When asked to write a piece for the Rag’s Sex in San Diego column I jumped at the chance. Then I panicked, wondering what the hell I was going to write since, when it comes to sex, although I’m still very much a sexual being, my sex life has boiled down to me “being” the only one in the room during the act. It’s like I’m in junior high.
April, in 2011, was the last time I had company sexually, after nearly a year of fun in the hay – with a beautiful woman I met a while after my wife died.
This has been some kind of experience because I have always very much enjoyed “doin’ the do.” And so did, Nancy, my sexy soulmate of 34 years, through and through. She was 62 when she left and I was 71.
We had such a rich sex life. Both of us were fit and young in spirit, still eager, up for it (pun somewhat intended) both on planned date nights, a couple of times a week, or spontaneously. Whichever came first.
So many memories, rising like silhouettes in a distant past. Going back to our first time in ’73, in the front seat of her Nash: after tennis in the parking lot of the courts off Kelton Road, sweaty, eager, groping, poking, toking, losing ourselves in the ultimate of intimacies, her and me, with her mounted above me and I, due to our long legs, only able to receive and there was absolutely not a single complaint from me. I could have stayed for an eternity.
Oh, God, the silhouettes: At the top of Sunset Cliffs under a full moon, listening to Al Green sing “Here I am, baby, come and take me, take me by the hand” with more than our hands at play, our bodies giving sway to nature’s precious gift to animal beings; near SDSU in a friend’s pool; on the sand between dog beach and the Hotel Del Coronado; off a trail, in the chaparral, on Cowles Mountain before it became the place for everybody to go, paying lizards and rattle snakes and rosy boas no mind, leaning against a rock that conformed to our bodies as though we had sculpted it with our love making in mind ….
Oh, I miss that woman so. Her loveliness, the fullness of her breasts, the slight curvature of her flat behind that she hated but I thought was so divine because it was mine, the strength of her swimmer’s arms and legs and body, the sturdiness of her bones, the texture in the tones of her moans, the very sensuality that defined her sexuality, the range and depth of the ways she pleased me and allowed me to please her, her commands, “Yes, baby, right there, don’t stop, ohhhhh,” the way she could just give it up, let it go, and then ask for more.
Whoo, doggie, it was never a chore. Never. No “I’ve got a headache” in her makeup. I remember only being too tired just once and went on and did it anyway. I wasn’t going to deny her in any way, her love of massages, bongo beats on her derriere and “liqueurs” ? our pet name for oral delights.
Ah, what was there not to like? We’d drift to other worlds. Our desires unfurled. She was my girl.
But all that is no more. I now not only don’t have a sex partner, but when that incredible woman left these shores, she left me with indescribable emotional pain. I was left barely standing without my best friend in the world, my most trusted confidante, my shoulder, my shelter from harm, my children’s mother, the editor of my every written word, practically, my mentor in so many arenas ? looking out for animals, appreciating the environment, helping those in need. She was the most loving and giving human being I’ve ever known.
However crippling and stunning and numbing as losing her has been, I never lost my sex drive as it was so alive with her to the very end ? although, when I laid down with someone again, I needed a little help and that surprised me to no end. But the night of the same day she died I could have gone to bed with someone ? anyone, I think ? just to determine if I was alive because I wasn’t sure I, too, hadn’t died.
It wasn’t until eleven months after her passing that I found someone to hang out with and do fun things with and the sex was delightful, needed. But I discovered, after a while, that I had no idea what path I wanted to embark on and I pulled away after nearly a year, withdrawing into myself a bit. I now count her as one of my dearest friends.
“Date nights” have come to mean me and me alone, and I am horny to the bone. But I have no game. Never did. Not bragging, but I didn’t have to.
It always seemed presumptuous to me to say something like, “Hey, bartender, give the woman down at the end of the bar what she’s drinking” or approach a woman with some lame nonsense like, “If God made anybody lovelier than you, He must have kept her for Himself” or, “Baby, you look so fine, you make me want to throw every dollar I own up in the air and all that stays up is mine and all that falls down is yours.” That’s not for me.
Now, I’ve had a few chances for one night stands but I’m way past “Bip, Bop, Bam, thank you, ma’am!” It’s tempting, though; I will tell you no lie. But I’ve been there and done that back when I was a young buck on the go, “going for what I know” as my boys and I used to say thinking we were the hippest thang goin’ on in the whole wide Milky Way. I guess I have morals or something or another today.
Having a special woman in my life, for companionship ? and I’m not just talking about sex ? will probably happen for me and, no, I’m not comparing women, other than what would be reasonable, with Nancy. She wasn’t the only incredible woman in the world.
I know a few women I like and respect and enjoy being around, but I’ve always relied on my instincts in just about everything I do and whatever it is I’m seeking isn’t quite coming through. An was a woman who opened up some places in me that had seemed closed and dormant, letting me know that I can and need to love somebody with all that’s in me like I loved Nancy, that tall drink of water I adored. But this wonderful woman shushed that ever so quickly.
So what can I say other than my sex life consists mainly as shadows in the places where my recollections are stored ? for a while, at least. And with that I’ll make like I’m Bob Hope on stage or on TV, and sing to my Nancy, my love: Thanks for the memory.
Sex in San Diego, a column appearing every Friday here at The OB Rag, explores topics related to sex in America’s Finest City. To encourage openness while still respecting privacy, most authors will use pseudonyms.