Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Thing Better Left Unsaid

OMG, I fucked your mother when we were in our twenties.

I guess there was something nagging at me as unbuttoned this woman's blouse. Even more so as I framed her face in my hands upon initial entry. But I was to distracted by the tight young body. It had been many years since I frolicked with one so young. No children had been thrust forth from this particular delicacy. Full immersion and a tightness that can rarely be regained once lost was all that was on my reptilian brain at this moment. The past few years of living as much as possible in the here and now has taught me how to enjoy moments of pure immersion and delight in a woman. Having known the pleasure of the more mature for many years, the problematic youthful emotions and recriminations on the nature of women are no longer a hindrance to me. Unlike back when I was in my twenties, today I can assuage that inner voice knowing that this was a totally unexpected, and might I add ,unsolicited treat.

I was just out killing time on an early summer Saturday evening. Watching a few games on the tube in the local pubs, and just generally enjoying the freedoms of no longer being one of the landed gentry, tied down to endless weekends of yard work, home repair, and honey do lists. Divorce can in someways be a quit liberating prospect. That state of affairs also came to me unbidden and unexpected, but much less pleasurable than the situation I found myself in on this particular Saturday evening. I ended up in a local establishment that I frequented back in my twenties and thirties, and much to my surprise was still owned by the same woman. Now you could say that a man of my years has no business in such a place, especially on a Saturday night were loud rock music was being played by some local up and comers. But having been a veteran of some garage bands in my day, I felt compelled to pay the cover for a listen.

I was happily chatting with owner and some of the patrons. Getting the bring out your dead list from the proprietor of people we knew that used to hang out there and now no longer hang out anywhere. I was having a nice conversation with a woman, of more respectable years, about kids, sharing photo's of same, and generally talking personal histories. After an hour or so she was off with the friends she was meeting and we said our goodbyes . No sooner does this lady leave my side than this young lady rushes up to me, pinches my cheek, and demands a kiss. “Look at that smile” she exclaimed. She was a slender attractive girl next door sort. Not floozied up for a Saturday night stalk. After all this was just your local tavern, not the downtown club scene. Shoulder length light brown hair, with brown eyes. Tight blue jeans can do much for the female frame, and her youth made them fit just right. Now being unaccustomed to such directness and comforted with the fact that she was at least twenty one to be in there, I happily obliged. Now she did not seem excessively drunk, which would have been my first rationale for such forward behavior, and the effects of the new designer drugs are unfamiliar to me, so we began chatting. But with very close physical proximity. I am not immune to the fragrance and friction of body to body contact. One might say she was on me like a cheap suit. Many have told me that I look quite a few years younger than I actually am, but I figured with a little time and closer inspection, she would realize she had latched onto a geezer. Either she didn't or she didn't care.

You may ask at this juncture, just what do a man and woman have in common with such divergent chronology. Well other than the usual mundane small talk that accompanies such initial encounters, the big three hundred pound gorilla in the room is always sex. Why this woman chose me that evening I will never know. I could spend pages speculating on the whys and wherefores of her motivations and they would be just that. Speculation. To tell you the truth, for the opportunity to enjoy the pleasure of a twenty some thing's youthful body, I don't care. It was clear and simple. That night I had something she wanted, and she had something I hadn't had in a long long time.

The energy, flexibility, muscle tone of a healthy young woman are a marvel. Unleashing that energy in her candle lite studio apartment was awesome to behold. If I knew this was what awaited me within the cul de sac of my midlife crisis, I would have fretted less at the surprise of my legally devoided vows. She was light as a feather as we moved through positions that were only vague remembrances from my youth. But unlike my youth, these various positions were being worked through in a single session. The now is a wonderful place to stay. It was only upon flipping her over for the delightful humping like a dog portion of the evenings entertainment, and as I was admiring the reflection of our lovemaking, did I notice the picture. It was of her and her mom taken a few years ago. As I gazed down upon the lovely shape of her behind bucking up to meet my thrusts, her slim waist, smooth shanks, and her profile sideways on the pillow did it hit me. There was no doubt. I had been in this same position some thrirty years before.

After a quick check on my math to be sure that this wasn't a transgression of biblical proportions, and being the dog that I am, rather than this revelation making me feel guilty it only added to the shear lust, enjoyment, and celebration of this ladies delights. As we said our goodbyes in the early morning light I saw no need to bring up my epiphany during the evenings festivities. Yet only one question came to my mind.

I wonder what her mom is doing tonight.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Sex is a soccer field

Sex is a soccer field

So I have to admit that every time I meet a woman, at some point the thought, however briefly; flashes through my mind. " What would it be like to fuck that". It just doesn't matter. Shudder or quiver I have to think it. Sometimes I don't dwell more that a nano-second on the answer, which can be merciful or a missed sensual immersion in my imagination. Positive, negative, curiosity, I just know it flashes by. Then I go back to my normal rational self and transact business with and deal with the person on the level necessary to handle the commerce at hand. Treating the person I was dealing with in a manner fitting for the occasion, I hope. But has that momentary thought tainted the intercourse.
Like being on a huge soccer field, only with hundreds of defense people. All giving me reasons why that wouldn't be a good idea. Learned morality from society, religious indoctrination, my mother warning me that I don't know where they have been.

Maybe I have a few teammates. Memories from the seventies when the attitude seemed more permissive, and I was much younger and hornier. Then AIDS slobbering maw appeared and nipped that irrational sexual exuberance in the bud. You never knew where those women had been, and prevailing wisdom was , bunking down with one you were bunking down with all her former partners. The great disease infested Bacchanal of pass the STD's please, and don't Bogart. Longe term relationships looked good.

So the 73 to 84 relationship ended as many did, young , in love, out grow and go your own way. since not being married, I admit there was soom extranious activity of the prurient sort, but mostly mongamious. The four year hiadus and boycott of the long term relationshpis led to quite a few fondly remembered romps, but career was my focus, and focus I did. Then in 89 fall, married, and spawned. Throughout I never strayed. Certainly the "What would it be like..." thought was always there, but never any plan to act.

My other teammates will tell me that everybody else is out there fucking. Hell. Just look at the huge amount of porn on the internet. All sorts of people are doing all sorts of things on cameras and posting this on the internet. Who are these people. Most important, Where are these people? And with such a plethora of people willing to do it on screen, there just has to be a gazzillion willing to cut loose in private. The shear volume of content means they have to be some where.Sure some of them are getting paid. Maybe even some are being ruthlessly exploited. I assuage my guilt there by knowing I only have knowledge of this from the free clips offered on countless web pages. I am to cheap and broke to even consider paying for such stuff. It only promotes the temptation for exploitation. But I know there must be a large segment that has forked over the dough to access this stuff in it's full regalia. Other wise it would not be there.

Also, despite the early indoctrination from the fifties, I now know the startling truth. Women like to fuck too. Epiphany. So now I blush. Every time I see a woman and she see's me. I know there is that immediate transactional analysis going on on both sides of our windows to the soul. An incredible speed date sort of transactional analysis. Just waiting for the moment akin to "The Price is Right" when both sides of the equation balance out. Ding Ding Ding. The bid price matches the actual price. You've won a roll in the hay. The ultimate Field of Dreams.

Now I have skulked into randy old goat territory, bordering on geezer, I know is I need to get a new accountant, because my columns balance way to infrequently. I guess I will always be having to go the Long Term Relationship route to satisfy the demands of my D.N.A. No cash transactions for me. Always the Buy Now Pay Later transaction model. I am painfully aware that like all credit transactions that means you have to pay and pay and pay.

Somewhere buried in that debt I know I am still paying interest on the bar tab that won me that first post divorce blow job and frenzied fuck in my motel room for the weekend out of house experience. But it does still make me smile. Best thing about divorce is getting to enjoy new women and their strange ways. nothing like tearing off a bit of strange again when you had resolved to honor those vows you made in the ultimate property and wealth preservation contract called marriage. Viva La Difference !

But every so often, when I amke it past all those player that have joined up on my sexual reppression team, with the few teamates rooting me on, I do get to below that wonerful word at the moment of orgasm.

Goooooooooooal !!!

About Me

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Purveyor of paralogical compliance to verbally mediated reality, artisanal smut, with a pinch of full time flâneur tossed in to taste.