The Anal-Retentive Line Editor Read online

  The Anal-Retentive Line Editor

  Short Story

  Dennis Cooper

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Begin Reading

  About the Author

  Other Books by Dennis Cooper

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  “Jerk” previously appeared in the book Jerk (Artspace Books, 1993).

  “Ugly Man” and “The Boy on the Far Left” previously appeared in Scott Treleaven’s art catalog Some Boys Wander by Mistake (Kavi Gupta Gallery, John Connelly Presents, and Marc Selwyn Fine Art, 2007) and in Dennis Cooper: Writing at the Edge (Sussex Academic Press, 2008).

  “Graduate Seminar,” “Santa Claus vs. Johnny Crawford,” “The Worst (1960–1971),” and “Three Boys Who Thought Experimental Fiction Was for Pussies” previously appeared in Dennis Cooper: Writing at the Edge (Sussex Academic Press, 2008).

  “Knife/Tape/Rope” was originally the text of a performance art work of the same name created and directed by Ishmael Houston-Jones in 1985.

  “One Night in 1979…” previously appeared in the anthology Thrills, Pills, Chills, and Heartache: Adventures in the First Person (Alyson Press, 2004).

  THE ANAL-RETENTIVE LINE EDITOR

  …I shoved my tongue deep inside his hot, tight ass [Editor’s note: Many problems here. Unless your character is Gene Simmons, he’d be lucky to insert his tongue an eighth of an inch inside the ass, which, taking into account the volume of the cavity in question, doesn’t qualify as deep. If he is a Gene Simmons type, you need to say so. Also, human asses aren’t hot. Unless your character has spanked the ass in question vigorously—and there is no mention of that—or they are in a sauna—which they are not—the exterior would be luke-warm or tepid at best. If you’re referring to the anal cavity itself, you’d be lucky to get away with warm. In fact, the tongue has a higher temperature than the anal membranes, so the effect would be a cooling. The only exception would be if the secondary character is ill and running a fever, in which case I don’t believe the main character would be rimming him, correct?] and spent a delirious hour scrounging around in his delicious, silken depths [An hour, really? It’s technically possible, but your main character’s facial muscles would be very sore, in which case “delirious” becomes a problem. May I suggest “minute”? Your point would still be made. “Scrounging” is effective. It does feel as though one is being scrounged, but I would never have thought of that word. “Around” is unnecessary, but I found its masculine, blue-collar tone erotic, so I’ll let it stand. As for “delicious,” I understand what you’re getting at. Your main character thinks the secondary character is very attractive. Hence, blah blah blah. However, an asshole is not delicious. There is barely any taste at all. It’s the aroma of the asshole that creates the illusion of a flavor. Of course calling attention to that aroma would be risky. You might have noticed that most pornographic descriptions of oral-anal sex avoid the issue, apart from the occasional aside that an ass smells “clean.” How ambitious are you? You could break new ground by eroticizing the aroma of an ass being rimmed, or you could avoid the area entirely. In any case, “delicious” won’t fly. As for “silken,” silk is dry and gauzy. Anal membranes are slick and greasy. How about “rubbery”? With “depths” we have the same problem I mentioned earlier: Your main character is not anywhere near the secondary character’s depths. There is also the problem of repetition: “deep,” “depths.”] while he devoured [Is he a cannibal? If so, do you think he’d have the patience?] my big dick [Bland, de rigueur. Perhaps “gigantic,” “monster,” “humongous”? You could also indicate whether it is circumcised or not. Is the dick leaking seminal fluid? If so, that would add some pizzazz.] and juicy balls. [Oranges are juicy; testicles sweat and very modestly at that.] It took him a while, [an entire hour?] but that cute blond slut [I was going to argue against “slut” since you describe him as a virgin on pp. 13, 17, 18, 22, but, after conferring with one of my colleagues, I’ll agree that slutty behavior is not a matter of expertise. Still, the word gave me pause, and it might be scrutinized by readers. Also, “cute blond” is too generic. I miss his “sleepy blue eyes,” “small ski-lift nose,” and “flowery pink lips.” Could you remind us here? He and your readers deserve that much. I might mention here that I happen to be the “cute blond” type you are stereotyping in your story. Perhaps you’ll think this throws my ability to be objective into question. Rather, I’d suggest it provides me greater insight into your story. Your “cute blond” could be far more human, individualistic, and erotic if you would be willing to go back and rewrite the beginning and middle of your story. I would be happy to provide you with more information regarding what your “cute blond” might be feeling, thinking, and wanting from your main character if you would like. We could meet for a coffee near the office during one of my breaks. How does Wednesday sound? This is not an editorial demand, of course, but rather a suggestion that you may accept or disregard as you wish.] managed to deep-throat all eleven inches of my hard, thick pole. [This wouldn’t be an autobiographical story, would it? If so, what’s your phone number? That’s a little joke. Seriously, “hard, thick pole” is lazy. Sculpt it for us. Make us feel it in our throats. Also, isn’t it the privilege of knowing his dick is inside the cute blond’s face that forms the source of the main character’s ecstasy and impending orgasm? Mention that. It doesn’t have to be more than a phrase.] His hot, [too many “hots”] gagging throat [throats don’t “gag,” throats “constrict” or “convulse”] crammed with more meat than it could handle [nice] sent me over the edge, [of what?] and I exploded. [Cliché, cliché. Plus, it literally makes no sense unless your character is a suicide bomber. You can do much better.] Wave after wave of hot cum [There’s “hot” again. Also, not to beat a dead horse, but sperm’s temperature is not “hot” but rather lukewarm. Surely you’ve had enough sex to know that. “Wave” is a stretch—if only!—but I’ll let it go.] gushed into his sweet teenaged guts. [Unless the secondary character has had a large amount of candy in his mouth recently, his guts would not be “sweet.” If you mean sweet as in adorable, how do his esophagus and stomach qualify? Have you ever seen an X-ray? I realize you’re complimenting him, but this is not the place. “Guts” is inaccurate, but I like it instinctually. It makes your main character sound tough and masculine. Lastly, I spoke to our legal department, and “teenaged” is a problem. They suggested “eighteen-year-old guts” as an alternative. Does that work for you? Frankly, reading the story, I assumed the “cute blond” was in his early twenties. Perhaps you mean he looks younger. I’m twenty-four, but I still get carded on those rare occasions when I go to a gay bar. It’s possible I’m identifying with the character too much. If so, disregard. Finally, I’ll end my edit with another quibble, albeit a rather large one. Why does your “cute blond” not have an orgasm? Do you find his pleasure unimportant? The ending feels very abrupt without it. If your main character thinks the “cute blond’s guts” are “sweet,” then what about his sperm? Are you saying your main character wouldn’t want a face or mouthful of that sperm? Personally, given the personality you’ve chosen for him, I find that unbelievable. I can tell you that on the rare occasions when I have had sex, my partners not only wanted but demanded I have an orgasm in their mouths. In fact, it was only then that they were sufficiently satisfied to have an orgasm themselves. My experience is not everyone’s, of course. I am merely suggesting that were your main character to take the “cute blond’s” penis in his mouth and fellate him to orgasm, it could be the physical effect of this orgasm combined with the very potent, positive psychological effect of the main character’s decision t
o take the “cute blond’s” sperm into his mouth that would cause the “cute blond” to make the Herculean effort to deep throat the main character’s rather large penis. Consequently, the taste of the “cute blond’s” sperm combined with the honor of having his penis submerged in the “cute blond’s” throat would give the main character a more meaningful orgasm and correct the problem of his callousness toward the “cute blond.” It’s your story, but I offer you my expertise on this particular topic in the spirit of teamwork. Let me know if you’d like to have that coffee. In any case, I need your rewrite in my mailbox first thing Friday morning. Best, Peter Guest]

  Dear XRay Ted,

  I’ve had an additional hour to think further about the edit, and I have one final suggestion. Let me preface it by telling you that I don’t as a general rule give such a careful edit on the porno stories that are selected to appear in the magazine. I mean this close attention as a compliment. Yours is one of the rare stories we’ve received that aroused me personally in any significant way. This is due in part to the physical attributes I happen to share with your secondary character, as I’ve explained. In addition, the inordinate attention you pay to the secondary character’s asshole and surrounding region happens to conform to my fantasy of what great sex would consist of with myself in the passive or receiving role. My use of the word “would” is a slight exaggeration, as I have participated in great sex or at least very good sex of the type your story emphasizes on two of the very few occasions in which I have found an objective reason to have sex. Thus, I believe I know what your story could become were you to take a little more time with it.

  Pardon me for saying this, but your strength is not your writing but rather what appears to be your fetish and the passion your writing exhibits when your imagination comes in contact with a certain body part I’m certain that I need not mention. My strengths, on the other hand, are language, syntax, and other technical skills regarding the construction of fiction, as well as, to some degree, my imagination, at least when it is stimulated by what I suppose I would have to term my own personal fetish. (As a side note, I am currently studying for a master’s degree in creative writing at Yale.) It occurs to me that our talents and fetishes are a good if not entirely perfect match. Hence, my earlier offer to form a more intimate than usual writer and editor relationship for the purpose of finessing your story. (As a second side note, I apologize for my long-windedness. I tend to become rather talkative when I am physically aroused. But I’ll tell you a secret: There are ways to shut me up, and if I act hurt or indignant, one need only repeat the silencing procedure at length to make my mouth as quiet as a church.)

  FYI, my limited success as a sex partner is due in large part to what I like to term nice-guy syndrome. Respect is crucial and a turn-on for me, but niceness is another thing. Truth is, I’m a nattering, self-absorbed tight ass at the best of times. I know this full well. Hence, when people are overly nice to me, all that tells me is that they’re not paying sufficient attention. In my day-to-day life, people’s inattentiveness to the unpleasant aspects of my personality is understandable. When fully clothed, I am not at my best. However, if I am naked and in bed with someone, and he makes too many allowances for the irritants in my behavior, and that allowance prevents him from taking full advantage of my body, then I can only conclude they find the gift of my availability unimportant, and, as far as I am concerned, the sex we have is doomed to be mediocre and listless, and I would just as soon go home and masturbate.

  No doubt you are wondering why I have chosen to share this personal and revealing information with you. The truth is, during the hour or so since I last wrote to you, I queried my coworkers about you and discovered that I have been assigned the task of editing your story as a cruel joke on us both. In their minds, my obsessive attention to detail will “drive you crazy,” in one coworker’s words. They consider you to be a very primitive person whose behavior during your occasional visits to our office in the time prior to my coming to work here was sufficient grounds for any number of sexual harassment suits against you. If it helps, I am equally unpopular here both for the same personality quirks I have displayed in my e-mails to you, and because I happen to be several thousand times more attractive than any of my fellow employees. According to them, I was only hired because the managing editor of our magazine intends to find a way to fuck me.

  In the course of this discovery, I was shown a series of suggestive digital photos of you that you sent to one of my appalled coworkers, and, deep breath, I would be interested in having sex with you with one proviso: that during our encounter we engage in oral-anal sex with myself as the passive recipient at great length. Actually, I am open to all ideas you have within reason that involve anal sex with myself in the passive role just so long as oral-anal sex is the centerpiece or chorus to whatever sexual activity my ass inspires you to perform. My genitals are fair game as well, although I will forewarn you that they are merely pleasant looking and average sized with the one plus that they, like the rest of my body, are naturally almost hairless. My heritage is Scandinavian, if you haven’t guessed, while you appear to be Spanish or Italian mixed with some Arabic, if I might hazard a guess. Whatever your background, you certainly do know a thing or two about large cocks. All the more reason for me to wonder why you slighted the one in your story. A simple pole, hardly. You could give that thing of yours a name and register it to vote. But I have flattered you and debased myself long enough. Shall we meet for that coffee I suggested tomorrow and, barring faux pas, take it back to your place? Love, Peter

  …The coffeehouse was swarming with trendy young pieces of college-age shit. Blondie was trendiest, but he was also the shit. [Ed. Note: I was wearing a Kenzo shirt, Paul Smith jacket. That’s my current “uniform.” Add?] The bitch must have killed when he was fourteen. [I did, but I didn’t know it, unfortunately.] At twenty-four, he looked eroded—two flitty queen’s eyes, a tight, disapproving mouth, and an already weak chin blurred by faint jowls. [This is painful to read but well written. Here let me say I was of course disappointed and confused by your nonappearance at our scheduled meeting. I appreciate that you appear to have imagined this meeting on behalf of your story, but a simple SMS declaring your sudden unavailability would have been nice. Perhaps you took my earlier discrediting of “nice-guy syndrome” into account and blew me off as a way of arousing my further interest. In doing so, you have misinterpreted my point. However, assuming this to be the case, my further interest is aroused nonetheless, which must say something unpleasant about me. While the mind-reading you presume in this vastly improved draft speaks of someone far more…shall we say, simple than myself (I will grant you determinedly less simple), I have decided nonetheless, based on what I can only interpret as the irrefutably heavy come-on you are addressing to me within the thin disguise of this draft, to invite you have a drink with me at Maximal’s tonight. Shall we say 7:30? Oh, I forgot to mention that my “uniform” includes jeans by Energie, an Italian label. Include if you wish.] It took me all of three seconds to want to slam-fuck the priss until his screams woke up the president of China. [Point taken, but in China’s political system, there is no president, per se. Perhaps you’re saying your desire was such that you were rendered sloppy in your thinking? If so, you might rephrase the sentence thusly: “…slam-fuck the priss until his moans woke up whoever’s running China at the moment.” One other suggestion: Why not something on the order of “…rim the priss until his moans…” or even “…slam-rim…” or its equivalent? Granted, your main character wants to fuck the secondary character, and surely your main character will fulfill this desire (wink), but it might be nice as well as sexy to give the secondary character a modicum of respect at this point in your story. Not to mention that your main character does indeed want to rim the secondary character very, very much, unless I’m misunderstanding your narrative, and I believe I am not. If I’m becoming too personal at this stage of our “relationship” as editor and writer, I believe I have t
he right considering my above-mentioned invitation.]

  I like to know whom I screw. [Well, isn’t that generous of your character.] But I’m talking know a little. [I saw that coming.] So when the kid started prattling [I do] about himself, [To be fair, when I prattle, I tend to cover the bases, and when I do address myself, it is only due to a vast insecurity. How about “…prattling on about things that were of no interest to me—things that were surely of little interest to him as well, a tactic of avoiding the topic of our obvious mutual attraction that inadvertently spoke of nothing but the lust that his insecurities and relative lack of experience caused him to try unsuccessfully to disavow.” I suppose that’s not very erotic. Rephrase in your own words?] I connected his dots—a face so fucking hairless, it must have seen fewer razor blades than Pluto has seen spaceships [Actually, I have about eight fine hairs on my chin that I need to shave perhaps once a week], forearms that made a twelve-year-old’s look macho [I do go to the gym twice a week, and I believe it shows]—and it was all I could do not to rip his clothes off, lay him across our tipsy little table, and lick him off his skeleton like he was ice cream. [Off the record, my cock is so hard right now. I can be notoriously full of myself as a way of masking my deep feelings of inadequacy, as I said, but I’ll nonetheless venture that your writing has improved dramatically in this new draft. Might I take some of the credit for functioning as your muse? I’m certain enough of this to risk sounding presumptuous.]

  Call me big headed, [You? LOL] but if I want a piece of blond ass, it’s mine. I don’t even need to ask. [No comment] There isn’t a man, woman, or child in West Hollywood who hasn’t whipped their head around and cruised me on the street. [This is a decent explanation for your character’s success rate, shall we say. Still, not to be the dreaded bossy bottom, but several of my coworkers here at the magazine have made the observation that you are indeed very hot while also giving you negative points for being, in their words, “too sleazy.” In fact, one of these coworkers took me aside before our scheduled meeting yesterday to caution me against becoming “a notch in (your) belt.” Clearly, I have proven to be a tad deaf in that regard. Nonetheless, should something transpire between us, I would hope to be more than a notch, or, at worst, a larger than usual notch.] Calling me a stud is like calling Mother Teresa a nice lady. Give me a Bible-toting, neo-Nazi virgin who doesn’t even know what reaching puberty involves, and I’ll give you back a walking, talking souvenir ashtray of the Grand Canyon. [Either this goes, or the virgin has to be eighteen, but it’s interesting. That’s your fifth reference to sex with underage boys in two pages. Working here at the magazine where every form of pornography imaginable has wound up on my desktop at one time or another, I’ve seen my share of so-called child porn. I’ll venture a controversial opinion and say I’ve had to cross my legs at times when someone too young to be nude has stared me in the face. While I can’t arrive in your bed via a time machine, I think I can say with some certainty that the illegal me would have blown your mind. I could bring along some old photos if you like? There’s also fantasy role-play to consider. I will admit I’ve always wanted to try that.] So I let my eyes give Blondie some good, gentlemanly news while my knee drove it home with an ungentlemanly massage that pinned his knee against the wall.