34- Unfaithful Wife
Ah, the vice of words... Once they have escaped from the mouth, we cannot retrieve them. And be careful with the written word as well, the cause of countless tragedies that could have been avoided with a minimum of prudence. I know the case of an unfaithful wife who, on a trip, wrote two love letters - one for her husband and another for her lover. In the last-minute rush, she confused the envelopes, and the letters arrived switched. While she was away, the necessary measures were taken, and when she returned, she had lost her family and her husband, the only true love of her life; the other was merely a Thursday noon diversion. The scandal was so great that, unintentionally, she ended up marrying the lover just to silence the rumors. She spent the last thirty years of her life regretting it.
At the brutal hour of a love encounter, the same words that, when used at any other time, seem rude, have the effect of daring caresses. It's all in the murmuring. Language describes, suggests, excites; words have the effect of enchantment. In erotic literature, whose purpose is to enflame the blood and arouse desires, euphemisms are allowed but not shyness. Our consumer society offers exciting words through phone sex services. One of my neighbors, who weighs one hundred and ten kilos and has two grandchildren, makes a living from such a service. Her job consists of deciphering the fantasies of clients and, from the other side of the line, satisfying them with the audacity of her phrases. She specializes in pretending to be a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, a bold and curious virgin, with whom the client can discuss their most unmentionable whims.
In food, too, language is aphrodisiac; commenting on dishes, their flavors and perfumes is a sensual exercise for which we have a vast vocabulary, full of grace, metaphors, references, humor, wordplay, and subtleties. Why do we use it so little? The best pages of Henry Miller are not erotic, as it has been proclaimed, but about food. I suggested to my neighbor a variation of her profession: a telephone gluttony service that incorrigible gluttons, people on diets, bulimics, or anorexics could use. One calls and, instead of hearing the indecent moans of a twelve-year-old girl named Serena or Desiree, one receives a detailed description of a good lamb stew. The French, obsessed with the good life, do not talk about money or politics at the table, although they may do so in bed; they prefer to express opinions about dishes and wines or simply enjoy their meal in silence. In France, eating and making love are done leisurely, savoring both with religious gratitude. In the United States, on the other hand, the words snack and quickie were coined, practically untranslatable; the first to define the tendency to devour any bite standing, with the hand and at any time, and the second for rushed love. That nation still suffers from a certain teenage haste, but one cannot generalize. I have been told that the best lovers in the world are divorced North American Jews from New York. The mother obsession must serve some purpose...
It is not the same to peel a shrimp and swallow it without any ceremony, as it is to remove the shell with epicurean pleasure while commenting on its color, shape, delicate aroma, and even the crunching of the shell when nibbling on it.
A kiss should be sonorous. Its sound, light and prolonged, rises between the tongue and the moist edge of the palate, produced by the movement of the tongue in the mouth and the displacement of saliva caused by suction.
A kiss given on the surface of the lips and accompanied by a sound like the one we make to call a cat gives no pleasure. Such a kiss is fine for children or as a gesture to the hands. The kiss described earlier, which belongs to copulation, provokes a delightful voluptuousness. It is up to you to learn the difference.
- From "The Perfumed Garden", translated into English by Sir Richard Burton in 1886.
The description applies almost word-for-word to the pleasure of enjoying an aphrodisiac soup, let's say seafood soup, saturated with aromas and flavors of the sea. At a formal dinner, no one would serve this type of dish because it cannot be attacked with elegance and without noise, as European good manners require - not in other parts of the world where a timely burp is considered a grateful expression of contentment - but it is perfect for lovers in intimacy. That consacrated soup deserves the same enthusiastic sounds as the kisses of Sheikh Nefzawi in "The Perfumed Garden".
Music also contributes to making food a sensual experience, which is why the spectacle of those who sit at the table with the noise of a soccer match or bad news on television is abominable. In banquets of old, there were never any string quartets on a balcony animating the dinner with their melodies. Does erotic music really exist? This is a very subjective topic, discussed for centuries, but there are certain suggestive instruments and rhythms that invite love. The repertoire is vast, from certain Spanish compositions, with their unmistakable Arabic and Gypsy touch, their crescendos and grand finales that imitate the progression of the sensual encounter between two lovers and the final explosion of orgasm, to oriental music, with its abundance of moans and murmurs; jazz, which is caress and lament; Caribbean rhythms, romantic songs, and, for connoisseurs, even some opera arias. On one occasion, while listening to Plácido Domingo at the Metropolitan Opera House, a respectable matron, sitting next to me, emitted cooing sounds like a dove and writhed in such a way that another lover of bel canto made her be quiet.
The lady regained her composure for a few seconds, but when the celebrated tenor launched into a prolonged high note, she stiffened in her seat, her eyes rolled back, she began biting her hands, and let out brief cries of perdition, to the embarrassment of everyone present, including some members of the orchestra. The only one unaffected was Plácido Domingo, who continued with his never-ending high note until the lady in question was completely satisfied. The pleasure of music is very personal, and not everyone associates the same musical pieces with the same images or memories. I have often wondered what extraordinary pleasures were being reawakened in that lady's memory at the opera... perhaps an adventurous singing teacher? Frank Harris (1856-1931), in "My Life and Loves", details with the meticulous precision of a notary all the erotic encounters of his life, more than two thousand, he claims, although in this field, the exaggeration of those involved tends to take on hallucinatory proportions. Among his experiences, he tells one from his early adolescence when he took advantage of an organ teacher's carelessness to explore with a daring hand under his female classmate's skirts and discover, amazed, that above the edge of her stocking was a hot and soft region:
My curiosity was even stronger than desire, and I touched her sex all over, and I had the idea that it was like a fig.
Nothing very original; fruits and flowers are the most commonly used metaphors in erotic literature throughout history to describe those enchanted regions.
In the case of food, sounds can also be aphrodisiac. I have terrible hearing, I am incapable of humming "Happy Birthday," but I can easily evoke the crackling of oil when frying onions; the syncopated rhythm of a knife chopping vegetables; the bubbling of boiling broth into which unfortunate seafood will soon fall; the cracking of nuts and the patient song of a mortar grinding seeds; the liquid notes of wine being poured into glasses; the clinking of silverware, crystal, and porcelain on the table; the melodious murmur of a post-dinner conversation, contented sighs, and the almost imperceptible crackling of the candles lighting the dining room. These sounds have for me an effect almost as powerful as Plácido Domingo's voice had on that good lady at the opera.