I flew from London to New York on Christmas Eve 2014 to spend Christmas Day with Cassie’s household. It’s the type of factor you’re presupposed to do while you’ve been going out with somebody for 10 years, however I’d solely recognized Cassie a couple of months. She got here out to her father about courting me and it didn’t go down nicely. Then, a couple of weeks later, she advised him over a household dinner that I used to be writing a e book about masturbation. Her sister and mom took her apart within the kitchen afterwards. “Why didn’t you simply inform him she’s writing a e book on journey, or one thing?” her sister requested.
Spending Christmas Day collectively was presupposed to clean issues over, however no sooner had we sat right down to eat than her father requested me about what I used to be writing. Perhaps he thought I’d modified my thoughts, and gone for one thing a bit extra Downton Abbey? Cassie’s sister checked out me intently, daring me to return out with it.
“I’m, er, researching masturbation,” I mumbled, out of the blue self-conscious. I had an interview lined up in San Francisco with a pornography star turned intercourse artist known as Annie Sprinkle, however determined to not point out this. As a substitute, I muttered one thing about masturbation being, “you recognize, the muse of feminine sexuality. And stuff …”
Cassie’s face prompt a firing squad had simply entered the room.
“Who’d like a pig in a blanket?” her sister interjected, attempting to behave regular as she handed round a plate of frankfurters wrapped up in Pillsbury dough, one of many household’s Christmas traditions.
I used to like the Pillsbury Doughboy, like I used to like all the pieces about American meals: bubblegum and spray-on cheese and breakfast cereals in lurid packaging. However now the dough tasted like chemical substances. The place are the mince pies and the bread sauce, I believed. And why was everybody speaking about eliminating the Christmas tree the subsequent day?
Cassie’s father merely nodded; her household had been extremely type and welcoming, however stumbling over their questions made me marvel if I used to be minimize out to drive throughout America and write an enormous, surprising e book as I’d bragged to my mates again within the UK. My panic was turning me right into a provincial stick-in-the-mud.
Later, I checked my e-mail and a pal had despatched a video of Darling Nikki by Prince – his music about masturbation. It made me smile.
The following day, Cassie and I had been again in our Higher West Facet residence with an evil-smelling canine. We’d scored a free vacation pad, however Lucinda the terrier mutt got here with the deal, requiring 4 walks a day in freezing chilly Central Park. Issues felt strained between Cassie and me after Christmas Day, so I used to be the walker. I’m not a canine particular person and Lucinda favored to eat her personal poop. I used to be shocked. Was this regular? Ought to I cease her? Extra to the purpose, ought to I simply return to England with my very own tail between my legs?
Cassie ultimately determined to hitch Lucinda and me one morning. Nearing Central Park, she stopped and pointed to an icicle dripping within the sunshine from the railing of the subway station. The sight appeared astounding. I beloved that she’d seen this and I remembered why I’d fallen for her within the first place. Perhaps the vacations wouldn’t be so unhealthy in spite of everything.
Intercourse Drive by Stephanie Theobald is printed by Unbound (£12.99). To help the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Supply costs might apply.
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