I am jealous of his harem. I do not want to be just one girl in a picture by Ingres. If he has a harem then I refuse to lay down in it, languishing under the subtle breeze of my peacock feather fan. We talk about Eunuchs. It would require a eunuch to service such a smorgasboard of feminine wiles. Someone adept at listening. Some agile, young and preferably heterosexual male to lie amongst so much female flesh. A eunuch has had his testicles removed to ensure that he does not pregnate the herd. I think of them as a herd. The women who are lined up side by side on silken couches, composing poetry to the man, sighing, dreaming, dedicating their dreams. The eunuch has subjected himself to the removal of his testicals. One at a time, if he has been at all organised about it. The pleasure associated with the removal of a testical is supposed to be immense. And so, with both of them now removed, he grazes amongst the herd, nipping a bud here or there, chewing, swallowing only to regurgitate the blossom at a later time.
But wait. I am unkind. The scenario is nothing but a figment of my jealousy. I know better than to imagine a herd of women, women hunt in packs, like wolves, and like wolves, they can be silent and deadly. I pity the poor eunuch who waits nervously amongst them. I swallow down my jealousy and know that I will not be a part of a harem because I am afraid for myself and unable to compete.
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