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Mademoiselle Eternelle realized she wouldn’t be playing by the rules when she lost her virginity at the age of 4. In a genuine accident, she slipped in the bathtub and landed straight down on a bottle of Johnson’s "No More Tears" baby shampoo. Mr. and Mrs. Eternelle, horrified, rushed her to the emergency room. One of the first memories of V’s young life was a scene of white suited men surrounding her gurney, frowning and shaking their heads regretfully. To minimize the damage, V’s dad asked the doctor to sign a certificate attesting that V’s virginity was still legal tender, although technically there would be no more tears of soft tissue in that area.
By the mid seventies, V Eternelle was coming of age in the most intense emancipation of human memory. The music spawned in this era--the Age of Aquarius--will probably be heard for hundreds of years to come on classic rock stations everywhere. For V just entering her teens, the value of her virginity was no more than that of an over-inflated currency, having little leverage in the arena of love. She kept hearing about the importance of studying, and so channeled her well-ingrained American work ethic into a full bodied study of boys and the pleasure principle. Her father threw out the unnecessary medical certificate when V ran away from home with the Steve Miller Band.
V danced her entire adolescence to music of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s. By the 90’s she was ready to explore more, so she switched to Jazz, Latin, and R&B. She married a world class conga player and toured the planet. Her job as band wife was to exhibit her poom-poom shorts and roam the stadiums. She loved to dance in tantric, rhythmic synchronicity to the cerebral, primitive rhythms and endless melodies of bands like David Sanborn and The Brecker Brothers. Between tours she bopped back to her Caribbean home sweet home to enjoy the big lime in the fresh years of dancehall reggae seduction.
Don Alias and Sonny Emery - two badass drummers
Woman is a receptacle. So far V Eternelle’s life had been an exploration of feminine nature’s propensity to take pleasure. True to her science, she put her senses through earth-shattering and mind bending orgasms. She tested the empirical limits of sex, drugs and sound. It seemed an angel may have been taking notes too, and she liked the idea of file sharing in this discreet, mysterious manner.
During recovery, she loved to muse on the unknown, fleshing out the secret doctrines of the Tantric Tibetan Buddhism. Mademoiselle Eternelle felt a deep attraction to…eternity.
V had been born to tease, winding her hips in wild abandon, yet always faithful to one man. Magic, the penultimate outlaw, was what she needed to lure. Deep down she wanted to submit herself to supreme intelligence and be a receptacle for the cloudless abyss.
She knew she was getting her wish when she witnessed a slow, languid and complex tease: her spiritual homecoming party. Yes, she felt great love from above, within, wherever (or everywhere, as she shed the then-and-there of sordid time and space), but what is a spiritual adventure without subcutaneous angst?
As anyone who’s had it knows, demons are a girl’s best friend. Such good friends indeed, that her supernatural romps took a toll on her ordinary physical self. Following a slight car accident, over-over-exposure to otherworldly pleasure translated to a backlash of hypersensitivity, a full-blown medical bad trip. Her nervous system snapped and she became allergic to almost everything, including processed food, household chemicals, even the electrical magnetic fields emanating from computers, televisions and telephones. Her fate was tragic-comic; she was allergic to the 20th century!
To make matters worse, her benign condition of cerebral and general inflammation, myalgic encephalomyelitis, prevented her from reading, writing, listening to music, even co-ordinating ordinary movements! Like O, the literary heroine, V faced a life of suffering in her quest for a higher love. Also like O, V was okay with all this.
She knew she was getting her wish when she witnessed a slow, languid and complex tease: her spiritual homecoming party. Yes, she felt great love from above, within, wherever (or everywhere, as she shed the then-and-there of sordid time and space), but what is a spiritual adventure without subcutaneous angst?
As anyone who’s had it knows, demons are a girl’s best friend. Such good friends indeed, that her supernatural romps took a toll on her ordinary physical self. Following a slight car accident, over-over-exposure to otherworldly pleasure translated to a backlash of hypersensitivity, a full-blown medical bad trip. Her nervous system snapped and she became allergic to almost everything, including processed food, household chemicals, even the electrical magnetic fields emanating from computers, televisions and telephones. Her fate was tragic-comic; she was allergic to the 20th century!
To make matters worse, her benign condition of cerebral and general inflammation, myalgic encephalomyelitis, prevented her from reading, writing, listening to music, even co-ordinating ordinary movements! Like O, the literary heroine, V faced a life of suffering in her quest for a higher love. Also like O, V was okay with all this.
Her musings steered her away from music, and divorce was in the cards. V remarried a Caribbean mechanic, renown for his ability to fix anything. When she couldn’t even look out at the Caribbean Sea anymore, they moved from her groovy reggae abode back to her Canadian homeland.
Her adorable Asmo stayed with her through it all, and kept her happy in spite of the untrendy trench in which she languished. They set about to repair her, a task achieved over several years.
Stuck in the crisper all this time, V was completely cut off from all media. She actually understood this to be a liberating gift, the chance to explore her own frequency. Ironically, she got drifts about the quality of television, which had so deteriorated by the year 2000 that she was glad not to be dragged through shows like Survivor and Millionaire. Finally, V was proud to be a virgin, a media virgin.
V’s spiritual course led her slowly and surely to learn patience. Lying in bed all day with no usable cerebral functions except thought and memory, V learned to meditate. She also learned to trust the brilliant schemer who came up with such exquisite torture: God. Her hypersensitivity included the slightest dose of any medicine, and well, since hospitals are spewing hordes of electrical magnetic fields from equipment and computers, she no longer had the illusory safety of medical help. Newly discovered by researchers, her condition could not be treated by conventional means.
She only had God (which V interprets as the 90% of our brain which we could use to run more often) to get her through. Learning to trust herself, she took the situation in hand. Adding a few minutes each day, she rehabilitated her body through exercise. All this time, 5 years in fact, her hip hop kundalini cheerleading posse assured her she would cure completely.
Tom Robbins had also responded to a letter she sent to him. In it he said that by reading his upcoming book, "Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates", V would be completely cured! V managed to read the book over 6 months, a few lines a day. Far form cured but much improved, she proceeded to read all of Tom Robbins’ books once more, hoping that maybe…
The experience was enjoyable, and that’s how V’s media virginity was taken, again.
V and her husband found a beautiful Swiss chalet in the hills of the Laurentians, where she has healed well. V studiously avoids constant media exposure, taking the luxury to choose what her mind perceives. She is happily married, has a family and pursues a career in interior design.
V Eternelle came across the desert on the slow boat to soul train but still lives by her credo…
