5:00pm: Sign onto MFC for another “strip-me” countdown. Little
tips here and there from a few regulars, but nothing major.
6:00pm: A user whose name I have never seen before
spontaneously tips me 2500 tokens for a Skype show:
UserX: i’ll l you
UserX: doyou doskype
UserX: imon now, yu busy
In spite of the man’s 2nd grade typing skills and
somewhat impatient behavior, I agree.
6:15pm: Log onto Skype. The stranger’s webcam opens – all I
see is utter darkness, and then, a scarcely illuminated face... a hand... a
cigarette.
“So, what do you want to do?” I ask.
“Oh, just talk. Maybe fucking.”
The light turns on, revealing a muscular, dark-haired, and
unexpectedly handsome man who couldn’t have been over 30. A white uniform and
cap hang on a valet in the corner of the room. I soon learn that he is a
psychiatrist in the Navy.
“This my one last hoorah
on MFC before I begin my fall fast, which will end on Halloween,” he continued.
“Well, I’m honored,” I replied, a bit bewildered by his fast, “But why me, exactly?”
“Because you remind me of my anima.”
“Your enema?” I asked. Stranger things have been said.
“No, anima – the
female expression of inner personality in our unconscious mind. Our selves are
composed of female and male qualities. It’s amazing when you meet your anima –
the sex is just fantastic, but relationships can be pretty rocky. Haven’t you
read Jung?”
“No,” I muttered, mildly embarrassed, but more than
anything, confused.
“Do you want me to read your cards?” he abruptly proposed.
“As in, tarot cards?”
I asked, surprised to hear these words uttered from the mouth of a military
psychiatrist –from the South, no less.
“Yeah!” he replied enthusiastically, “I was trained by a
Master.” As he reaches over the bed for his deck of cards, I realize that the
man is buck naked.
“Breathe deep, from your diaphragm. Feel your chest lift—1,
2, 3, 4, 5. And now, slowly exhale for 1,
2, 3, 4, 5. Continue to breathe this way
throughout the reading,” he coached me. He shuffles the deck and places five
cards on the bed. One by one, he explains the meaning of each card.
“At the present,” he began, pointing to the Hanged Man card, “you feel like you are stuck and do not know
where to go in life.”. My past, he explained, was driven by success,
dedication, and perseverance. The “future” card seemed to represent some kind
of feminine energy, which, when dealt to a female, portends abundance and
openness. The foundation card was rooted in knowledge and
intellectual pursuits. The theme card – I think it was The World – suggested accomplishment and fame.
“This is the most positive reading I’ve ever given!” he
exclaimed.
How I wished that these cards, vague as they were, were
true. Still, even I recognized that open-ended readings such as these merely
permit us to interpret their messages through the filter of our own hopes and
fears. But then again, isn’t that the nature of life itself?
“Let me go get some more vodka,” he said.
I don’t remember all of what happened next. We talked about
antidepressants (he prescribes, I take), paganism, relationships, books. After
telling him more about myself, he said, as plainly as someone might talk about
their new toaster, “You are the most interesting person I have ever met.”
“What?”
“Really.”
While I know better than to put any stock in the words of
tipsy, rambling men, our conversation engendered a strange aura of intimacy.
Still clothed, I felt more exposed than ever, as though instead of my
garments he had peeled away layers of an emotional callus – the one
we all develop to protect ourselves from the world.
Our ninety minutes were nearing to an end.
“What do you really want in life?” he finally asked.
“I want to go to sleep and never wake up,” I answered
accidentally, sheerly out of habit.
“Never wake up?” inquired the naked
psychiatrist.
“No, I mean, I’m just really, really tired and need to sleep
for a long time,” I corrected myself. I am not suicidal as much as I am plagued
by a self-destructive, fatalistic internal monologue that awakens when I become
too relaxed.
“We didn’t end up fucking, sorry...” I changed the subject. “Did you still
want to?”
“Do you?” he asked.
I knew that I was in no mood to masturbate to this person
onscreen. Rather, more than anything I wished that I were laying on his bed,
feeling his strength hovering above me, smelling the warmth of his aftershave
mixed with vodka and cigarettes. But, I reminded myself, that is not why I am
here. That is not what I am doing. I am here to entertain this man because it
is my job.
“Sure, let’s do it,” I replied quietly.
“Good!” he smiled, “I’ll send you some more tokens on MFC
and then we can meet back here on Skype in 15.”
