I rush to the doorway, almost knocking into the man standing beside it. I think he still had his pants on. I hope so, although if he didn't, that might actually be worse. The hall isn't that much brighter than the room, but it is about twenty degrees cooler. I guess they had the room heated because so many people were partially undressed. I collapse against the wall a few yards away from the door.
How could they show that to me? No man wants to see his father, his dead father like that. I don't care if it was a student art film, I should have been warned. I'm just glad Sam wasn't in there. No wonder they don't let kids in. I cover my face with my hands. I don't know if I am going to cry or throw up. Sweat is rolling down from, practically everywhere I guess.
"Look, Chris is it. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
I look up. There's that guy again. Monroe, Madison? Something presidential. His shirt is unbuttoned so I can see his monstrously hairy chest and belly, but at least he has his pants on. He must have finished early, although the fly on his pants is still down.
"What do you mean by that? 'Nothing to be ashamed of.' How should I feel when I saw my father naked on film while the rest of the audience was getting their jollies off? What is going on?"
Don't get me wrong. I've seen my share of 'adult entertainment' over the years. Possibly to effect a similar reaction. Ever since I was fourteen, in fact. Most of the time, it was by myself, but I won't go into that. But never with complete strangers, and rarely then. If they want to do that with either themselves or others, okay, but not in front of me and definitely with my father.
"Look son," I practically want to slap him. But then I would have to stand up. "What we do is perfectly natural. There's no harm in what we do."
"What about my dad? What's to say that isn't harming him. Wait. You asked me about any other films. Are you saying that there are . . ."
"Your father made many movies when he was in art school. Each of them has a certain 'quality' about them that turns some people on. People like us." I assume he doesn't include me in that. "We see the, how can I say this, passion in these films, and it brings out the passions in us. It happens to quite a few whenever they see one of your father's works. To be honest, this is the only one that has full frontal nudity it in. At least the ones that we know of. All the others are more like the first part of this one. Suggestions only, but strong suggestions. Both men and women."
He's practically groaning, as if he is remembering certain scenes. I think he might be getting turned on, again. I have to try and stop him.
"So, this is the only one with him naked? The only one with anyone completely naked."
He seems to be coming back around.
"Sorry. Your father's films just bring on certain 'feelings' in almost everyone who sees them. Their are dozens of us, and more join all the time. There is just something that your father can capture in film that no one else can match."
"The rest of his work doesn't look like that. Pretty mild in fact." I try not to let anger creep into my voice.
"Well, yeah. His professors were wanting to challenge him. Get him out of that stupid folksy look of his. They thought they were letting him explore, but they unleashed a passionate monster instead. One that everyone can enjoy the way nature intended."
I finally stand up.
"Look, I don't care about what you think and what your little society does behind closed doors, but I do care about myself. You should never have let me go in there, especially without some kind of warning. Sure, the majority of the movie is strange, but I almost could have handled that. But the ending. Having me watch my father doing that. It's just, I don't know."
"He wasn't doing anything. The film ends almost immediately after the point you left. It's left to the viewer's imagination. And, well, we have a lot of imagination."
"What are you taking me for? What makes you think seeing my father like that could turn me on, or something?"
"Your mouth is saying one thing, but that fairly big dew drop on your pants suggests otherwise."
A wet spot. On my pants. Just slightly left of my right front pocket. Around a half inch diameter. Could be sweat that dropped from my head. Probably not. Too wet for that. Too big. I didn't know others used the same term. I thought that my friends and I coined it in high school.
"I'm getting Sam and leaving."
I turn on my heels and walk away.
No comments:
Post a Comment