Cunnilingus (Rikki Ducornet)

Sex absorbed him of course, but he feared its ambiguous beginnings and vexatious endings. And this until he stumbled upon a well-thumbed book entirely devoted to cunnilingus. It came to him, perhaps not unreasonably, that if he mastered cunnilingus he would not make enemies. When he ended an affair, the woman would feel tender and grateful nonetheless. He learned to be simultaneously admirable in bed and thievish, taking what he wanted and pulling away when more than he bargained for was freely offered. He would fling himself headlong into an encounter before vanishing like an ostrich in a gale. If his many accelerated mistresses would recall the exact moment his ardent visage clouded over, they would also remember how very good he was at cunnilingus and no matter where they were or with whom, unapologetically roar with laughter. Had the women known about the book, they might have liked him less. Perhaps unfairly. After all, almost anyone who is good at something has poured over books—botanists, say; bakers, roofers. Cunnilingus was his vocation until he died of an undiagnosed bruit.

Remarkable for their numbers, unknown female mourners showed up at his funeral. They looked proprietary because his tongue (and in this way it brings old King Pyrrhus’ miraculous toe to mind) had withstood the crematory fire. Looking them over, it occurred to his wife that what she had considered the demonstration of her husband’s unique affection (well, she was naïve, everyone said so) was not that at all. Later she found the book at the bottom of a closet. For many months after his death, she looked more irritable and perplexed than distraught.

Pour citer cette ressource :

Rikki Ducornet, "Cunnilingus (Rikki Ducornet)", La Clé des Langues [en ligne], Lyon, ENS de LYON/DGESCO (ISSN 2107-7029), juin 2014. Consulté le 04/11/2024. URL: https://cle.ens-lyon.fr/anglais/litterature/entretiens-et-textes-inedits/cunnilingus-rikki-ducornet-