filed in Sex and Dating
Who’s Been Sleeping in My Bed?
Girl beds and virginal young woman beds,
matronal expansively expressed beds
from the poem, Beds by Charlie Smith
I started sleeping around when I was young and in the process, I’ve accumulated a catalogue of men, to whom I give bouncy names, so that my friends can easily identify them. Like “Gimme Two” for Greg, the editor, who is missing three fingers from his left hand. “Eighties man” was the name for Jeff, because in 2001, he sported a mustache and a jacket from the disco era, before the style became cool again.
When I was 25, flying east for Passover, I met Garry, the “Jew from Topeka,” on the airplane. (He was filed as such, because with my NYC-centric roots I thought it noteworthy to be a Semite from the Midwest.) We made eye contact across the aisle. He gave me his phone number, and within days after returning to California, I drove down dusty roads to his pot farm in Aromas, near the “artichoke capital of the world.”
What I remember most about the “Jew from Topeka” apart from his wanting to marry me after our first date so that he could have a helpmate to tend his marijuana crop in the middle of nowhere, was that it was the single, best sexual experience I’ve had. That is, if you had to narrow it down to one. I didn’t know anything about sex yet, not really. And Garry taught me to slow down and relax.
In the Japanese movie, Afterlife, the filmmaker invites you to consider one moment in your life that you would be willing to spend in eternity. The film is leisurely, with lots of time to think. For two hours, I imagined eternity on the hard floor of a farmhouse near the artichoke capital of the world, having mind-blowing oral sex with a pot farmer.
If I fast forward to recently, it brings me to “Kayak Man,” who I found on a dating site, and even though my stomach turned because in one of his photos, he’s in a wetsuit beside a kayak with the caption, “If you like to get wet, drop me a line,” I answered his ad anyway. More about that, later.
(Real names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, except for Kayak Man because, really, how could I make that up?)
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It occurred to me recently that I have a lot of “but I slept with him anyway” stories. (he was under five feet, he had far more hair on his back than on his head–or the rest of his body, he was ‘husky’ and wore ill-fitting clothes, etc.) Hey, we all have dry spells, right?
Do you make up names, or is that just me?
oh, what a brilliant idea for a movie! I have to see it! Are we taking bets that it’s not exactly sitting on the foreign film shelf at my local Hollywood video?
Christina
Afterlife is an incredible film (though it requires patience). It’s on Netflix. Here’s the link:
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/After_Life/60000583
Ahhhhhhh. I love the names! The interesting ones always have names!
[…] When I get trapped at a party with a married person who wants to know why I’m still single, I have the perfect comeback line. “At least I have the hope of new sex.” Suddenly the conversation gets real quiet. It works every time. Yes, I’m up for adventure, but sometimes a little continuity would be nice. My biggest beef with sex and the single girl is not quantity, but quality. And quality usually requires intimacy. (Except for that one time….) […]
[…] Whеn I gеt trappеd at a party with a marriеd pеrsоn whо wants tо кnоw why I’m still singlе, I havе thе pеrfесt соmеbaск linе. “At lеast I havе thе hоpе оf nеw sеx.” Suddеnly thе соnvеrsatiоn gеts rеal quiеt. It wоrкs еvеry timе. Yеs, I’m up for adventure, but sometimes a little continuity would be nice. My biggest beef with sex and the single girl is not quantity, but quality. And quality usually requires intimacy. (Except for that one time….) […]