Sexy, Sexy, Sex & The Thing with Sexy


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Sexy, Sexy, Sex and The Thing with Sexy

Time for a bit of honest talk from a lifelong playa’

For most of my life Sex was the dominant focus of my being. Birds and bees, my ass let’s look at our own species. What are we now? Around 8 billion plus and counting? Just FYI, we don’t reproduce asexually. You’d have thought by my age I’d have at least truth and honesty going for me on the whole sex thing. And yet, there’re still pockets of deep dishonesty in myself and my work. For instance, even when I’m in appropriate interactions with sexy women, in what I think sound like reasonable conversation and civilized back and forth, I have to battle fantasies of how we could be spending our time lying on a warm bed, sunlight streaming in, her flesh, her hair HER…

Sexy, Sexy, Sex and The Thing with Sexy

In every other sphere of my life involving even the tiniest increment of growth it all starts with being honest with myself...so listen-up, you old horndog, you...

Oh,  sorry, I forgot you were still here, excuse me, please.


Getting Even & Forgetting

So often “getting even” is about trying to take back some power or equity after feeling shorted or wronged; hardly ever do we think about how much overage we’ve been dealt and consider the possibility or the rightness of paying it back, evening-out the scales a bit for our overly abundant good fortune.

But lately, here on Medium my writer pals, CS and $Bill have made me rethink just how much overage I might owe.

I mean, read them yourselves and see if you still think you’ve been dealt too much good luck in the love/sex department of life.

Nonetheless, for me, a few years older than these champions of the flesh, thinking about living in the era of my early twenties (even late teens) up well into my forties, I often recall this to be a time where I, a heterosexual man, could meet a heterosexual woman and it was almost as likely that we’d fuck as shake hands; this allowed me to have far more sexual encounters than was my fair share.

I don’t mean this as bragging, although I can understand why it would sound that way.

But Bukowski used to justify his sexual adventures by explaining that as a young man suffering from horrendous acne and he’d rarely had any sex at all, so he was going to get all he could until he felt he’d caught-up and gotten his fair share.

Towards the end of my long run of many sexual encounters, I slept with three women I’d known some years earlier and had always assumed were far too beautiful and untouchable to ever get close to much less to have sex with; yet through patience, luck and maybe a bit of perseverance, I’d ended up with them: first one, then another, and finally the third.

But here’s the thing: looking back after twenty years or so, I can only remember two of them!

There had been three of these objects of ultra-attraction to/for me, yet one of them has vanished completely from my memory. And in that memory is the truth that the two I can remember were nothing special to or for me. Nice women, ladies, I’m sure in many contexts, like when they were wearing clothes and walking around in the world, moms, pretty and sexy, (definitely MILFs in today’s lexicon) but no more great beauties than many other women and certainly no more memorable as lovers, in terms of technique, passion, intensity, than many other women I’d met and been with over those decades.

And the third?

Hell, I can’t even conjure up a name/face/body-part, nothing at all for her!

So, back to getting even, maybe this evening-out the scales of justice, trying to match my body counts with CS and $Bill, is unnecessary after all.

Much as I enjoy hearing about their adventures (and misadventures), moving all of this back into some sense of fairness,

it’s time to state what we all already know: what has happened to me will happen to them as it happens to all of us we get old and ugly and rely on memories more than new experiences. Guys take their occasional boner pills and must find a way to be satisfied, to indulge dark, scary private fantasies and thoughts. Women do whatever it is they must do to keep their delusions of beauty and power still functional. All of us are captured nurturing memories of long lifetimes of both meaningful and meaningless sex until we wake-up one day or don’t.

And we one day find that we are not nearly as interested as we once were about making sure everything is so perfectly balanced.

Just Weighing Separator