Recently, I received an email from a friend. She wrote in her short note that she has learned that men face the same biological clock that women face. We are both thirty-five and neither of us are looking to have children. This puts both of us at odds with the the other 99% of straight humanity (statistic from Pulled It Out My Ass Polling Services). It, however, doesn’t mean that we do not want the other things that the masses want: passionate and stable relationships. It also means that we face Valentine’s Day differently than the masses. Why is the question. I can’t speak for her, but I do have some idea about myself.
Tag Archives: Essay
Masturbation: A Pill for Sleep
I just woke up from a great nights sleep. Actually, it was two nights worth of great sleep. I crashed around 12:30AM and slept soundly until about 6AM. My body rudely woke me to use the facilities. This is happening more frequently as I get older. It’s better than wetting the bed, but it interrupts my beauty rest. Most often, I’ll toss and turn for a few minutes, then it’s back to sugarplum hills and chasing nymphs. On those occasions that I just can not drift back into sleep, I have to take matters into my own hands.
Falling for Strippers
This hasn’t happened since Blaze. Then again, I haven’t been to a strip bar since living in SoCal. Blaze was leggy redhead that new how to whip her body around and use her lanky legs to tie me up. We had conversations while she lapped danced for me. To spend a little extra time at our table, she would suck on the ice of her drink. My friend and I would visit the club about once every other month. I became very acquainted with Blaze. I even was goofy enough for her to produce a couple poems and paintings. Gadd, I am an idiot. And now there is Sky.
The S&M of Massage
I hired a masseuse a couple of weeks ago. It was Kay’s idea to make this an out-call appointment. I spent the day straightening my bedroom and making space for her table. It turned out to be a rainy afternoon. So I cracked the window to let the cool washed air and the crash of the droplets in. Very soothing. iTunes was set with a mix of South American and vintage lounge tunes. Friends thought it was strange to pay a person for a massage when I have a lover that could easily do it. I told them that a massage between lovers usually ends with sex. Besides, an exchange of currency for services is probably the most honest relationship that a person can enter into. With that in mind, I waited eagerly.
Wet Dream Near Miss
I hate getting older. Alright, that’s a common complaint, but my reason may be more honest than you want to read. What I hate about aging is losing some of my favorite simple pleasures. No more eating as much as I want. I have to watch my health. Staying up ’til the wee hours is right out. I have to go to work in the mornings. But what pisses me off the most is the “wet dream near miss.”Wrapped snug in a comforter. Spinning deeply into R.E.M. sleep. I feel the lulling waves of the subconscious slip in between the nagging thoughts left over from the work day. Soon the images coalesce. Ah! There she is, the girl of my dreams. This girl changes from dream to dream. Sometimes I know her. She came from the faces I meet in a day or from the women with whom I share time. Other women come from my deepest fantasies. Either way, these women rock me gently into the night.