Marilyn Uncensored

Dear Doctor, you have given me everything. Because of you I can now feel what I never felt before. I can come by myself and with somebody else. So now I am a whole woman (pun intended, like Shakespeare). Now I have control--control of myself, control of my life.

What can I give you? Not money--I know that from me that means nothing to you. Not my body--I know your professional ethics and faithfulness to your wonderful wife make that impossible. What I am going to give you is my idea that will revolutionize psychoanalysis.

Isn't it true that the key to analysis is free association? Marilyn Monroe associates. You, my doctor, by understanding and interpreting what goes on in my mind, get to my unconscious, which makes it possible for you to treat my neuroses and for me to overcome them. But when you tell me to relax and say whatever I am thinking, I blank out and have nothing to say; that's what you and Dr. Freud call resistance. So we talk about other things, and I answer your questions as best I can. You are the only person in the world I have never told a lie and never will.

Oh yes, dreams. I know they are important. But you want me to free associate about the dream elements. I have the same blanking out--more resistance for you and Dr. Freud to complain about.

I read his Introductory Lectures. God, what a genius. He makes it so understandable. And he is so right. Didn't he say himself that Shakespeare and Dostoyevsky had a better understanding of psychology than all the scientists put together? Damn it, they do.

You told me to read Molly Bloom's mental meanderings--I can use words, can't I?--to get a feeling for free association. When I did, I got my great idea.

As I read it, something bothered me. Here is Joyce writing what a woman thinks to herself. Can he really know her innermost thoughts? But after I read the whole book, I could better understand that Joyce is an artist who could penetrate the souls of people, male or female. It really doesn't matter that Joyce didn't have tits or a cunt or never felt a menstrual cramp. Wait a minute. As you must have guessed, I am free associating, and you are going to hear a lot of bad language. Because of my respect for you I've never been able to say the words I'm really thinking during our sessions. But now I am going to say whatever I think, no matter what it is.

I can do that because of my idea, which, if you'll be patient, I'll tell you about.

That's funny. I ask you to be patient, but I am your patient. Yet to be patient and to be a patient makes a kind of Shakespearean sense, doesn't it?

Back to Joyce. To me Leopold Bloom is a central character. He is the despised Irish Jew married to an Irish Catholic woman. Through those two characters, Joyce develops much of what he wants to say. Do you agree that the scene where Bloom is looking at the little girl on the swing is the most erotic in the book?

I keep getting sidetracked. Well, that's what free association is.

Okay, my idea! To start with, there is the doctor and the patient. I don't like the word analysand. It makes it seem as though treating a sick mind is different from treating a sick body. However, you and Dr. Freud say the mind is part of the body. That makes the person getting treated a patient.

I'll bet Gertrude Stein would say a patient is a patient is a patient. See, free association can be fun.

Anyway, you are in a doctor's office, and the doctor says, "I want you to say whatever you are thinking, no matter what it is." And you can't think of a damn thing. How many times after a session would I go home and cry because I thought it was my fault?

While reading Molly's blathering, the idea came to me: Get a tape recorder, put a tape in, turn it on and say whatever you are thinking, (continued on page 197)Uncensored(continued from page 81) like I am doing now. It's really easy. I'm lying on my bed, wearing only a brassiere. If I want to go to the fridge or the bathroom, I can push the stop button and begin again when I want to.

And I just free associate. No problem. You get the idea, don't you? Patient can't do it in doctor's office. Patient is at home with tape recorder, patient free associates sans difficulty. Patient sends tape to doctor. After he listens to it, patient comes in for a session. He asks her questions about it, interprets it. Patient gets treated. Oh yes, she can put her dreams on the tape, too, right when she has them. You know how I would forget what I dreamed or even if I dreamed at all.

Dr. Freud said dreams are the via regia to the unconscious, so I'll tell you my dreams on tape.

You are the only person who will ever know the most private, most secret thoughts of Marilyn Monroe. I have absolute confidence and trust that you will never reveal to a living soul what I say to you.

What I told you when I first became your patient is true. I had never had an orgasm. I remember well when you said an orgasm happens in the mind, not the genitals. To me that means my cunt. Not that I especially like that word. When people want to say something nasty about a woman, they call her a cunt. It's like the word fuck. It is a better word than sexual intercourse or coitus. It's more direct and honest. I don't think sexual intercourse or coitus. I think fuck and fucking. And I know it describes the most wonderful thing a man and a woman can do to and with each other, but it also has a terrible negative use. When you want to tell somebody off, you say "Fuck you" or "Go fuck yourself" or "It's fucking this or fucking that." Nobody says "Coitus you" or "Go sexual intercourse yourself" or "The coitus car won't start." I don't think the problem is the words themselves but the way people use them.

It doesn't bother me, but this damn free association could drive somebody crazy. Oh, oh, crazy makes me think about my mother. I am not going to free associate about her right now. Let me finish my thoughts about orgasms.

You said an obstacle in my mind prevented me from having an orgasm and that I felt so guilty about something that happened early in my life, I didn't think I deserved to have the greatest pleasure there is. It had to do with something sexual that was very wrong, and my getting pleasure from it caused my guilt. You said it was buried in my unconscious. Through analysis we would bring it to my conscious mind where we could get to the guilt and free me to be orgasmic. Well, we sure worked at it and got nowhere. I'd go home and cry and vomit from the frustration. Then you said we'd try a different approach to the orgasm problem: You would tell me how to stimulate myself, and when I did exactly what you told me to do, I would have an orgasm. And after I did it to myself and felt what it was, I would have orgasms with lovers. What a difference a word makes. You said I would, not I could.

Bless you, Doctor. What you say is gospel to me. By now I've had lots of orgasms while fucking. Not only one but two or three with a man who takes his time coming.

I never cried so hard as I did after my first orgasm. It was because of the years I had fucked in every way there is and had men and women go down on me and never had an orgasm. What wasted years. How can I describe to you, a man, what an orgasm feels like to a woman? I'll try.

Think of a light fixture with a rheostat control. As you slowly turn it on, the bulb begins to brighten, then it gets brighter and brighter and finally, in a blinding flash, is fully lit. As you turn it off it gradually becomes dimmer and at last goes out.

It is so good, Christ, I am doing it now. [sounds of yipping and moaning for at least two minutes ending in a prolonged ahh] Wow! You don't mind, do you? You shouldn't. Better than anything, that tells what you have done for me. Doctor, I worship you.

Ever since you let me in your home and I met your family, I've thought about how it would be if I were your daughter instead of your patient. I know you couldn't do it while I'm your patient, but after you cure me maybe you could adopt me. Then I'd have the father I've always wanted, and your wife, whom I adore, would be my mother, and your children my brothers and sisters.

No, Doctor, I won't push it. But it's beautiful to think about it. I guess you can tell I'm crying. I'll stop now for a little bit.

•

Johnny Hyde was special. He wasn't a hell of a lot to look at. A little shrimp. Little shrimp--is that redundant or tautological? I always get them mixed up. Anyway, he came up only to my chin. Standing up, he sucked my nipples by bending his head.

Johnny was a cocky character. No agent in the business was better. The studio bosses and casting directors respected him. His word was gold. You didn't need any damn lawyers when he made a deal.

Good Christ, how that man took care of me. He divorced his wife and bought a house for us to live in, bought my clothes, paid my hairdresser and cosmetic bills and medical expenses. He was my agent and got me better parts and more money than I had before.

It's funny though. He always took his agent fee; he said it kept me professional. And then he'd turn around and spend a fortune on me.

There was a lot of talk that he did all this to get me to marry him. And I probably would have if he wanted me to. But the truth is he thought marriage would hurt my career. He said if I did what he told me, he'd make me a big star.

I got Johnny into bathroom sex sort of accidentally. I went into the bathroom to take a shit. As you know, I get constipated a lot. This time I couldn't go. I'd left the door open. Johnny was standing there watching me sit on the toilet. He stayed there when I got out my enema bag and gave myself an enema. After I finished, Johnny said, "God almighty, Marilyn, that's the most exciting thing I ever saw. I came in my pants, and I didn't even touch it." He showed me, and he still had a hard-on. He greased himself and me with K-Y and, for the first time, fucked me in the ass.

From then on we had all kinds of sex in and out of the bathroom. Johnny liked my tits but was absolutely devoted to my ass. He would spend an hour giving my asshole a tongue job. I learned how interesting an uncircumcised penis is. I got a kick out of stroking the foreskin back to see the head. That reminds me of a guy in lighting who would bring my lunch to the dressing room. One day he said, "Marilyn, please give me your advice." Seems his doctor told him he had phimosis and wanted him to go to a urologist to get circumcised. He said he was scared to death to have his penis cut. I was curious and asked him to let me see it. He took out his pretty big cock. Sure enough, the opening at the tip looked barely big enough to pee through. When I tried to push the foreskin back, it wouldn't budge, but he got a strong erection. I asked if he could come in his condition. He said, "Yes, but it hurts." I wanted to see it, so I jacked him off. He came all right, damn near a cupful. He said it felt wonderful, but the swollen head against the tight foreskin hurt. He was so grateful, it was pathetic. It was the first time a girl had jacked him off. I told him millions of guys, Jews and non-Jews, were circumcised and made him promise to get it done. I don't know if he ever did--he was a temporary, and I never saw him again. You think of the damnedest things when you free associate.

Johnny surprised me when he asked me to let him know when I had to pee. I did, and he held a glass to catch my piss. He showed me in a medical book that healthy urine is sterile and has no bacteria. He drank it and said it was more delicious than any wine. I'll bet Johnny drank a gallon of my urine.

Doctor, I hope what I've said doesn't make you think Johnny was some kind of pervert. I slowly began to understand that all this sex stuff was his way of getting close to me and being as much a part of me as humanly possible. I think if he could curl up in my uterus, he'd want to. I was everything to him: wife, mother, sister, daughter, mistress. Nobody will or could love me as much as Johnny H. I loved the little guy, but I was never in love with him.

•

A radio whore is trying to restart a fire under the old so-called [Joan] Crawford-Monroe feud. Okay, she said some mean things about me a while back. What do I care? I don't know why she did. Crawford and I started out friendly. As always, Shakespeare said it best: "He that takes from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed." [Shakespeare's word is filches.] No, Doctor, I did not look it up. I've memorized a lot of Shakespeare.

That reminds me of The Prince and the Showgirl. [Laurence] Olivier came into my dressing room to give me hell for screwing up. I soothed him by telling him I thought his Hamlet was one of the greatest films ever made. You know he won an Oscar for it.

But the prince was a real prick. He was superficial--no, that's not the word--supercilious, arrogant, a snob, conceited and maybe a little bit anti-Semitic in the sense of "some of my best friends are Jews." But damn him, he's a great actor.

At a party he told a couple of Jewish jokes. Arthur [Miller] says his Yiddish accent was perfect. I told him Lee Strasberg said I had Shakespeare in me and asked him what he thought. Olivier said, "Marilyn, if you work with Lee harder than you ever worked and get the basics, come to me and I'll help you do it. Here's what you're in for." And Olivier recited Shakespeare for two hours. Everything from Hamlet to Shylock. It was magic. I've never heard anything so magnificent. He ended with this: "She should have died hereafter./There would have been time for such a word./Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow/creeps in this petty pace from day to day/to the last syllable of recorded time./And all our yesterdays have lighted fools/the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle./Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player/that struts and frets his hour upon the stage/and then is heard no more. It is a tale/told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,/signifying nothing." Then Olivier said, "That says it all," smiled and left. I sat and cried with joy at being so privileged.

Oh yes, Crawford. She and I went to her house from a cocktail party, feeling no pain. She asked if I minded waiting while she gave her daughter an enema the doctor had ordered because of the flu. But the little girl screamed she didn't want an enema and wouldn't let her mother give it to her. I could see that Crawford was getting so angry she was going to hit the child. I quickly said, "Honey, why don't I have your mother give me an enema so you can see that it doesn't hurt and that you'll feel so much better after yours?" Joan said that was a good idea.

We went into the bathroom, and I found out the child had reason to complain. Crawford just opened the clamp and let it go. Ouch! What you should do is control the flow by pinching the tube so the water goes in nice and slow and easy. You shut it off if you have an urge to go or cramping; wait until that passes and start again.

Of course I couldn't say anything for fear of upsetting the child. But Joan knew I was uncomfortable and looked positively gleeful. Her daughter, no doubt wise from experience, said she would let only me give her the enema. Well, I gave it to the sweet angel so gently that she giggled. After the girl had a good BM, Joan gave me a sour look and said, "I don't believe in spoiling children." I felt she had a cruel streak toward the child.

We went to Joan's bedroom, where she suggested we shave each other's pussies. After that we went down on each other. Crawford had a gigantic orgasm and shrieked like a maniac. Credit Natasha [Lytess, Monroe's drama coach]. She could teach more than acting.

Next time I saw Crawford she wanted another round. I told her straight out I didn't much enjoy doing it with a woman. After I turned her down she became spiteful. An English playwright describes it best: "Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Most people wrongly credit that to Shakespeare. William Congreve is the author. That's me, Marilyn Monroe, the classical scholar.

About enemas. You and Dr. Freud say every child goes through an anal development stage when the child first gets neural control of the anal sphincters. Dr. Freud says the sexual and the excremental are always mixed together. You told me that childhood experiences during the anal development stage can cause a fixation that plays a part in later sexual development. Maybe that happened to me, and we'll get at it in analysis. You know I have a very poor memory of my early childhood. After the enema thing with Crawford's daughter, I began remembering a little bit about the enemas I had as a child. They were what you and Dr. Freud call repressed memories. I'll work on it and give you another tape.

But, Doctor, I don't understand this big taboo about enemas. Most of the actresses I know use them, even some who won't admit it.

Peter Lawford showed me some piston syringes he got in France. He says the queen and noblewomen of the court of Louis XIV were given frequent enemas with them by special servants called apothecaries. The purpose was to give the women peaches-and-cream complexions by preventing pimples caused by constipation. I asked my gastroenterologist. He said it's true that constipation can cause pimples--something about intestinal toxins getting into the blood. So there you are. Those ladies were doing the intelligent thing.

Yes, I enjoy enemas. So what? Sometimes I have them for sex play, sometimes medically for constipation. They sure beat the cramps and diarrhea you get from laxatives.

We have had fun with those piston syringes at beach-house parties. Peter swears the one they used on me belonged to the Countess Du Barry. It gave me a thrill to know that I had in me what had been in the asshole of the famous countess.

But let's get to something serious. Doctor, I want you to help me get rid of [Monroe's housekeeper, Eunice] Murray. While she was giving me an enema last night I was thinking to myself, Lady, even though you're very good at this, you've got to go. But how? I can't flat out fire her. Next thing would be a book, Secrets of Marilyn Monroe, be her housekeeper. She'd make a fortune spilling what she knows, and she knows too damn much.

Doctor, the fact is we just plain don't like each other. I can't put up with her insolence and disregard for anything I ask her to do. If you have a better idea, please let me know what it is.

•

What a wonderful friend Frank Sinatra is to me. I love Frank, and he loves me. It is not the marrying kind of love. It is better because marriage can't destroy it. How well I know. Marriage destroyed my relationships with two wonderful men.

Joe D. loves Marilyn Monroe and always will. I love him and always will. But Joe couldn't stay married to Marilyn Monroe, the famous movie star. Joe has an image in his stubborn Italian head of a traditional Italian wife. She would have to be faithful, do what he tells her, devote all of herself to him. Doctor, you know that's not me. There is no way I could stop being Marilyn Monroe and become someone else to save our marriage. It didn't take too long before we both realized that and ended our marriage. But we didn't end our love for each other. Anytime I need him, Joe is there. I couldn't have a better friend. One thing I am damn well going to do is take that beautiful man to bed and have a million real orgasms with him to make up for the ones I faked. Of course I'll never tell him I faked. You've never met pride until you've met Joe.

It's different with Arthur. Marrying him was my mistake, not his. He couldn't give me the attention, warmth and affection I need. It's not in his nature. Arthur never credited me with much intelligence. He couldn't share his intellectual life with me. As bed partners we were so-so. He was not much interested, despite my faking with exceptional performances to try to get him more interested. You know, I think his little Jewish father had more genuine affection for me than Arthur did.

Arthur didn't know film or how to write for it. The Misfits was not a great film, because it wasn't a great script. Gable, Monroe, Clift, Wallach, Huston--what more could you ask for? I'll tell you. The story has to be as good as the talent who plays it. If you put Jesus Christ in a bad script, it would be a flop. You know why those religious-themed pictures like Ben-Hur and The Ten Commandments are so successful? Because the Bible is a damn good script.

I stood naked in front of my full-length mirrors for a long time yesterday. I was all made up with my hair done. What did I see? My breasts are beginning to sag a bit. I teased my nipples, and they stood up great. My waist isn't bad. My ass is what it should be, the best there is. My legs, knees and ankles are still shapely, and my feet are not too big. Okay, Marilyn, you have it all there. It is decision time.

If I have to do any more pictures for those cocksucking bastards at Fox, I am going to be the highest-paid actress in Hollywood--double what they pay Taylor, and a piece of the gross. I'll choose the script, director and cast. The pictures will be box office hits. I'll put part of the millions I make in no-risk investments. The rest I'll use to finance my plan.

I'll take a year to study Shakespeare day and night with Lee Strasberg. I'll pay him to work only with me. He said I could do Shakespeare. I'll make him prove it. That will give me the basics Olivier wanted. Then I'll go to Olivier for the help he promised. And I'll pay whatever he wants.

Then I'll produce and act in the Marilyn Monroe Shakespeare Film Festival, which will put his major plays on film. I'll need you to keep me together for a year or more. I'll pay you to be your only patient.

Oh, I made you another present. I have thrown all my fucking pills in the toilet. You see how serious I am about this.

I've read all of Shakespeare and practiced a lot of lines. I won't have to worry about the scripts. I'll have the greatest scriptwriter who ever lived working for me, and I don't have to pay him.

Oh, Monroe will have her hand in. I am going to do Juliet first. Don't laugh. With what makeup, costume and camera can do, my acting will create a Juliet who is 14, an innocent virgin, but whose budding womanhood is fantastically sexy. In the marriage-night scene, tastefully, Romeo and Juliet will actually fuck and have real orgasms to give the scene the reality it deserves.

I've some wonderful ideas for Lady Macbeth and Queen Gertrude. I feel certain I'll win an Oscar for one or more of my Shakespearean women.

Yes, Doctor, this is what I am going to do. I owe it to you, Doctor, that I can.

•

Marilyn Monroe is a soldier. Her commander in chief is the greatest and most powerful man in the world. The first duty of a soldier is to obey her commander in chief. He says, "Do this." You do this. He says, "Do that." You do that.

The man [John Kennedy] is going to change our country. No child will go hungry. No person will sleep in the street and get his meals from garbage cans. People who can't afford it will get good medical care. Industrial products will be the best in the world. No, I'm not talking Utopia--that's an illusion. But he will transform America today like FDR did in the 1930s. You don't think you're hearing me, do you? You're right. And he'll do for the world what he'll do for America, transform it for the better. I tell you, Doctor, when he has finished his achievements, he will take his place with Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and FDR as one of our greatest presidents.

I'm glad he has Bobby. It's like the Navy. The president is the captain and Bobby is his executive officer. Bobby would do absolutely anything for his brother. And so would I. I'll never embarrass him. As long as I have memory, I have John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

But Bobby, Doctor. What should I do about Bobby? As you see, I have no room in my life for him. I guess I don't have the courage to face up to it and hurt him. I want someone else to tell him it's over. I tried to get the president to do it, but I couldn't reach him. Now I'm glad I couldn't. He is too important to ask. You know when I sang "Happy Birthday" for him, I got so wet I was afraid it would show. Maybe I should stop being a coward and tell him myself. But because I know how much he'll be hurt, I don't have the strength to hurt him.

Well, that's something for you to sleep on, Doctor.

Good night.