A couple of weeks ago, an icon from my youth died, Gary Gygax. He was the co-founder of TSR and co-creator of
Dungeons and Dragons. My younger days, like my older days, were mis-spent. Back then you might find me hanging around bookstores looking for Piers Anthony and Ray Bradbury novels, loitering around
The Million Year Picnic in Harvard Square (a comic book store), and playing AD&D with Kent and the Ording brothers, three kids who went to my middle school.
That all more or less ended at age 14, when I took a female classmate home from the school dance and we made out like our plane was going down. All those years of reading "Our Bodies, Ourselves" had prepared me well. Seeing that little bush between her legs broke the spell of fantasy role-playing and it was hard to get back into my fictional elf character. I had discovered sex, and no +12 Spirit Staff of Binding was going to win me back. A thirty something year old man lived with us at the time, when my father had a housecleaning business. He enjoyed AD&D, as well, and played with us. So I'm not picking on it as something that normal adults don't do. I still play World of Warcraft now and again, although I'm definitely not addicted.
But I lift my coffee to Gary Gygax, a man whose hit points ran out after developing an inoperable abdominal aortic aneurysm. That's the same thing that almost killed my father.
I have two humorous memories from when I lost my virginity. The first memory is of me, poised over equally inexperienced partner, trying to figure out exactly where to enter her body. At that point, I may have had some sperm still alive and kicking down there, so it's probably good that we didn't have intercourse. Upon entering, I was thwarted by her hymen. She looked like she was in pain, so I backed off and we got each other off manually. The other memory is the look on her face when I was on top of her, just inside enough to poke the hymen. She looked like a cute girl being squashed by a fat guy. She may have actually said, "Oof!" at one point. So the combination of being flattened by a horny fat classmate (me) working in combination with painful hymen pokes must have made for a memorable first time for the poor girl.
Well, we laughed a lot and checked out each other's parts. Sort of getting an idea of what our bodies were insisting we wanted a lot of. If you're out there, R, by all means write.
You have to laugh at sex. Not all the time...if you do that, they come and take you away and put you in a little room with locked door. But laughter is critical to the process, especially given the faces I make. Just the other night I was engaged in the physical act of love with my beloved, and the blind was up on the window. It occurred to me that if anyone were outside in the courtyard they would see my pale, white ass going up and down. I started laughing, and then obviously had to tell Linda, so then she started laughing. I happen to know that my ass is alabaster white because of the time I spent at a nudist campground last year. My ass was reflecting the sun like a mirror even when it was under two feet of murky pond water during my swim.
While I was waiting for a cute little pharmacy technician to fill my prescription, I took a Glamor Magazine off the rack and began reading any articles about sex. Glamor always seems to have numerous articles about what men want in bed. It's not a mystery, and just asking might be a way to go. And men should ask women, because sometimes getting a woman off is like performing Georg Philipp Telemann's flute concerto on a clitoris; it's not easy. I think men have gotten their needs across, let's hear more from the women.
One woman wrote about her partner's desire for her to step on potato chips in high heels. She was a good sport, and played along. I'm all for that. So long as your sex act doesn't involve picking up a child or other unwilling partner, I say go nuts. Two other women in the article had partners request something that killed the relationship! One wanted his girlfriend to say "meow" instead of moaning during orgasm. He would respond by saying, "woof!" That was a deal-breaker, apparently. Seemed innocent to me. The last one mentioned, however, was understandably an end to the romance. Some fellow wanted to call his girlfriend by her twin sister's name, because he thought she was hotter.
Men are generally working on a whole other, lower level.
A lot of things are on my feeble mind lately, but I don't feel compelled to bore you with them. I'll keep it brief today, and not get lost in self-pity or navel contemplation.
