Meet Ben

From the moment I saw Ben in his red cashmere sweater with long dark curls lying wildly on his shoulder, my first thought was, What took you so long? I was ready to have sex with him right then in the hotel elevator. Thank God, Standard Hotel had 22 floors, and we would probably have had a great time in transit.

It didn’t happen in the elevator, but much later in his downtown loft. Were he able to explain to me in colorful detail why the female orgasm is so complicated and strange, it could come only from God himself. I felt his magic touch in every part of my body, and 11 months of virginity were broken into little pieces. Finally I could make the proper connection between oral sex, Ben’s art studio table, and the tribulations of being the lover of a street artist. As our liberated parrot Pontius Pilate would say, “Free love my friends!!!”

In between my sexual liberation in Ben’s loft and our dinner conversations in the hotel I had a great time. He was incredibly funny and a great story teller. This is what I found out about Ben:

When he was in elementary school his mother took him to a lot of classical ballet classes; that is how she saw his path to success and personal wealth. Of course, that was far from realistic, like a lot of things in his mother’s perspective on reality. First of all, Ben born with 2 left feet, and had to wear specially made shoes until he was 6 years old. Ben’s dad was one of the most successful trial lawyers in New York. They lived in Martha’s Vineyard, and his mother did not work a day of her married life.

Since the dance classes cost tons of money, his teacher never even discussed with Mrs. Bronstein (Ben’s mother) that her son was not about to become the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. He had to leave the dance academy later, when his teacher caught him sneaking to the girls’ changing room to watch them undress.

Mrs. Bronstein was absolutely determined to give Ben the best possible upbringing. She spent most of her afternoons in PTA meetings and the morning hours with her shrink, Dr. Katz. Ben did not remember his parents’ ever getting into fights (probably because his father was never at home much). He did remember arguments about Dr. Katz’s enormous bills, and later on the story of how his father tried to write them off as a business expense. The IRS did not allow it, on the grounds that Dr. Katz was entertainment, not business. Mrs. Bronstein saw him three times a week, and shared with him every detail of her personal life, even digestive issues, which were not exactly Dr. Katz’s specialty. She discussed everything but sex. Dr. Katz happened to be gay, which may have been the cause for this reticence.

When Ben was in the 6th grade she took him to a career counselor, and he had to take the Meyers-Briggs test. Based on the results, the counselor told her that at Ben’s current age he could pretty much do anything, except work with agricultural products. That was OK with me and satisfactory for Mrs. Bronstein as well.

He graduated from Columbia University with a degree in Creative Writing. He took a lot of abstract courses like Truth Now and Absolute Beauty; as a result of his fine liberal arts education, he came to consider himself a true intellectual. His parents were sure that their money had been well spent.

I could go on and on, but it’s getting late.

My next post will be about Ben’s graffiti art and street art community.

Ben’s street art

Today I spend some time in Borders with Paul. In a best seller section I notice a new Sarah Palin book “An American Life”.

Wile I was checking the book, fist random sentence I picked up  “There are a lot of wild lives in Alaska next to a mashed potatoes field.
Is this a joke? Does she try to be funny or …?