by L.A. Madison
(10/12/11)

The cabinet resided in the room where she usually masturbated, a sunny, upstairs room. It was only pine, a practice piece, its back some crazy amalgamation of white, painted lathes from God knows where. This rustic cabinet was the only piece of furniture she had ever refinished -- and it took nine months. On its shelves behind glass: de Toqueville and Marx, Hugo and Mann, Japanese fairy tales.

Lying on the bed she saw only leaves, clouds, and occasional planes. She watched all three move at different speeds. Could passengers ever look in and see her? She looked into their windows brazenly, feeling sunlight warm her naked body. Sometimes from the open window, a warm breeze blew across her breasts, a breath. She liked to be still and see trees; hear birds in the sycamores and a distant lawnmower. Daytime love was best, even with herself.

In the one drawer were her intimate supplies: Q-tips and razors, leg-waxing strips, spare bottles of body lotion, a tiny vial of lilac essence that ended up smelling sickening, the cardboard directions for how to store and feed her amarylis plant which bloomed every year, magnificent red blossoms on a tender, curved phallic stem.

And in the drawer was her teal vibrator, the unnaturally heavy C batteries long since removed. At first the vibrations were a novelty, then a nuisance. Without them it was just a dildo -- a too-light dildo -- not as good as the real thing when the real thing was good, but something.

And also her beige diaphragm in a beige case, a little bottle of KY liquid (for travel), a big bottle of KY liquid (for home), and spermicide.

Once she made her ex-husband put on a condom so she could feel what it was like; she would never get the chance otherwise, she argued. He obliged with a remark about showering in a raincoat. Not "eating candy with the wrapper on." That was more of a Latino remark, she later learned. Or was it Middle Eastern?

And there was a tube of blue gel with an almost watery smell that felt like saliva on her nipples. Exquisite. And a small hotel shampoo bottle useful as a dildo in a pinch. The technology of masturbation acquired over years of trial and error.

The casual visitor, looking through the glass in the dresser's front, would see only the tomes of theory and criticism. The air traveler looking through the window would see a nude with eyebrows furrowed, mouth open.

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