I am an elephant.
With no clothes on I am an old wrinkled elephant. Without the grace that most elephants possess, I’m afraid. My hips and back are covered with all these layers of flesh. The folds of skin on my back hang like extra breasts.
But even elephants deserve a good time once in a while. Gerda and I know that. I’m not saying Gerda looks like an elephant. With her long neck and nervous hands she’s more like an ostrich. We have our regular day for going to the baths.
Out we go to the public baths, up to the ticket window, showing our season ticket.Steam bath and the rest.It’s feel good time for Elsemarie. Gerda hasn’t arrived yet, but I’ll go in anyway, so we can meet in the steam. [… 6 pages later:] Elsemarie the elephant now prepares herself for an oiling of her nether regions.
This is the true reason why I come here. There are several other public baths I could go to – all with individual changing rooms and oldies like me. But they don’t have upside down floor showers. The one I like here is positioned just opposite the open toilet, so you can have a pee if you suddenly need one right in the middle of showering. If you do, then you have to wash yourself don’t you? I mean really thoroughly – from below. Just think how many bacteria are left behind after peeing. Turn on the tap as far as it can go, full blast on that little spot. That little front part. That little dachshund that never gets exercised anymore. Thank god this is one part that neither has arthritis nor pains. This little organ is intact, just like before. All it needs is a discreet lifting of the flesh on the thighs while we study the ceiling. Up there the paintwork is peeling off in laaarge sheets, see how they hang down, it’s a sight for sore eyes, as Gerda would say, God I hope she doesn’t come right now, what would she think, aah … I don’t care, nothing matters. I have a tip that still gows, a magic wand that turns water into wine, a spark that flashes with a light that can crack walls, a free ticket for a ride on the world’s best merry-go-round.
The floor rolls forwards and backwards, my body slumps and I try to hide it under the real shower, water from above, water from underneath. Mmmmmm … wouldn’t it be fantastic if I had a little floor shower like this at home where there’s no one to stare, a little warm wet tongue that gently licks and nudges, nestles up against … ooooh up and down, everything’s spinning and now it’s coming, now the little dachshund’s out to burst all the balloons, now the house shakes from roof to the cellar, now the stars sparkle above us, all of us now, now, now, aaaaahhh! God bless us all. God bless Denmark.
Elsemarie! What on earth are you doing!
Come on, hurry up. We want a go too you know.
Steam, Ex Hibition
… This is nauseating. Here I am, sitting in a cafe in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon, in honour of my dear, departed husband, and I get a breast stuck right in my face. A breast with a repulsive piece of jewelry on it. How can such a respectable looking lady stand there and actually do such a thing? It must have hurt to have it done, who could have done it? Her lover? With or withour her consent? Could it have been her own idea? Someone should call the police …
Voyeur, Ex Hibition
… The darkness inside her exploded into light. While the colours slowly drifted down and landed on her very core, she realized that the feeling of a thousand hands was not simply a miracle. Sam had awaken behind her in the huge water-bed.
She glanced at Harry’s sweaty face. Had he noticed? He slid out of her now, a little worm that left warm liquids between her buttocks.
Anger and panic took hold of her. She wanted to push Sam away and opened her mouth to say something, when a pleading hand covered her lips. Please let me, it said. Just this once. Just tonight.
How often did Sam touch anyone? Did he have anyone at all to go to bed with – or did he hug his pillow as she did herself, night after night? Harry put a sleepy arm around her. Good heavens, if she could make old Sam happy …
Green eyes, Ex Hibition
Jens Andersen, Berlingske Tidende, August 10 1997:
Danish prose these days is suffering from a reluctance to deal with eroticism, it is either absent, turned into soft-porn, hidden behind irony or twisted into perverted violence […] The writer Bente Clod, who teaches Erotica Writing (The art of enticing and captivating the reader erotically) has just published seven erotic tales in English, in a book called Ex Hibition from the publishing house Stokrose. She says that many Scandinavian authors shy away from the challenge and put a full stop at the bedroom door: it is then up to the reader to imagine the rest.
Yes, in some aspects we are really really not getting any in new Danish literature. Perhaps literature should attend a weekend course with Bente Clod and have a language cleanse, so that it can become possible again to say I love you (and naughtier and wilder things) without it sounding like a stupid joke.
Buy Ex Hibition here