Happy New Year

Sometimes, having sex with someone is the most efficient way to get them to leave.

That would be a great one-liner but I feel I owe our (five) followers something
more elaborate. When it rains, it pours. And my three-way fantasy seemed
about to come true.

One twenty-one year old, a 38 year old auto mechanic. It was insanely complicated setting it all up: forwarding pics and emails to one or the other. I was wiped out before it began. Not to mention the fact that all this cost me a couple of episodes of "The Twilight Zone" marathon, dammit.

The young one showed up first. I was shocked. Usually they don't. He drove a nice car. Nervous, edgy, smiled a lot, didn't drink beer. He just sat there. We waited for the third to drive in from Jackson. Thirty five miles. Man, these guys are dedicated. I knew immediately, the way we know these things, that my heart was not in it. And the third guy would just complicate matters. What's a proper host to do? "Excuse me, but... Happy New Year. Leave the beer."

We sat, we chatted, we drank beer, I wanted to go to bed. Alone. Then it all happened at once. The mechanic took off his clothes, the young guy followed him into the bedroom. I suppose I could have stayed in the living room. Again, not sure of the protocol in this situation. I went into the bedroom as well. Moans, sighs, some unpleasant odors.

To be blunt, it was no fun for me. They both came, I did not. And hey, I was the host! Rude...

But, of course, it was over and all that was left was for them to put their clothes on and leave. Which they did. But not quick enough to suit me.

He took the beer.

Looking forward to 2012. Is this when the world ends?

Back in the Saddle

OK. That was crazy hot, sweet, passionate (I’m probably a little in denial about that part) sex. Dayum. About time. Way overdue.

What a sweet guy. Cradle robber, that’s me. What’s with these 23 year-olds? And I tell ya, the really awesome part was this: I had just watched “Juno” yesterday and fell in love with Michael Cera. Dear Lord, do they come any cuter? Well…. apparently they do.

The heavens smiled on me today after a two week (or longer) dry spell. Which is just as well, really. I am, after all, STILL a recovering sex addict. But wait: am I, really? I can honestly say it’s not the sex I’m after. Mostly I would say I am addicted to loneliness, to the pursuit of almost anything outside myself. Music, books, graduate school, the endless pursuit of Otherness. Sex is a fun sideline but hardly consistent enough to qualify as addiction. (I can hear my peers in Tucson chanting, “If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck…”)

So. We’ll call him Paul. Cause that’s his name. Hope he doesn’t read this… but it’s important to not change names. Met him through craigslist, of course. The site where people get murdered. Adorable photo, I was certain he wouldn’t be at all interested in me. Guess what? HE WAS!!!! OMG! I was a bit concerned that he would be TAKING THE BUS from Ann Arbor. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat???? Now that’s dedication. Or a sure sign I had attracted someone more desperate than I. Whatever. He showed up and charmed me off my feet and into bed. Where all hell broke loose.

After a few moments of polite and – I’m sure of it – sincere conversation (I like him! I really like him!) I made a move. I had to act quickly in keeping with the spontaneity of it all. Never mind the fact that he had missed the first bus, waited half an hour for the next one, then endured a forty-five minute ride to my corner… I also felt I had better start kissing him and getting all sexy before he changed his mind. Yep. A long bus trip is no deterrent to cold feet. And, naturally, I felt sex was the polite and expected thing to do. He hadn’t come all the way out here to get better acquainted. Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Fascinating. Now, could we get down to business?

My self esteem had already started slipping down its slippery slope. Sex is what will keep this beautiful young man interested. Better act quickly before he realizes I am fifty three, not forty three. That my brilliant wit and sense of humor might be sexy but cannot stand the test of time. I closed in.

Sex is secondary to kissing. And, sure, I even allowed myself to pretend I was making out naked with Michael Cera. Whatever. He was a great kisser. We kissed. We sucked. We… uh… did not practice safe sex. What’s up with that? I wasn’t even drunk.

He’s gone now, after a long hot shower, some good conversation. I offered to drive him home but, really, I think we’re both happier he took the number four.

Next time. I’ll pick him up.