What’s this we hear where you gave an interview to Playgirl magazine about the size of Jim’s lizard and dressing up in stockings and garter belts?
Ah! The horror, the horror! Once Miss Patricia stops laughing, she’ll be very happy to explain… Well now. Some trashpig people just don’t seem to have anything more or better to do with their lives than tell public lies and quarter-truths about other people’s lives to yet other people with no lives whatsoever…
What I actually said in the interview in question was, and it’s right there in print for those of you to read who actually know how, Jim liked me to dress up for him in stockings and black lace bra and panties and garter belts — a fairly common, dare I say almost universal male fantasy; and spare me your fake morality or scandalized blushes, women enjoy it too, you know — and every now and again I was moved to indulge us both.
And I challenge you to show me the living, breathing, virile man who wouldn’t like his own woman to do the same: Except possibly for Bob Dole, and maybe not even he, I venture to say there is not a man on this planet who would not be thrilled and delighted and turned-on as all hell to have his honey dress up for him, on occasion, in some black lace and stockings; and any man who says he wouldn’t is lying.
— Sorry. I was laughing again. But WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT’S SO WRONG HERE? What consenting adults do between themselves in private is nothing anyone else has any business whatsoever criticizing: Jim and I both found my little lingerie scenes terrifically exciting and enjoyable, and NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS would I have been so cheerfully frank about it in public if endless smut had not already been talked in fanzines and elsewhere about Jim’s sexual proclivities and capacities.
It’s so typical of this sort of pigdog maggot, that THEY — who never met Jim, or knew Jim, who maybe even never even shared the planet with Jim — can mouth boundless obscenities about Jim’s marriage tackle, or the lack or condition thereof (penile cancer???!!! I DON’T THINK SO!!!!), or lie about his sex life or capability, and think that’s just perfectly okay; but when I — who, I guess I have to remind you yet again, ACTUALLY MADE LOVE WITH JIM MORRISON, and more than once too — briefly mention a harmless occasional fetish that both of us found arousing, or, not once going into graphic detail, make the brief simple statement that yes, he was well-endowed, somehow I am guilty of not only lèse-majesté but sacrilege, mortal sin and high treason, and must be the spawn of Satan for saying so.
I just want to get this straight: It’s okay for other people to publicly trash Jim’s applied sexuality, but it’s NOT okay for ME to publicly PRAISE it??? What’s THAT about??? If I can’t celebrate Jim’s lizard, well, who the hell can???
At least I never ONCE had cause, as Pamela Courson reportedly did, to scribble in lipstick on the bathroom mirror negative reviews of Jim’s bedroom performance — nor would I ever have been so cruel and vindictive as to do so even if the situation, uh, arose…or, I guess, didn’t arise.
Perhaps she just could no longer manage to light his fire? Or he simply preferred to set the night on fire in New York instead? After all, she’s the one who told me that by December 1970 — by which time Jim and I had been lovers since September 1969 — she and Jim had not had sexual relations with one another for over a year — you do the math. She further confided that that wasn’t what they were into with each other — not surprising, junkies usually aren’t into sex — and she seemed not at all displeased that this was so, or to be embarrassed to tell me…otherwise she’d have lied and said they did it six times a day.
Though, being the proud public prude I am, I detest the necessity even to mention such deeply personal matters, I sure wasn’t prudish where it counted — as Jim himself so often happily told me. I may not like to talk about it in public, which is only proper, but I have no shame of any of it, and neither did Jim. We shared an honest and healthy sexuality, first as two lovers enjoying each other, later as husband and wife engaging in romantic and beautiful intimacy — there is not a single thing here to be ashamed of, on either side. Only those who would smear and cheapen it need be ashamed: Given the endless lies and slanders and lascivious mouthings from people WHO DON’T KNOW AND NEVER WILL KNOW, I think this is indeed something that needed to be said. Maybe that’s what they’re all so insanely envious and jealous about…
Also, however unseemly and immodest it may be to gloat, I wanted to counteract some of the bad bedroom press Jim has gotten from women who obviously weren’t woman enough in the first place to inspire him to do his best…but being a lady I won’t brag. [Well, not too much: Can you say “multiorgasmic”, boys and girls??:)]
Anyway, I gave all this misconstrued-as-usual information in an interview for Playgirl magazine (other recent interviewees for that same feature were Erica Jong, Jackie Collins and Robin Quivers, so don’t be dissing), mostly because the hundreds of interviews I’ve given over the past four or five years have all been difficult and emotional and gutwrenchingly, grimly painful things to do — to the fannish hordes he’s Jim Morrison Rock Star, but to me he is my beloved dead husband, who was possibly murdered, and who ABSOLUTELY died because, by the most charitable interpretation, his strung-out soon-to-be-ex fucked up bigtime, and this is no piece of cake to have to speak of or write about. This time, I just wanted to have some FUN for a change.
Just ONCE I wanted to talk about Jim in an interview with nothing but laughter and desire and delight, all of which characterized our relationship, and not have to go home and cry for a week afterwards the way I usually do; to be playful and to see reflected Jim’s own playful side. I could have been a LOT more graphic than I was, but chose not to be — I think my points were well enough made as they were, and very well taken too, at least by those who can read and infer. Geez! Lighten UP, will you???
And I made Jim look very, very good — which of course he was. He himself would have found the interview flattering and amusing: So, what did I do wrong?
Besides, just wait till you read (in Fireheart) the lovely lyrical graphic erotica Jim wrote for me, wild exaltations of our sensuality; I hate to repeat myself, but the words ‘Eat your hearts out’ come once again to mind — more appositely than you’ll ever know.