Those Missing Chapters of The Fairy Tale
Be careful what you wish for...it might empower you.
Tony’s reddening face crinkled, “THIS is where you’re staying?!” He did not display this same reaction when he was outside lifting my bags from the car, however, the building does look surprisingly less attractive on the inside. “It’s simply aesthetics TJ.” I mumble as I climb the stairs ahead of him. “ASS-thetics!” he teases. As we bring in the last of my baggage, and Tony’s color begins to return, I walk over to one of the few pieces of furniture I have brought to this temporary dwelling, a full-length mirror. I focus on reflections of my mind’s eye as opposed to anything reflected therein and Tony walks up behind me. He gives me a down-then-up once over, then wraps his arms around me: one about my waist, the other about my shoulders. Although his embrace brings back nostalgic feelings of comfort I know I must stop this affection from going any further. “TJ-“ “Let’s go into that other room you insist on calling a bedroom…” I tap his hand attached to the arm encircling my shoulders to get him to look into the mirror at my expression, “TJ…let go…” This will always be easier asked than completed as TJ- as he is known to those close to his family- A.K.A. Tony is that rare individual who really cannot let go of the past. I am always to be- in his mind- someone he possesses on a metaphysical level. I am his ex-wife, to be sure, but he upon marrying me joined an exclusive group of men in my life; those who pledged to protect me, provide for me…no matter what. Unlike many ex-husbands, his desire to continue ‘protecting and providing’ is given much of its longevity by the fact that I was quite symbolically his dreamgirl. On our wedding night he became the first man to introduce me to my sexual Self. To be shown his proclivities without judging and to subconsciously make them my own; this can be done by any open-minded female in any latter-day relationship, yet when this situation is explained to my male friends, they always refer to it as, "the virgin bond".
The year we married was 1997, and I was the Goddess of Conventry. I went back to Ohio for my grandmother. The news of her cancer diagnosis hit me hard; she was my only living grandparent but more importantly, intellectually, she was my modality. As she assured me it would be quite alright if I got a job and lived a little, I met up with old friends and was introduced to new ones. My apotheosis originally came about from my past legacy of gypsydom. “M.~ has lived EVERYWHERE!” my older friends would exaggerate, then I, as if on cue, would begin telling of my movement throughout my life. My most devoted worshippers were those whose parents had the means, yet would not untie their purse strings in order to let their children embark on journeys of Self-discovery. I was ‘divine’ in my ability to save up the money then, just…leave. We all remember the fairy tales of the princesses forced to live as serfs and milkmaids to save their lives…I WAS a gypsy princess...there are rarely palaces and jewels involved in my tales. The 'riches' are found in the people I have met and the experiences treasured; I would not trade them for the world!
“How did you get THERE?” “Was it as beautiful as movies say it is?!” “I want to come with you next time!” “I WILL come with you next time.” Jesse said with utter resolve. I was seated on the dining room table in our spacious four bedroom apartment on Euclid Heights Blvd., in the area of Cleveland Heights known as Coventry Village. My roommates’ protests to me placing my tiny derriere where we broke bread were futile. It was the best place for me to hold ‘service’. Jesse was one of the first devotees of the Cult of M.~; he fell hard and quickly. I have to admit, he did hold sway over me for a time…what woman wouldn’t fall for a guy that made her a shepherd’s pie from scratch? Jesse’s dad was a corporate attorney who used his financial gains wisely. Trips for Jesse and the rest of the family were only deemed necessary if it furthered his father’s career goals for Jesse on some level. “Are you SURE, Jesse?” He stood up from his chair, one of the ten circling the dining room table on which I was perched, “Never more sure in my life!” Jesse was GREAT! He performed as headrest when I would sit three of my friends next to one another on the couch and lie across them like a lap bed to take naps. He would sometimes brush my hair while I was sleeping if he planned to take me out of the house whenever I awakened. So how did I wind up married to TJ? Jesse was an unalterable SNOB!
When he felt himself losing ground with me to TJ (they were vying for my attention along with an older gentleman named Tim who quickly lost me when he tried to buy my affections), he would start in with the Polish jokes to belittle TJ. I do not allow anyone- any group- to be oppressed by stereotypes, so this behavior pushed Jesse out of the goddess’s good graces expeditiously! He spent the rest of that summer moping and apologizing…I believe TJ and I forgave him after the wedding that Fall. TJ also had the added distinction of being the one guy in years who could make me…nervous. I would get flushed after he kissed me good night; have fitful dreams that made me feel guilty when I would see him the next time at work... My older brothers blame sexual tension for me getting married “too soon” as they put it to this day, but I believe my marriage and subsequent deflowering came right on time. I was ripe.
Matrimony is an odd ritual, as is the pomp of the dating ritual leading up to it. ‘Keep her safe! Keep her virtuous!’ the men seem to be mumbling, while the women whisper, ‘Isn’t it romantic?’ at every display of affection. A male relative walks you down the aisle of a sacred hall to the altar, in an extravagant and attention-grabbing gown- in the daytime? Removing a maiden’s claddagh from your ring finger, he slips it into his tuxedo pocket. Your finger is now bare, awaiting another man’s jewellery; he will begift you from now on. The male relative steps symbolically and literally to the side, solemn. He knows what will happen to you later but the women are pressing you to receive; their will is strong and he can not fight for you anymore. This 'prince' of a man- the one who asked for your hand in marriage and has just vowed to love and cherish you in front of your families and your God- gives you a brand new set of expensive rings as an ‘exchange’; you still don’t quite know what is going to happen or you would have asked that the rings be even MORE expensive.
Everyone is keeping you in good spirits, some even make jokes and innuendoes. You, the virgin sacrifice, are clueless. But this is tradition and every woman who claims to feel guilty for not doing it “the right way” has forgotten to warn you that your Prince Charming- the man your male relatives have just turned you over to- is about to scar you FOR LIFE! You are going to remember this; the real test is will you forgive him? Specifically, will you get over the trauma of this moment, being able to embrace yourself as a sophiscated 'animal' that controls your desires, while also being able to acknowledge your primal callings...maybe even one day...separate from his? He takes you out of the country. The location is beautiful (scenery to distract you). He grants you twelve more hours of virtue because he wants to swim, water ski and soak up some sun. The latter activity is cut short due to you both being fair complected and easily burnt. You return to rose petals on your bed and a bottle of champagne on the table nearest the window with two glasses. “Congratulations!” courtesy of the hotel; surely they are congratulating HIM on capturing a virgin...such elusive prey. ‘There are so many rose petals they almost look like a stain on the sheets’, you think as your archetypal mind is attempting to warn you. You lie down, dizzied from the champagne and he, now lying next to you tells you how pretty and ‘sweet’ you look. ‘Sweet’…like innocent.
This was not the scene from “Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love” (1997) where Tara begins to hate/desire her husband in a masochistic manner. I believe that had a lot more to do with his potent pheromones! But there is no ‘birds and the bees’ ‘Mother/Daughter’ conversation that can prepare you for that ‘surprise’. The one that Prince Charming gives you if you are “a good girl” on your wedding night.
TJ has not let go- literally. He is attempting to brush my almost waist-length auburn hair away from my neck in order to better entice me into the room, with tender kisses on my ‘weak spot’. As I watch him in the mirror’s reflection I wonder if it is such a bad thing for me to continue to be ‘bonded’ to him- my 'first'; the man I dreamt would be my only. Surrendering to him again would be a return to a time in my life when I was still content to be ‘perfect’ for whomever was to be pleased. ‘It would be my duty to surrender right now’ I thought , then I knitted my brows and with a good bit of force, shrugged off TJ’s embrace. I turned around to face him, answering his questioning, surprised, open posture with my empowered, no-nonsense, cross-armed gaze. “It’s getting late…I’m sure your GIRLFRIEND will be expecting a call from you…how about I buy you lunch before you start back?” We quietly go back to his car and I tell him I am in the mood for Italian. As he starts the car he glances over at me and says, “I guess…I guess I got a little…nostalgic. I’m sorry…” I am looking out the passenger’s window at a really cute guy walking his dog. I check his left hand for a wedding band, then smile and raise a brow in curiosity as I do not see one and he- noticing me looking at him- smiles. TJ is annoyed, “M.~?! HELL-loo! I said I was sorry!” The cute guy passes from view and I turn back toward TJ, “Don’t worry sweetie…I already forgave you.”
This goddess isn't totally against fairy tales, or I would not be coaxed into 'chick flicks' by my female friends ever so often. Here are three books that helped me appreciate the power behind the rituals and literature that throughout history has propelled them: "Fairy Tales Sexuality and Gender in France" by Lewis Seifert; "Spinning Straw Into Gold…” by Joan Gould; "The Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde" by Jarlath Killeen (more of a study). If you are feeling REALLY independent, re-read Grimm's and blog your own opin'! Kisses, M.~
Tony’s reddening face crinkled, “THIS is where you’re staying?!” He did not display this same reaction when he was outside lifting my bags from the car, however, the building does look surprisingly less attractive on the inside. “It’s simply aesthetics TJ.” I mumble as I climb the stairs ahead of him. “ASS-thetics!” he teases. As we bring in the last of my baggage, and Tony’s color begins to return, I walk over to one of the few pieces of furniture I have brought to this temporary dwelling, a full-length mirror. I focus on reflections of my mind’s eye as opposed to anything reflected therein and Tony walks up behind me. He gives me a down-then-up once over, then wraps his arms around me: one about my waist, the other about my shoulders. Although his embrace brings back nostalgic feelings of comfort I know I must stop this affection from going any further. “TJ-“ “Let’s go into that other room you insist on calling a bedroom…” I tap his hand attached to the arm encircling my shoulders to get him to look into the mirror at my expression, “TJ…let go…” This will always be easier asked than completed as TJ- as he is known to those close to his family- A.K.A. Tony is that rare individual who really cannot let go of the past. I am always to be- in his mind- someone he possesses on a metaphysical level. I am his ex-wife, to be sure, but he upon marrying me joined an exclusive group of men in my life; those who pledged to protect me, provide for me…no matter what. Unlike many ex-husbands, his desire to continue ‘protecting and providing’ is given much of its longevity by the fact that I was quite symbolically his dreamgirl. On our wedding night he became the first man to introduce me to my sexual Self. To be shown his proclivities without judging and to subconsciously make them my own; this can be done by any open-minded female in any latter-day relationship, yet when this situation is explained to my male friends, they always refer to it as, "the virgin bond".
The year we married was 1997, and I was the Goddess of Conventry. I went back to Ohio for my grandmother. The news of her cancer diagnosis hit me hard; she was my only living grandparent but more importantly, intellectually, she was my modality. As she assured me it would be quite alright if I got a job and lived a little, I met up with old friends and was introduced to new ones. My apotheosis originally came about from my past legacy of gypsydom. “M.~ has lived EVERYWHERE!” my older friends would exaggerate, then I, as if on cue, would begin telling of my movement throughout my life. My most devoted worshippers were those whose parents had the means, yet would not untie their purse strings in order to let their children embark on journeys of Self-discovery. I was ‘divine’ in my ability to save up the money then, just…leave. We all remember the fairy tales of the princesses forced to live as serfs and milkmaids to save their lives…I WAS a gypsy princess...there are rarely palaces and jewels involved in my tales. The 'riches' are found in the people I have met and the experiences treasured; I would not trade them for the world!
“How did you get THERE?” “Was it as beautiful as movies say it is?!” “I want to come with you next time!” “I WILL come with you next time.” Jesse said with utter resolve. I was seated on the dining room table in our spacious four bedroom apartment on Euclid Heights Blvd., in the area of Cleveland Heights known as Coventry Village. My roommates’ protests to me placing my tiny derriere where we broke bread were futile. It was the best place for me to hold ‘service’. Jesse was one of the first devotees of the Cult of M.~; he fell hard and quickly. I have to admit, he did hold sway over me for a time…what woman wouldn’t fall for a guy that made her a shepherd’s pie from scratch? Jesse’s dad was a corporate attorney who used his financial gains wisely. Trips for Jesse and the rest of the family were only deemed necessary if it furthered his father’s career goals for Jesse on some level. “Are you SURE, Jesse?” He stood up from his chair, one of the ten circling the dining room table on which I was perched, “Never more sure in my life!” Jesse was GREAT! He performed as headrest when I would sit three of my friends next to one another on the couch and lie across them like a lap bed to take naps. He would sometimes brush my hair while I was sleeping if he planned to take me out of the house whenever I awakened. So how did I wind up married to TJ? Jesse was an unalterable SNOB!
When he felt himself losing ground with me to TJ (they were vying for my attention along with an older gentleman named Tim who quickly lost me when he tried to buy my affections), he would start in with the Polish jokes to belittle TJ. I do not allow anyone- any group- to be oppressed by stereotypes, so this behavior pushed Jesse out of the goddess’s good graces expeditiously! He spent the rest of that summer moping and apologizing…I believe TJ and I forgave him after the wedding that Fall. TJ also had the added distinction of being the one guy in years who could make me…nervous. I would get flushed after he kissed me good night; have fitful dreams that made me feel guilty when I would see him the next time at work... My older brothers blame sexual tension for me getting married “too soon” as they put it to this day, but I believe my marriage and subsequent deflowering came right on time. I was ripe.
Matrimony is an odd ritual, as is the pomp of the dating ritual leading up to it. ‘Keep her safe! Keep her virtuous!’ the men seem to be mumbling, while the women whisper, ‘Isn’t it romantic?’ at every display of affection. A male relative walks you down the aisle of a sacred hall to the altar, in an extravagant and attention-grabbing gown- in the daytime? Removing a maiden’s claddagh from your ring finger, he slips it into his tuxedo pocket. Your finger is now bare, awaiting another man’s jewellery; he will begift you from now on. The male relative steps symbolically and literally to the side, solemn. He knows what will happen to you later but the women are pressing you to receive; their will is strong and he can not fight for you anymore. This 'prince' of a man- the one who asked for your hand in marriage and has just vowed to love and cherish you in front of your families and your God- gives you a brand new set of expensive rings as an ‘exchange’; you still don’t quite know what is going to happen or you would have asked that the rings be even MORE expensive.
Everyone is keeping you in good spirits, some even make jokes and innuendoes. You, the virgin sacrifice, are clueless. But this is tradition and every woman who claims to feel guilty for not doing it “the right way” has forgotten to warn you that your Prince Charming- the man your male relatives have just turned you over to- is about to scar you FOR LIFE! You are going to remember this; the real test is will you forgive him? Specifically, will you get over the trauma of this moment, being able to embrace yourself as a sophiscated 'animal' that controls your desires, while also being able to acknowledge your primal callings...maybe even one day...separate from his? He takes you out of the country. The location is beautiful (scenery to distract you). He grants you twelve more hours of virtue because he wants to swim, water ski and soak up some sun. The latter activity is cut short due to you both being fair complected and easily burnt. You return to rose petals on your bed and a bottle of champagne on the table nearest the window with two glasses. “Congratulations!” courtesy of the hotel; surely they are congratulating HIM on capturing a virgin...such elusive prey. ‘There are so many rose petals they almost look like a stain on the sheets’, you think as your archetypal mind is attempting to warn you. You lie down, dizzied from the champagne and he, now lying next to you tells you how pretty and ‘sweet’ you look. ‘Sweet’…like innocent.
This was not the scene from “Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love” (1997) where Tara begins to hate/desire her husband in a masochistic manner. I believe that had a lot more to do with his potent pheromones! But there is no ‘birds and the bees’ ‘Mother/Daughter’ conversation that can prepare you for that ‘surprise’. The one that Prince Charming gives you if you are “a good girl” on your wedding night.
TJ has not let go- literally. He is attempting to brush my almost waist-length auburn hair away from my neck in order to better entice me into the room, with tender kisses on my ‘weak spot’. As I watch him in the mirror’s reflection I wonder if it is such a bad thing for me to continue to be ‘bonded’ to him- my 'first'; the man I dreamt would be my only. Surrendering to him again would be a return to a time in my life when I was still content to be ‘perfect’ for whomever was to be pleased. ‘It would be my duty to surrender right now’ I thought , then I knitted my brows and with a good bit of force, shrugged off TJ’s embrace. I turned around to face him, answering his questioning, surprised, open posture with my empowered, no-nonsense, cross-armed gaze. “It’s getting late…I’m sure your GIRLFRIEND will be expecting a call from you…how about I buy you lunch before you start back?” We quietly go back to his car and I tell him I am in the mood for Italian. As he starts the car he glances over at me and says, “I guess…I guess I got a little…nostalgic. I’m sorry…” I am looking out the passenger’s window at a really cute guy walking his dog. I check his left hand for a wedding band, then smile and raise a brow in curiosity as I do not see one and he- noticing me looking at him- smiles. TJ is annoyed, “M.~?! HELL-loo! I said I was sorry!” The cute guy passes from view and I turn back toward TJ, “Don’t worry sweetie…I already forgave you.”
This goddess isn't totally against fairy tales, or I would not be coaxed into 'chick flicks' by my female friends ever so often. Here are three books that helped me appreciate the power behind the rituals and literature that throughout history has propelled them: "Fairy Tales Sexuality and Gender in France" by Lewis Seifert; "Spinning Straw Into Gold…” by Joan Gould; "The Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde" by Jarlath Killeen (more of a study). If you are feeling REALLY independent, re-read Grimm's and blog your own opin'! Kisses, M.~
Labels: Lost 'Happily Ever Afters', Prince Charming, The Mysterious 'Virgin Bond'
posted by ScreenGoddessComplex at 11:15 AM
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