During my youth, I felt safest in my grandmother's home. I have fond memories of summer days spent finding a shady spot in her backyard. I would relax, listening to the soothing sound of cicadas, only to be jolted back to reality by the sudden noise of the air conditioner coming back to life. Summer has a sound in Texas - the buzzing of cicadas and the hum of air conditioning units. When there is an absence of the summer sounds it is a problem. This past week, there was a sudden absence of one of these quintessential summer sounds - the air conditioning. Austin, we have a problem.
My guest house serves as my incall and it is stocked with all the accoutrements one could desire. Unlike most, my items are not hidden away but elegantly displayed in a designated area of the house. I deliberated whether to keep them displyaed or hide them out of sight. After thoughtful consideration, I realized that both I and the HVAC person are adults, and it was my own house and I could display whatever I wanted. Consequently, I decided to keep them on display. I felt completely assured of my decision at that time.
The next day, the HVAC man arrived, and I showed him to the sweltering guest house. The accoutrements are not readily visible when you walk in, as the door hides them from view. Once the door is closed, however... After showing him how to access the attic, he caught a glimpse of the items and froze mid-stride. This big, burly, tattooed grown man went dead silent. He looked at me, back at the items, and then at his feet; his mouth was moving, but no sound was coming from it. Caught off guard myself by his reaction, I waved to them and said, "That's just, well, that's just sex stuff." By now, I was more embarrassed than he was. He quickly finished saying he needed a part and would be back the next day, then, what felt like to me, he fled the scene. Not wanting to let my imagination get the best of me, I used my logic. It is summer in Texas, making him the most popular man in town, and who wanted to spend lots of time in a sweltering hot attic anyway? Besides, he needed the part. So he didn't actually flee the scene; he was just busy, I assured myself.
The following day, I received a message informing me that the HVAC technician was dealing with "minor health issues" and that his colleague would be coming in his place the next day. "Oh no," I thought to myself he had definitely fled the scene. The replacement technician arrived the following day, clearly briefed on the situation. Instead of heading to the main house, he went directly to the guest house in the backyard, a departure from the usual protocol. As no one was there he had to call me to let him in. Upon meeting him, as I indicated to the breaker box and attic access, he seemed nervous, resembling a frightened child summoned to the principal's office. Without meeting my gaze, he took a deep breath and awkwardly blurted out, "Chris informed me about everything," finally making eye contact on the word "everything." Feeling embarrassed, I excused myself and left him to his work. Half an hour later, he messaged me that he had finished the repair and left. To which I responded, "Did you want me to pay you?" This was absolutely fleeing the scene and not my imagination!
Sex stuff. What makes this topic so intimidating? Why does our society harbor such fear towards sexual matters? We all do it, think about it, and want to do it. I'm reminded of the most disturbing movie I have ever personally seen, "Seven." That movie portrays all sorts of depraved acts, yet it was in all the movie theaters. We glorify and accept violence in everyday life where school shootings have become the norm. A photographer for the New York Times Magazine, Eugene Register-Guard, once said "make love not war." Maybe it is time to reexamine what is really the scary stuff.
❤️Charlotte
(Warning graphic images of sex stuff!)
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