Ring ring!
Me: Hello?
Caller: Goddess? I greet thee. I am Pluto.
Such is the power of Disney branding that an image of an orange
cartoon dog pops into my head before I think, no, he’s referring to the
Roman god of the underworld, not Mickey’s pet. I get a lot of
goddess-fetish guys. It’s not a particular schwing of mine, but
I have no objection to a little religious diversity as long as they fit
into my basic game plan. The trouble is they often don’t.
Me: Okay, Pluto, this is Mistress Matisse.
Caller: Aphrodite, Venus, Urvasi, Ishtar—all of these are your
names.
Me: Well, that’s nice, but how about you call me Matisse; it’s less
confusing.
Caller: I am called to worship at your shrine, Goddess. I must
perform a yoni puja, and then you must perform the linga
puja on me.
I’ve read just enough about sacred-sex traditions to know a yoni
puja is a ceremony honoring my pussy. So, what, he wants to light some
candles, chant, burn some incense in front of my sweet thang? That
seems okay. I haven’t heard the term linga puja before, but I can guess
what it means. I don’t know any chants about cocks, but I’m told that
in men’s tantric sex practices, breath control and not ejaculation are
key. I can certainly handle that, so I make encouraging noises.
Caller: And then we join together in sacred union.
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, Pluto, no sacred union. You want to do
some ceremonies about our bits, okay, maybe. But we will not be joining
together.
Caller: But we must. Your power as a goddess on earth will atrophy
unless you perform the sacred union. Together we unlock the golden gate
to the sacred seventh chamber.
I hold the phone away from my head and look at it incredulously,
because even after all my years in the business, sometimes people still
say things to me that are so ridiculous it just stuns me. Golden gate?
Sacred chamber? What the hell? I’m totally flashing on the scene from
Ghostbusters when Rick Moranis and Sigourney Weaver are
possessed by demons, get busy on a rooftop, and literally let all hell
break loose. Where’s Bill Murray when you need him?
That’s the trouble with the goddess-worship callers. Too often
they’re either using it as a justification—Look, I’m not a
pervert, I’m simply participating in a centuries-old tradition of
goddess worship—or, like this caller, it’s the advanced
version of Inappropriate Yoga Guy, where they think they can worship
their way into some nooky.
Me: No, Pluto, I’m not unlocking anything. I do not do full service;
you’ll have to call someone else for that.
Caller: But your power—you will lose your power if we do not
open the golden gate.
Me: Pluto, do you know what I think is golden?
Caller: What, oh Goddess?
Me: Silence.
Click. I hang up. Ah, nirvana. 