Tag Archives: Sexuality

Headless in Manhattan

I dreamt I was giving Alec Baldwin a blowjob. This was weird for a couple reasons, the first being that I’m not much of an Alec Baldwin fan. I find him to be a bit bloated, both literally and figuratively, though I did appreciate his defense of Words with Friends. What made the dream more peculiar is that I haven’t given anyone a blowjob in a long time. Which is sad.

I’ve always been a big fan of the blowjob and fancied myself quite the professional. In fact, I have been complimented many times on my oral expertise. I prided myself on my technique, perfected over years of experience. Listen to me, speaking in the past tense!

Over the last few years I’ve had sex exactly seven times. Which is, frankly, pathetic. Of those seven encounters, only one entailed any remotely blowjob-like activity and that was unfortunately brief. From what I gathered in the (mostly drunken) moment, my partner was more interested in intercourse. Ah, so much for foreplay.

Blowjobs have always been the perfect one-night-stand sex, primarily because they are, to me, less intimate than intercourse. I can even keep my clothes on! Plus it’s gratifying to give someone an effortless orgasm. All he’s gotta do is stand there. Or lie there. (Lay there?) I certainly miss intimacy. But I also miss the adventure of picking up on someone and sucking his cock. Sigh.

I’d like to get back into the swing of meaningless sex but not too many guys are hanging out in bars hitting on 50-somethings. (Though last night I did manage to wind up making out with a random man…in a bar! I’ll credit Irene with offering up a few drops of her magic elixir, witch-crafted by Dori Midnight.) Mostly because there aren’t too many 50-something men in bars. At least the bars I go to. And though the idea of picking up on younger men may sound appealing, all I can think of is those horrifying “granny porn” movies, where wrinkly old ladies are being plowed by youthful porn studs. I don’t wanna be the wrinkly one! Even the word “mature” has taken on a new meaning: OLD. Yeah, I know, I AM! But I hate being referred to as “mature.” It’s a euphemism that’s more accurately a backhanded compliment. Besides, I’ve never really considered myself mature.

Anyway. So my goal is to give more blowjobs. Or at least one. I suppose one is a good place to start. Stay tuned. [And in an unrelated aside, why is WordPress suggesting that I tag this post with “Wrigley Field” and “Comcast SportsNet Chicago”? Hrmmm…]

Woo-Hoo vs. Boo-Hoo

So I’ve been obsessively watching my blog stats and it appears to me that happier posts don’t do nearly as well as depressing ones. WTF, people? Would you rather feel my pain than celebrate my happiness?

Well, okay then!

In today’s news, I made my profile active again on OkCupid, mostly to get back in touch with the somewhat irritating guy in South Dakota. While he made many assumptions about me that rubbed me the wrong way, our conversation was interesting. When I logged off of the site he resorted to commenting on my blog; I didn’t approve the comments because they were, essentially, attempts at reaching me, not really comments. It seemed to me that he felt snubbed; we’ll see if he gets back in touch. In the meantime, I have another one of my clickety-click OCD hobbies back again.

I also joined ChristianMingle.com. I KNOW! I figured that would make for really interesting blog fodder! But alas, their “join free now” was merely that: free to sign up. If you want to actually read your emails (or do anything else on the site), you need to pay. Is that how Jesus would market? I say, fuck that, ChristianMingle! I’m gonna go check out J-Date! Hmm, maybe I need to invest a few bucks in both so I can truly experience the full selection of dating sites! In the interest of journalistic integrity and whatnot, that is…

I’m also working on a week’s “sex diary” for New York Magazine’s Daily Intel. I will warn you now, there won’t be any actual sex in it. It will be depressing as hell. I can’t wait to see the comments! They’re usually arguments about whether a “handjob” is an acceptable sex act “in this day and age.” Um, sex is sex. And I ain’t havin’ any. Mine will probably be the first in ages that features absolutely zero penetration. Sigh. The editor is excited about having a submission from someone who isn’t a 20- or 30-something, so that’s a plus. The minus being that 50-somethings simply don’t get laid as often. At least single 50-somethings… Gack.

Now if only I was into the really young guys! Cause yeah, exactly — DING! — 10 minutes after getting back onto OkCupid, a 24-year-old dude says, “Hey. You seem like a fun woman. How bout a fun young boytoy to play with?” I’m sorry, I do not want to be the punch line at your next beer puke fest! I’m cool with younger, but not that much younger! Go satisfy your mommy fantasies somewhere else, ya whippersnapper! Sheesh! My response? “I AM a fun woman!
But sorry, no thanks! I like younger, but not THAT much younger!
And please don’t email me back and tell me how I don’t know what I’m missing or that “age is just a number.” Thanks!

I’ll admit that my ego enjoys the attention on these sites, even if there’s no hope of ever connecting with any of the men. And my ego can use all the help it can get! Recently I was told I was “hot” and “sexy” by not one but two men. I don’t know why but it’s difficult for me to take in — and take seriously. I haven’t been feeling too terribly fetching lately. But that’ll hopefully change once I’m tanned and taut out in the desert sun, toting 2x2s and street signs around Black Rock City!

Okay, enough for today. Let’s see if ending on a hopeful note puts the kibosh on high stats! Hah!

Learning New Relationship Strategies at The Love In

The Transformational Warriors are relationship gurus who counsel singles and couples in all aspects of sex and love. Though I’ve watched them from afar for years, I had never felt I needed their advice. Recently single, I decided now was the time to hear what they had to say and attend one of their “Love Ins.” No, it isn’t your usual singles scene or even nightlife, really, but in a city full of liquor and lost souls, a bit of enlightenment sounded refreshing. If a bit intimidating!

Shanti and Arjuna began the class with an introduction of who they are and how they came to be “superheros saving the world from boring relationships,” then invited us to introduce ourselves. Those in attendance ranged surprisingly in age and gender, race and nationality, sexual preference and practice, even relationship status. Some were new to not only The Transformational Warriors but to New York as well. Others appeared to be “regulars.” Quite a mixed bag!

The “Love In” was held in the living room of a private apartment and event venue, Sexy Spirits, on Eighth Ave. and 55th St. It is a comfortable space with a cozy fireplace and homey atmosphere, if a bit, well, perhaps too homey. I personally prefer more “professional” venues but for this sort of thing it seemed appropriate. Plus the fact that Shanti and Arjuna met each other in the very same room, at a similar event, less than a decade ago certainly counts for something!

The bulk of the two-and-a-half hours was spent participating with fellow seekers in one-on-one exercises that focused on gratitude and what we’re seeking in the intimacy arena. Students were almost alarmingly forthcoming with intimate information, myself included! The promise of “learning how the other half thinks” was delivered on in another group activity. If that’s something that happens at every Love In, it’s worth a repeat visit just to hear more!

After the guided exercises the couple held a wrap-up Q&A session. “Cross talk” was discouraged, which was both a bad thing (I find it difficult to keep my mouth shut) and a good thing (it helped maintain their “expert” positions and prevented us from being subjected to advice from each other, something that often happens in group “encounter”-like situations such as these). Lastly we gave a few final words of gratitude. It wasn’t so scary after all!

Before departing we were informed of upcoming seminars. The next “Love In” will take place in late January. December’s alternate offering will be the “Scrooge Shop,” a two-hour event that Arjuna characterizes as more “work” than their usual “play,” designed to help you confront your holiday ghosts and off-load your Santa’s sac-worth of baggage. If the season has you feeling all bah humbug about love and relationships, let The Transformational Warriors inspire some ho-ho-holiday cheer!

More info at TransformationalWarriors.com.

Scared Sexless

This is very difficult for me to write. I am currently feeling terrified.


It is an emotion I’m not overly familiar with. I enjoy putting myself in odd and uncomfortable situations. I believe that the unfamiliar offers an opportunity to stretch boundaries. So while I have often felt nervous or apprehensive, I don’t usually feel afraid.

But lately I have felt nothing but fear. It is a fear of many things: getting old, being alone, and the combination of the two. I’m afraid about having no health insurance…and losing my health. I’m afraid of having no job and of never finding one. I’m afraid of having no money, no savings…and no credit. It is all conspiring to paralyze me.

Mixed in with the fear of being alone…forever…is the fear of never having sex again. Ever. “Don’t be ridiculous,” my friends tell me. They all think I’m being dramatic.

I haven’t had sex in six months. That about ties my previous “record” of how long I’d gone without sex. Let me start by saying that six months ago I had a boyfriend. Today, I don’t. Sex with this man was everything I’d ever dreamed sex should be: passionate, warm, comforting, occasionally daring or dangerous, spontaneous or mysterious, all of it. His skin was  soft, his muscles firm;  I loved the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Walking…anywhere, and holding his hand made me so happy I can’t describe it. Sleeping with him, with or without the sexual act, felt like home. Our bodies fit together perfectly; spooning was transcendent. As I sit here typing this I can’t even imagine my life without him. And it has been. For six months. That isn’t likely to change. Ever.

My fears are very much caught up in the loss of this man. But they also involve many other things. My age is probably the scariest thing. I am 51. I was 50 the last time we were together, a terrifying benchmark that delineates, for society if not for me personally, the “end game” of life.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I have heard the stories, read the books and articles: sex after 50 and how awesome it can be. It sounds to me like they’re trying to convince themselves as well as others. Vibrant, new age-y women crowing about how much better sex is once you’re “of a certain age.” Frankly, I can’t imagine sex being any better than it’s been…with this man…ever. And I can’t begin to tell you how sad and scared that makes me.

The thought of getting used to someone new, of becoming comfortable — naked! — with a new lover, is more than I can bear. As someone who has, in the past, engaged in promiscuity almost as a sport, this may sound completely ludicrous. And I can’t explain it. Why would something that once happened so easily, almost without thought, become so scary? But it has. Is.

Contributing to these fears is my past: It seems that every man I meet makes the assumption that merely because I’ve written erotica, sex toy reviews, etc., and hostessed unusual soirees, that  moments after shaking his hand I should be prepared to jump in bed with him. Which is most certainly NOT the case. Especially now. Aside from the abject fear of bursting into tears because any man is not THAT man I have a whole host of other concerns. And many of them are physical. Which may make them baseless when looked at objectively. But they loom, nevertheless.

Over the past year or two, my body feels foreign to me, like someone else’s entirely. My skin feels less taught — not that it ever felt all THAT taught to being with. It hangs off my frame “like the secret laundry of angels,” to quote Pat Conroy. Everywhere I touch myself feels strange, and not in a good way. I don’t smell the same way I used to, oddly. Everything’s creaky or weakening or weird. Orgasm isn’t as easily achieved. Lubrication is elusive. Blahblahblah. I can barely bring myself to masturbate.

This man…THAT man…was with me pretty much through the entire process of menopause, from the hateful hot flashes and rabid increase in libido to the less lubricated, comfort-seeking stage. Now that I am “on the other side,” and alone, I don’t know what to expect. I haven’t found anyone — NO ONE! — who has appealed to me sexually. Which is probably the scariest thing of all! I don’t know if it’s a total lack of libido or merely my fears. Even through those “dry spells” of no sex in the past, I was always at least attracted to people…to someone. Now the mere idea of making out with someone almost makes me physically ill.

Is this a phase? Will it pass…eventually? I keep hoping that tomorrow, next week, sometime soon — though certainly not soon enough! — a new man will cross my path and make all this seem laughable in retrospect. Everything I read assures me this will be the case and that feeling the way I do will only prolong the process. So how to turn this all around? How to keep myself from dissolving into a puddle of tears every time I think of intercourse? I guess it will take time…time I don’t feel like I have. Or perhaps patience. Another thing I’m not too experienced with. Either way I will attempt to embrace my solitude until true and enduring love presents itself. Along with the sex…