So anyway,
I’ve got this friend, Paul, who is something of a corybantic drunk. When he gets drunk he’s very liable to get naked, or get violent, or at the very least do something incredibly stupid. So, we’re at this party on Friday, knocking back Canadian Clubs like Canada is about to go to war with its Southern neighbour, and Paul gets it into his head that he wants to be punched in the face.
And he bugs me about it for a while, trying to get me to punch him in the face. And I’m like: “No man, you’re my brother, I’m not gonna punch you in the face.” and so he starts daring everyone in the kitchen to punch him.
So I bring now into the story my wonderful friend Nicky, who is one of those people you’re constantly staring at in admiration, because she’s way too smart/funny/talented to be hanging out with the likes of you (by which I mean: me). So she jumps off the counter to declare: “Yeah, I’ll punch you!” and brings her arms up into a blocking stance and starts hopping on the balls of her feet like a prize-fighter.
So she takes her first punch, but you can tell she didn’t put any strength into it. We all cry: “Put some heart into it!”
So she takes another swing, but misses completely. So we all laughed and cries to get serious followed.
So she shakes out her arms, hops up and down for a second, looks down, shakes her head, looks up:
Left-left-right-LEFT! A four-punch combo, the last hit of which knocks Paul’s head completely round and he crumples to the floor. It was unbelievable! We all rush up to him to check he’s all right, but he’s laughing and so drunk he’s in no pain, despite blood in his mouth and a split lip, he stands up and goes right back to drinking his Canadian Club.
So Nicky jumps back on to the bench, smiling broadly at the damage she’s wrought, and I’m drunk enough to confess to her:
“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I found that incredibly erotic.”
“Oh, no, it really was. I’m all flushed.”
Taken aback, forming a theory, I called across the kitchen to Paul:
“Hey, Paul, how hot was that?”
“Incredibly hot! I’m very aroused!”
and there was a general murmur of agreement throughout the kitchen that watching Nicky beat up on Paul was ‘really hot’.
So, is something wrong with me? With us? Are the taboos of non-violence and our own conceptions of gender roles so strong that watching them being violated is amative? Why? I don’t know, but I’m disturbed, to say the least.
But enough about me: What’s your fetish?
d