A Treatise on ... the dichotomy of man, pre and post ejaculation. by Treat Williams

It’s funny. There was this girl I used to go with back in college, Dasiy Steinminkle, whom I do not talk to at all anymore, but I have to assume that she watches me on Everwood, and I have to assume that she reads my columns for this web site. I’ve never had any contact with anybody who runs this place, but they had the sense to print my last article. They’ll have the sense to print this one. Digression aside, one good thing about creative outlets is that they allow me to communicate with old friends and enemies without actually speaking to them. 1998’s Third Degree Burn, as you all well know, was just my TV-movie-fuck-off to William Katt, who dropped out of Dead Heat at the last minute and left me on a 4 month shoot with his replacement Joe Piscopo and a bunch of half-assed rubber zombies.

Sometimes, though, when my art hits too close to the heart, too close to the old Steinminkle scars, I wouldn’t want her to reading my brilliant epigrams. This is certainly one of those times, a look across the bay at East Egg.

My young son, Freddy, recently told me that he is “sexually active”. He didn’t use those words, of course; I just cleaned it up. I don’t know who raised him, but he’s got the mouth of a sailor. So when he told me that, I pulled him to my bosom ready to relate the wisdom that follows. Daisy, turn away.

Freddy asked me why he was so in love with the woman he recently had relations with and then so horrified at the sight of her immediately after. I told him that a man’s sentiment for a woman immediately after he “blows load” is a litmus test for his true feelings regarding his sexually partner.

“Freddy,” I said, “post-coital repugnance stems from the absence of love in a relationship. This is something I know much about. So much of my relations with women have involved sex in Winnebagos or in front of half-cracked mirrors in Culver City motels. And with that came feelings of devotion and hard kisses on the mouth. After ejaculation, however, I, like all men, transform into someone completely opposite. A Jekyll and Hyde (or Hekyll and Jekyll) type metamorphoses. The absence of pent up semen serves as an elucidation for all men. Most of my sexual experiences have left me only with a deep sense of regret and the rush to the bathroom for a quick genital cleansing. To continue to be in love (i.e., when you don’t want to rinse, spit, and split right after a good fuck), however, implies truth.”

This test has shown me that I have only been in love once. You can turn back around, Daisy. Alas, Daisy, that love is you. I told Freddy one last thing, “When you find your Miss Steinminkle, Freddy, hold on to her like John Cougar Mellencamp holds on to sixteen. Changes come around real soon, make us women and men.”