Thrills under the Trench Coat and the Voice of Sharon Olds

"Since I was thirteen, I have wondered what I am."1

Sharon Olds, Poem to the Reader, line 12

I am an exhibitionist. These four simple words have taken ten years to reach the page. I left them unuttered for so long because of the somewhat frightening stereotypes surrounding them. A person does not go out and learn how to be an exhibitionist. You are naturally born with the tendencies. There are exhibitionists out there that keep it "in the closet." Then there are people like me who aren't afraid anymore of what others think. People have called me selfish, vulgar and rude. I tell myself that they just don’t understand.3

The stigma that makes exhibitionism almost horrifying is the image of the man walking around in a long trench coat flashing his genitals to unsuspecting victims. In psychiatry, exhibitionism is considered a disorder characterized by this very activity of the trench coated man. However, any dictionary defines an exhibitionist separate from the so-called disorder. Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language defines an exhibitionist as "a person who behaves in ways intended to attract attention or display his or her powers, personality, etc." In my opinion this definition is only half right, unless the consideration for all things sexual is included in the small word, "etc."4

My world is understandably different than what the norms of society have set up. I'm not a cookie-cutter person living a shaped, formed and pressed life. The mundane and habitual bores me to tears. My life thrives on spontaneity, surprise and shock. Any exhibitionist would tell you that planning anything ruins the thrill. I agree wholeheartedly, however I find that I like to plan my "victims." The voice in Sharon Olds’ "The Connoisseuse of Slugs" speaks of a preparation to pounce, a tension before the resulting shock:5

When I was a connoissseuse of slugs6

I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the7

naked jelly of those gold bodies,8

translucent strangers glistening along the9

stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies10

at my mercy.11

Sharon Olds, The Connoisseuse of Slugs, ll. 1-612

This tension is the very heart of suspense that drives me to pull off my "attack." The unsuspecting bystanders are never prepared for my very public displays, intended to cause physical and mental discomfort. Like the speaker in "The Connoiseuse of Slugs," I continuously search for people that I can “get my kicks" on. My pleasure is to "stand there in silence / until the slug forgot I was there" (ll. 10-11) and pounce on the discomfort of others, whom are shocked and surprised for my delight.13

This semester, after the first week of classes, I decided on a certain professor for my entertainment. My goal was to shock him to speechlessness. I knew my opportunity would arise in the papers and various writing assignments he wished us to do. I wrote semi-false tales throughout the semester with a little shocking tidbit placed strategically to bring out my surprise. As an exhibitionist, I hated waiting to get the papers back. The professor was the one at my mercy, and the comments were deliciously enjoyable. Comments like, "Creative! Where did you come up with this idea?" or "That’s unbelievable!" However, none were the speechless stuttering I truly wanted until this last composition. We were told to write about our major and our ambitions for the future. Imagine my elated joy when he requested a moment after class to ask me if it truly was my goal to become a Big and Beautiful porn star! I just smiled sweetly and to draw out the moment, stated matter-of-factly, "I’m considering giving my college professors first dibs on a complimentary copy, shall I put your name down?" I was successful at achieving the stuttering speechless moment I had built up to all semester. It was almost orgasmic as I walked out the door grinning from ear to ear.14

Simple pleasures are sometimes right under your nose, "glistening" with potential, as I learned in my literature class this semester. To my surprise and personal enjoyment the topic was to be "Texts of the Body." Certainly I would have my chance to expose a bit of myself and shock a few innocent students, and maybe the professor. My mind raced into the different topics we would cover. Sex would have to be one of them.15

In early September I arrived to class one day excited to the point of arousal. We were to read and discuss Sharon Olds’ poetry. I had never even heard of her before this class and reading a few select poems the night before I felt a strange oneness with what she was saying and how she wrote it. That first communal hour I rejoiced that I had found a voice in a poet so much like mine that I wanted to share it with everyone. I decided in that moment that I was going to tell at least two people in class what I was. Let them know the real me; the unbridled sexual energy, the open personality and equally exposed thoughts and opinions, and invite their curiosity into my world.16

For an exhibitionist this undertaking would not be hard, yet would expose me to a chance of rejection. Most people do not like spending time with me, and many are repulsed by my frank conversation. My first opportunity was in class discussion that week on Olds. This is where I hit a brick wall. As conversations progressed I realized I was in a room full of prudish conservatives who shied away from sexual discussion. Strike one. I let the conversation go as it did without my added information.17

My second opportunity was in the analytic response on one of her poems. I rejoiced and chose "The Connoisseuse of Slugs" for its very open metaphor of slugs and the enjoyment and bewilderment of a man’s penis, "eager and so / trusting you could weep" (ll. 21-22). This was certainly a topic I could discuss with fervor and intelligence. Just as with my other chance, I hit a brick wall. I could not use my personal opinions or thoughts in a critical analysis of this piece. I stripped it clean of personal expression and received my 10/10 for a paper well done. For the moment, I sat and waited for my next chance.18

This essay is my last chance; my turn to finally write as I’ve wished. I can use my critical thinking with insights on the body that are different than others. I do not conform. I am not a private person; I will not be told what I should and should not do. I intend on using the vocabulary that is most comfortable to me, just as Sharon Olds uses her descriptive imagery to describe simple acts, such as this kiss:19

And then he turned, and kissed me,20

and his lips were so much bigger and more tender21

than my mother’s, each of his lips was larger22

than her whole mouth, and the skin of his lips was like23

a newborn’s skin, and the flesh of his mouth,24

underneath, was so liquid that each lip25

seemed, to be splashing like a bucket inside.26

Sharon Olds, Virginal Orgy, ll. 26-3227

And with that, I introduce Sharon Olds. She has openly shared her life with the masses. Everything she has experienced, thought, explored and seen is in her poetry. No one asked her to do it. She writes them because she enjoys it. She shares it with the world because she believes she has something valuable to say. The reviewer for the New York Times hails Olds for her vision: "Like Whitman, Ms. Olds sings the body in celebration of a power stronger than political oppression" (NYS Writer’s Inst. par 1). Her explicit passion in her erotic poems is open; her descriptions are full of real images, not hypothetical metaphors but physical ones, "full of reflection themselves, cause us to think- and they also unsettle us with their sexual daring" (Roland Flint, par 1). She does what I crave doing almost daily. Sharon Olds speaks openly about body parts, functions and desires. She speaks candidly about completely human acts like sex, masturbation, aging and familial strife.28

David Leavitt says, "Sharon Olds is enormously self-aware; her poetry is remarkable for its candor, its eroticism, and its power to move" (NYS Writer’s Inst. par 4). She is an exhibitionist in poetry according to William Logan: "Olds has as many teases as a strip show, and the psychology that drives her poetry is dourly exhibitionist" (Logan, par. 5). I agree that she is an exhibitionist; however, I do not agree with Logan that she is dourly. Her poems are not stern and sour, they are captivating and warm. They invite you to come into her world. She draws attention to herself in what she writes by speaking bluntly about sex, using seemingly unusual, yet real metaphors for body parts and covers topics that are still taboo today, such as masturbation. At first, I believed I could see how her words were so much like mine. Then I felt that wasn’t really quite right. I saw what I was in her poetry. She was defining me, modeling my character, and proclaiming that it was okay. I am normal in my own right.29

Growing up in a dysfunctional family doesn’t make headlines anymore. It isn’t whispered at church or hidden from view at school. People nowadays walk around and almost with a sense of belonging announce it to those around them. Desperately I searched for people like me during my school years, with a father who liked to hit, a mother that was mentally unstable and adopted siblings with so many other disorders I could fill a book just on my family life. I will not discuss that here. This essay is about my growth and understanding; my sexual revolution. I feel that my family affected my "normal" growth as a child and possibly moved my mind into the deviance that I have entered.30

I grew up in a family closed off from the other families. Our lives were very private, and yet I tried desperately to open my life up wherever I went.  I remember no gatherings or parties. I remember only a few close friends around me. Also, I do not remember when I first learned about sex, but it wasn’t from my parents and it wasn’t from school. My mother made certain of that. Even within my sexual initiation Olds knew me and could tell the world what I thought. Sharon Olds understood me. She could speak my disappointment in the handling of my sexual learning and the shafted feeling I had at the realization that I was not to receive what I thought was due.31

I knew little, and what I knew32

I did not believe-they had lied to me33

so many times, so I just took it as it34

came35

Sharon Olds, First Sex, ll. 1-436

Any child has tales of putting condoms on bananas and watching STD films in Sex Ed. class. Any child but me, that is. My parents told the school that they believed it was their responsibility to teach their children about sex. And so, I spent two weeks in 6th, 7th, and 8th grade in the library studying nutrition. I was the only student not in the class. I felt excluded from a rite of passage and cheated out of an important part of my life. My friends would tell tales of what they learned in Sex Ed., and I lived on the stories and second hand news. My mind began dreaming and seeking information anywhere I could get it. First it was the media, commercials, magazine ads and news. Then I did the next best thing. I poked through my parents’ bedroom and found my father’s stash of porn magazines. I would sneak one and keep it in my room for a week or two, looking at the pictures and reading the stories and bios. This was my initiation into sex.37

I was cheated again without realizing till much later by my parents. I never had "the talk." I had learned so much from my secret searches, yet I did not have the facts, the knowledge that was needed to make good decisions, "and what I knew / I did not believe" (ll.1-2). Asking my mother years later, she seemed shocked that she forgot, and then expressed that I was smart and already "knew all that." Thanks mom for the vote in confidence about a topic I had only second hand knowledge.38

I felt just like the speaker in Sharon Olds’ poem "First Sex." I was told very little about sex as an adolescent from my authority figures. What information I did receive was gossip and second-hand chatter. My "schooling" was filled with pornography and erotic stories from my father's stash. I accepted all as half truths until I could experience it for myself. The only things I knew to be true were the tales of masturbation. At the age of twelve I began to masturbate. And not just occasionally. I masturbated twice a day, some days more frequently. I craved more and more of what I really didn’t know about. My mind had been corrupted by the magazines I had gleaned from my father's naughty collection. It was the beginning of my sexual discovery, and I was using every possible moment by myself to explore. I talked about sex with my friends whenever I could slip it into conversation, and I loved the thrill of talking about something 'naughty.'39

My openness to conversation only sparked another desire in me; one that would remain dormant for years. As I grew up, went to school, and almost became self-absorbed in my life, my desire to enjoy and explore sex in all its forms raged in me. Maybe it was because at that time my family life was ripped apart, maybe it was because I put on a lot of weight in those early adolescent years and I was ridiculed so much, and then maybe it was because I didn’t feel like anyone else was like me. In a time where groups of friends were important, I had none. I wrote sexually explicit poetry and stories, even though I was still virgin. I talked about it with anyone who would listen, I joined online groups, had a few male pen pals, and I did research on anything sexual.40

Throughout this time I didn’t even realize that my body image was being warped; not in the way that most girls are confused about their bodies, but a way that still affects me today. Most girls look at the skinny models in beauty magazines and desperately want to be that skinny, to be "perfect." I see myself as smaller, skinner than I am really. Even looking in a mirror requires a bit of preparation, for I just don’t see myself as a large woman. I see myself as average sized, and beautiful. Most people would say, "What is wrong with that?" I can give two reasons why my body image is bad. One reason is that, when I dress, I wear clothing that may not be appropriate for someone my size. I dress for myself; I wear clothing that clings, makes me feel good and in most cases shows off my body. Strangers look at me oddly, and I take that as attention rather than a need to change the way I look. Second reason is I get a false sense of self worth if I view myself as smaller than I am. I need to love my body as it is, not as I think I see it. I’m slowly learning to do that. Exhibitionism is a great helping factor in that I can be myself and not fear the repercussions of a society that doesn’t accept all people for who they are but tries to place them in categories and groups. One such category is expressed in another Olds poem titled "Know-Nothing." In this piece the speaker talks of a woman that seems to have the freedom and power over men that she desires and uses that power to her advantage.41

Or maybe she has mercy on pretty much42

anything a stranger would say or do,43

or maybe it is not mercy, but sex,44

when she sees what he is like, she enflames for that,45

and is afraid of nothing, wanting to touch46

stone desire, and know it, she is like47

a god, who could have sex with stranger48

after stranger- she could know men.49

Sharon Olds, Know-Nothing, ll. 21-2850

Where would this person fit into society? Sharon Olds shows us a person that all of us stereotype, "when she sees what he is like, she enflames for that" (ll.24). She presents to us the slut. I’m not saying this condescendingly, for a slut is a decent enough person, and normally has a reason for her actions, even if it is just her desire for sex. I envy her, I want be like her because my exhibitionist cravings also have sexual desires.51

Becoming a slut is inviting because I find the idea of monogamy as outdated, confining, and only a religious institution. The visions of people sleeping with anyone they desire, for the only reason of physical pleasure are more than enough for me to throw out monogamy altogether. This woman in the poem "is like a god" because she knows how to use her power as a woman and sex object to get what she wants: sex. She has rejected the conformities of monogamy that religion has placed on us for her own personal gain, experience and enjoyment. She has embraced sexual freedom wholeheartedly and I find myself needing that; wanting it so badly that I would, and have, thrown out the idea of having children because of the responsibility and restriction on my personal desires, for the chance to sleep with strangers and experience what it is like to be "afraid of nothing, wanting to touch / stone desire, and know it." I have searched for some way to sample this life, the life of the slut, and I have found it in BDSM.52

BDSM is an acronym for Bondage, Discipline, Domination/submission, Sadism and Masochism. For anyone that is a mouthful. For me it was my solution, and my calling. For so many years I had tried to hide my sexual exhibitionist desires, my deviant cravings of spanking and bondage that I gleaned off of my father’s pornography, and my confusion at the signals I was receiving from my body over very common household items.53

Let me explain this last detail. A part of BDSM is fetishes. Most people you talk to in "the lifestyle" have at least one. A fetish is an obsession, a deep-seated desire over something that gives you sexual arousal. Common fetishes are feet, pantyhose and nylons, high heeled shoes, leather, rubber and latex. I had begun to develop carnal cravings for something that I've not admitted to anyone: phallus shaped items. I would see items about the house, store, or school that would cause my body to respond excitedly and I couldn’t explain why. I know now that I have a penis fetish. Now, women around the world can say that they do too, but not in the severity that I have developed mine. Most women when they say they have a penis fetish mean simply that they are pleased during sex and that they are drawn to them for that reason. This is not a fetish; this is a normal attraction for women who are heterosexual. Think about the things around your house with the shape and contour of a penis, for example beer bottles, hair spray cans, sidewalk chalk, toothpaste tubes and candlesticks. Do these things turn you on? Well, for a normal person, not likely. For me, I can’t help but imagine sexual things with them almost all the time. Nothing is as good as the real thing, and for that I would do just about anything. I crave cock all the time, and because of that I'm constantly checking men’s "packages." To become like the woman in "Know-Nothing" would give me the ability to indulge in my fetish more often than ever. It would liberate me completely.54

Now I'm sure you are wondering where my outlet to become a slut is in BDSM. If you are unaware of the inner workings of this alternative lifestyle, let me fill you in. In some, not all cases, a submissive (in this case, me) is shared with those that the Dominant wishes, complete strangers, and is consensually "forced" to serve groups of people at "parties." This is not the only thing that draws me to BDSM. I am an exhibitionist and people like me are not only respected, they are accepted, enhanced, and brought out into the open more often. A caring Dominant knows what brings the submissive pleasure and uses that to enhance his or her life. So, not only could I be a slut and absorb myself in my phallus fetish, but I could do it in the open, in front of people. I could show off sexually to a room full of people that find what I do acceptable.55

Searching for someone that would be compatible in this arena is no different that normal relationship trial and error, except for one small, yet important detail. People that delve into the world of BDSM know exactly what they want, what turns them on and how to obtain their goals. Most people even have a checklist of activities they enjoy along with a scale of how well they enjoy the activity. It has simplified the partner search. Sharon Olds describes a form of this very checklist in her poem titled, "The Solution:"56

They opened huge Sex Centers- you could simply go and state what you want and they would find you someone who wanted that too.57

A steady stream of people under the sign I Like to Give Pain paired up with the steady stream of people from under I Like to Receive Pain.58

The line under I Want to Be Fucked Senseless was so long that portable toilets had to be added and a minister brought in for deaths, births, and marriages on the line.59

Sharon Olds, The Solution, ll. 2-4, 8-10 and 25-2860

The singles market would work so much easier if people actually stated what they want from one another instead of having to get to know someone to find that you have absolutely nothing in common. I wear what I am on my sleeve; I even have my own checklist. People around me notice almost within the first hour that I am different and they either latch on for curiosity sake or run screaming from my presence.61

I like to have sex. I like to have pain with my sex. I like talking about sex. I like thinking about sex. I like watching and hearing sex. I like being watched while having sex. My whole world is sex and this world isn’t ready for the sexual revolution that I have already gone through personally. I am open to anything that happens with anyone. I welcome all experience, all knowledge, all gossip about sex, kink, fetishes and so much more now. I wear an internal sign that says I love to receive pain and fuck senseless. No where does Olds say you can only pick one line. I’m like a kid in a candy store. I want to try it all, sample the sweets and pick the best ones to take with me.  There are so many people out there that say they don’t know what they want in a relationship. I can say exactly what I want.62

It has taken me ten years to figure it out, but I finally know what I crave, and am not ashamed to go out and get it. The good thing is that I can find people out there that match what I want. I have choices. Better yet, I'm accepted, "normal," and desired for what I am in the realm of BDSM. I believe that my sexual revolution has not ended, but only turned a corner into a world that I long to embrace completely and see what adventures I can partake in. Sharon Olds' voice echoes on my journey into myself and my surrender to the men that will show me the way to becoming a true submissive exhibitionist slut "-yes, yes, / I accept the gift" (Poem to My First Lover, ll. 27-28).63

Works Cited64

"Exhibitionist." Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language. New York: Random House. 2001.65

Flint, Roland. "A Way of Knowing." Poet Lore 83.1 (1988): 39-44. 27 Nov 2003 .66

Logan, William. "No Mercy." The New Criterion. 18.4 (1999):60. 37 pars. Expanded Academic ASAP. 13 Dec 2003..67

Olds, Sharon. "Poem to the Reader," "Know-Nothing." Blood, Tin, Straw. New York: Knopf, 1999. 22, 29.68

_________. "The Connoisseuse of Slugs," "Poem to My First Lover." The Dead and the Living. New York: Knopf, 1983. 51-52.69

_________. "First Love," "The Solution." The Gold Cell. New York: Knopf,70

1987. 17-18, 50.71

_________. "Virginal Orgy." The Unswept Room. New York: Knopf, 2002. Poetry Daily. The Daily Poetry Association. 27 Nov 2003. .72

State University of New York. New York State Writers Institute-Sharon Olds. 1 Feb 1998. New York State Writers Institute. 27 Nov 2003 .73