’t even express my displeasure or mentioned her new hair style. She was wearing a short, a very white short, and thongs. Her legs were very skinny and her skin was English white/bluish, and pink around the knees.
I felt a surge of shame: A lady her age should have a moderate sense of modesty: People might rightly assume a money transaction in that visit, which was not.
Josephine inspected the premise quickly and indicated a room of her liking.
I objected lamely that my friend would have objected and she did not insist.
We went to the living room and she took off her scant cloths. Then, we threw pillows on the gray carpet for bed. Abruptly, Josephine proposed the back intercourse, the shit hole. I recovered my senses reasoning that there is always a first after all.
She leaned over a sofa. I enjoyed the view of her smooth, round and pink behind.
That part of hers looked in its twenties in that posture. In the meanwhile, I asked her if she is enjoying it. “Not really, it is as if I need to shit” she said. A serious inquiry was appropriate since she proposed this position. I refrained at the last second to reply, feeling quite sure, that Josephine had idiosyncrasies about Arabs’ preferences.
It was just an inner reflection, though I think it was my duty and a responsibility to expound on the topic and remove any misunderstanding.
We moved to our makeshift bed and resumed a long late foreplay. We were tender, affectionate and delicate. She proposed a joint and I admitted that a unique draw is enough for me. I was the wiser to inhaling only once since the performance was fantastic. I had another draw, much later, when the effect subsided. The third performance was even better.
By the by, from one finger I upgraded to my entire fist. Josephine kept a steady crescendo whine for a long time and I got scared. I stopped and asked her if she was feeling all right. That is how naïve and virgin I was in that field.
I recall the first time I smoked a joint. I was in a convertible Alfa Romeo with two Lebanese guys. We were heading toward the lake on a summer full moon night.
My friends were having a great time, speeding and listening to “Leila”, a guitar song played by Eric Clapton. They laughed a lot while I had a hell of problems keeping the lids of my red eyes open.
I twice experienced smoking a joint in groups, never alone, just “to train my endurance” for a better fit among smokers. Once, my friends had to leave without me to see a movie and dance. When they returned 4 hours later, I was still lying on the sofa, my eyes closed shut, listening to music, trying to differentiate the timbers among the different musical instruments knowing full well that my ignorance in formal music is nil.
The third instance was in a park, close by my apartment. I was enjoying an afternoon open concert in a beautiful summer day. I woke up and the park was empty and dark already. I walked my bike home.
Once, I visited a gorgeous girl at her apartment. She used to dance nude at a bar 10 years ago. She asked me if I smoked joints. I was candid and told her that I can withstand only one puff. We had no further dates.
Josephine finished off the joint in a delicious rapture. I discovered the positive side effects of taking one draw: I felt myself a regenerated stud to the satisfying appreciation of Josephine. We had another go at love and I bathed in her glowing face and younger smile. I understood then the saying: “Love makes young”.
She had finished a second joint and I inhaled one puff. I inserted a finger, then a second, then a third. As I said previously, Josephine was moaning softly and continuously. When my entire tiny hand was in her, her moaning rose to an additional octave for a long time and I got scared. I asked her whether she was all right. She opened her eyes as from a long dream. I felt stupid and regretted cutting short whatever she was experiencing. I also regretted the deficiencies of males in that pleasurable sport.
Josephine told me that she is keeping two dozens of cats in her home. She had a name for every cat. She is well versed on the psychological character and behavior of every single cat of hers. I felt curious and asked her when I can visit her. She categorically denied me any visit and I felt totally relieved.
I intended not to tell my friends about this visit to the apartment. But the Moroccan guy found out from a girl friend of his. He was pissed off. I exacerbated the situation by gloating that we tried every corner of the apartment, including his bed. My Moroccan friend avoided me then for months. He did not feel handicapped about pissing in the lavatory. I didn’t mind: I believe they had started treating waste water in the USA.
Josephine introduced me to her married son at Zanzibar. It was a planned surprise! Her son behaved properly and shook my hand.
Josephine invited me to her girlfriends’ house too. She was fluttering around the place chatting and singing. Josephine was displaying her beau. She sat on my laps, hugged me and kissed me all the while. I felt intimidated and absolutely awkward. I sat stiff and stoic. I could not join the group in their intimate relationships. I felt that I was a certified self-centered ignoramus.
I was amid lively butterflies, though older and oversized. I am sorry that I failed befriending these ladies, real ones for a change.
By then, I had moved with an elder woman who thought that she is still young: Her son wanted me to sleep there for security and for emergency reasons. I had just a room; the woman didn’t entitle to share the kitchen. I had spent a night at a dancing bar with Josephine and she gave me ride at 4 a.m. Josephine was drunk; I was not: I could not afford to get drunk. Josephine wanted to spend the night with me in my room. I told her that it was not appropriate and that the elder woman would not appreciate extraneous activities in her home. That is how stupid I was and for a long time.
Josephine moved with a black man, a handsome, friendly addict and a drug pusher. He lived at her home with the kitties around. Marvin ended up in prison and Josephine had to bail him out. Josephine was alcoholic but she was fighting courageously for her rights to have the most pleasures in this lifetime.
Josephine won an even bigger battle: Josephine learned not to discriminate against origins, races or colors.
Something about the period after my PhD in the USA
In the wilderness
After I earned my PhD in 1991, I loitered for another 10 years throughout the USA, not working in my field or in any teaching jobs: I was disheartened and frustrated and refused to think about any plans for the future.
It must have been a case of acute depression not recognized by me, and no one to count on for friendship. I just survived and I still didn’t tend efficiently to all these scars.
All in all, I lived and studied and worked in the USA for 20 years and returned definitely to Lebanon without even applying to a residence status though I enjoyed continuous work permits for many years.
After my formal graduation in May 1991 with a PhD in industrial engineering (in the field of Human Factors) I was almost totally broke and the university town of Norman in summer-time was completely boring and I suffocated in this “hole” after over six years and barely leaving it. The University was closed for part of the summer and I had no idea how to spend my time in this town that swallowed the best of my adulthood.
There was just this corner on the north side of campus with a few bars and Walter Mitty, the nude institution; I used occasionally to go there with Boubkeur during happy hours, between 1 to 5 p.m. and order a pitcher of draft beer at the hottest period of the day and when the girls were not asked to get frantic with their boobs and buttocks.
In one of the few bars, a clone singer of Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia used to play almost every night; this singer and guitarist was a carbon copy of late Garcia in appearance, attire, and style. There was this coffee shop that served all kinds of Starbucks varieties and we would meet there most of the time and patronize it anywhere it transferred shops around corners.
I met there Suzanne in Starbucks; she was a tall, beautiful girl with long blonde hair. Suzanne was the girlfriend in the last two months of a Lebanese PhD graduate in structural engineering from the University of Stillwater. At my graduation and her graduation in Law, Suzanne invited me to her adoptive parents’ home; her friends took several pictures in my graduation gown.
I had bought my advisor’s old car three months ago; then the cold weather did not help. The car needed tires and I preferred to give it away to my landlord instead of sinking in dear money on a car that I had no confidence in its proper functioning, even in the near term. Kirby, my landlord, could not believe my giving away a car and made me sign a paper to that effect, maybe for tax purposes.
This landlord was a good man, straight and kind to me; I paid around $100 for the whole ground flat. Kirby refurbished the upper floor to accommodate two apartments that rented $200 per month each.
Kirby married Rebecca; a half blooded American Indian, who was my previous landlord from whom I rented a room in the upper floor. Kirby was in the business of purchasing properties on foreclosures and then repaired them with his own hands.
I recall a Christmas Eve when my flat got flooded and the electricity went out and Kirby came and repaired what was needed and then brought the vacuum cleaner the next day to suck out the moisture and dry the shaggy carpet.
I spent a terrible cold night, alone amid the smell of humidity.
Adonis Diaries 