When I think back on it, the breadth of my cluelessness regarding the science of love during my early conquests is almost too astonishing to be believed. I was quite awful at it. I knew nothing. The group of guys I hung out with weren’t exactly lady-killers, so there was no talk about what to do or not do. It was a painful, embarrassing learning process.
For a good long while, I thought that you got a girl to kiss, and then sleep with you, through insistent begging. I thought the game of love was to wear down her resolve until she finally capitulated. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that haranguing was not an element of a seduction.
The first time I had sex, she said, “You can do it,” but the DIRTY DEED had already been DONE. Admittedly, an inauspicious debut.
The first girl I slept with had the temperament of a sea monster. She kinda looked like one, too.
With my first regular lover, I used condoms that were about as thick as a garden hose. I didn’t know anything about lamb skins and sensitivity. I was mortified that I had to buy them. I just wanted to get in and out of the drugstore as quickly as possible without asking (or being asked) any questions.
The condoms robbed me of all sensation. So much so, that I often couldn’t finish. So I would occasionally pull it off just so I could finally climax. In retrospect, a terrible idea.
I remained in my semi-clueless state for a couple years. During that time, I missed a lot of signs and opportunities. I was unaware of how many women were willing to sleep with me. But I realize it now.
When I think of all the unprotected sex I had, it’s a miracle I’ve never had to deal with an unwanted pregnancy. Or worse.
I once read an article by a woman who said her boyfriend was so emotionally overwhelmed by sex that he routinely wept afterterwards. She found this romantic and touching. So the next time I slept with my girlfriend, I tried to cry but my heart just wasn’t in it. It sounded fake and ridiculous and insincere. My girlfriend asked if me I was having a mental breakdown.
Once upon a time, I was making out with a girl. I got up and put a Kenny G album on the stereo. Personally, I didn’t like the guy all that much but I thought it would be romantic. About two songs in she stopped kissing me, sat up and yelled, “Would you PLEASE turn that OFF!”
I faked an orgasm once. The sex got to be so tedious and went on for far longer than it should have, so I decided to end it by faking an orgasm. I believe she was equally relieved it was over.
Many years ago, on a warm summer night, I made beautiful amour in a roof garden atop a brownstone with the nighttime Manhattan skyline as the backdrop.
I thought I’d end this with a fond memory.