Saturday, October 18, 2008
I Lost My Virginity To Grover From "Sesame Street"
When I was a child, I was a big fan of “Sesame Street.” It was entertaining and educational, and featured characters that were, in their innocence, aspirational and inspirational.
Grover was my favorite. The lovable monster’s charm came from the fact that he never gave up in spite of the odds, and he never let anyone down, even if it meant running back and forth over and over again to simply teach a stranger the difference between “near” and “far.”
My home was full of Grover-related paraphernalia, from books to vinyl record albums to toys. One of my favorite such toys was the plush Grover doll that was a constant companion. Rarely did Grover leave my side- literally, in the form of the doll, or figuratively, as a friend who came to me ever weekday through the tv screen.
By the time I was three years old, I’d developed a healthy interest in sex- or, what my child’s mind thought of as “sex”. I started rubbing myself up against anything I could find. Perhaps it’s not surprising that I received little satisfaction in this, and soon came to intuit that I needed to rub against something with which I had an emotional connection.
Of course I had an emotional connection with Grover. I lay there in my bed, rubbing against the doll’s soft, sensual plushness. But still- there was no satisfaction, and I thought I knew what the problem was.
About six months earlier, when I was still two years old, I inadvertently walked in on my parents during the act of copulation. I saw my daddy putting his pee spigot into my mother’s oven and I understood, vaguely, that they found the action pleasurable. Perhaps that’s what was lacking in my experience with plush Grover?
Using a pair of dull-edge safety scissors I methodically cut an oven door into the space between Grover’s legs. Up to that point, I had always considered that Grover was a male, but as I was making the cut I wondered why that was. Aside from a gravelly voice, there was really no evidence that Grover was a “he,” and I knew plenty of women, mostly heavy smokers, who had gravelly voices.
Soon enough there was no question in my mind, the evidence was there on my plush toy- Grover was a she, and ready for my pee spigot.
I was satisfied, but I could never watch “Sesame Street” in the same way again. Before that time, I’d always hoped to see Grover in the episodes, and I was disappointed when he didn’t appear. Now, I dreaded seeing him. Whenever he did come on, a feeling of uneasiness would seize me and I’d avert my eyes, pretending I hadn’t seen him. Eventually I’d look at the screen and feign surprise. “Oh, hey Grover. I didn’t see you walk in. Still got those squeaky shoes, huh?”
I felt so inane, for ruining something that up to that point had meant so much to me. And for what? A few moments of fleeting pleasure?
I’m sorry, Grover. And, thank you.