SexyPrime, a blog by Susan Crain Bakos

FALLING OUT OF THE CRUSH-- Teen Girls and Older Men Fall Harder

Photo Credit:  "Legs" on Photobucket  

 

 

Maybe I was too hasty in writing off boys.   Was it simply a reaction to the former Boy Toy’s memoir in progress—Sleeping with Cougars?  

Only a teenage girl investing romantic qualities in a dolt who has none is more romantic than the aging man—and, of course, his affections are perhpas more likely to be handed to the woman barely out of her teens than to one nearer his own age.  

My friend A, into his fifties, tells me:  “I was an asshole to women until I was treated badly by one woman I loved and at the same time began experiencing erectile difficulties.  I was devastated.”

Dramatically changing his lounge lizard persona, he became the consummate romantic man, turned pleasing women into an art form and recently married the “love of my life”  (who is half his age.)

 

Now my friend Hugh Hunte, into his fifties, confesses he is trying to fall out of a crush.   He is hurt by her rejection.  But in three months of gentle pursuit, he didn’t even get a passionate kiss.  How can he be clinging to his sadness over what strikes me as a minor loss—and, certainly ten years ago, would have struck him as laughable?  (Hugh, darling, I can hear the younger you laughing at “the poor schmuck” who pursued a woman after she put him up in the guest room when he stayed over.)

They met at a Harlem jazz bar.  An amateur musician, he was playing sax.  She was in his line of sight; and he played to her (as I’ve watched him do before.)

“I kept looking at her.  Basic black dress, great shoes, strappy high-heeled sandals"--Hugh likes the ladies’ shoes---“Graceful, slow moving.  I sat down and talked to her but I got no special treatment.  She was cordial.  When she came back two weeks later, I put on the full court press,

“Who are you, what do you do?  We had a quiet, gentle conversation.”

A month later, she invited him to her home in New Jersey for dinner.  He slept in her guest bedroom, no sex, and she took him to the train in the morning.

“I wasn’t disappointed because I thought I was moving forward, I thought this could be something serious.  The seriousness of it was interesting enough for me not to push her.”

She reminded him of his beautiful late wife, who died of cancer. 

“She was quiet, reserved.   Talking about past lovers, I could hear the last one’s laugh above the crowd, but I couldn’t hear this woman.  She was a lady.”

But there was no warmth.  She rarely made eye contact when they dined out—and always took the calls on her cell phone.

“We didn’t even progress to the hand-holding stage.  That was the longest time I’ve ever gone out with someone in my life without having it go somewhere.”

Hugh is retired from the NYPD, the elite ESU, Emergency Services Unit.  He’s a marksman, a scuba diving instructor, certified sailing captain—and more.  He lives most of the year on his estate on St. Thomas, in the rainforest with a private beach 1100 feet below.  When he calls to chat, I hear him against a chorus of singing frogs, cochins.  In fact, he is Manhattan now to meet with investors about turning the place into a boutique lifestyle hotel.

“I knew it was not going to happen one night when I was out with an old friend, sharing wine and cheese and olives –and she was more engaged with me than this woman ever was.  I told my friend that I was energetically passionate about a woman, but I feared if I got her into bed, she’d never make a sound.

The graceful lady ended it with a text message that said, “I don’t want what you want.”

He replied with a Barbara de Angeles quote:  “You never lose by loving  You always lose by holding back,”

Was she “holding back”—or just not that into him? He’s an aging boomer guy craving intimate connection.  Wistfully, he said, "I want someone to ask me about my dreams because I still has them." 

He wants to want to hear her voice and to share a dog with her.

“Did you try to kiss her?” I asked.

“I was prepared, teeth brushed, breath mints, bottle of Listerine in car.  I was ready to say to her,  ‘I want to hold you and feel you breath in my arms’ but the kiss did not happen and barely a hug.

“Someone had been cruel to her, but it wasn’t me.”

 Maybe she just wanted to be friends.  

I might give Hugh a teasing bad time about this crush if I didn't have one of my own on a voice and projected persona of the Sexy Morning Man.  

But Hugh, darling, you are about to change the luxury island travel industry.  Do you have time for this anyway?  Keep your eye on the ball.

Photo Credit:  "Sexy Heels with Ball" on Photobucket 

 

copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime.

THE "SEX AND THE CITY" BACKLASH--What's Behind The Angry Reviews Of The Female Fab Four?

The Female Fab Four:  Cynthia Nixon as Miranda; Kim Cattrail as Samantha; Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie; Kristin Davis as Charlotte 

 

Writing mean and snarky is much easier than writing smart, balanced and nuanced.  The hateful harrangue flies off the fingertips, but the measured evaluation takes some time and contains fewer quotable gems.  The internet has intensified the snark factor in cultural criticism by at least a million.  A little web browsing to see what the empty heads with mouths are saying and you need a good hot shower, if not the oil spill clean-up crew.

Steve Otero sent me a slew of SATC critiques, including an unintentionally hilariously bad article "How Not To Date Like Carrie Bradshaw" written by Jen Simon for The Frisky.  My favorite piece of her advice to women:  Don't over-analyze men/dating/relationship as she over-analyzes a movie, a piece of entertainment, as if it were the oil spill.  Other writers, including movie critics, have been vicious in their attacks on "Sex and The City, 2", some blaming both the TV series and the subsequent two films for creating a culture of over-consumption.  (Were none of you here in the 80s?  Have you never heard of Gordon Gecko?  Christian Lacroix?  Ivana Trump?  Wall Street?)  The Female Fab Four have been accused of ruining the culture of New York City when, in fact, they have reflected their times, not created them.  

SATC was a hit TV show that resonated with women all over the world because the dialogue on sex and relationships was insightful, honest and witty.  The conversations these characters had inspired real women to open up and speak up.  The four actresses so inhabited their characters that they became as real to us as friends.  The soul sister bond they share is a fantasy as appealing as the clothes and shoes.  But let's face it:  the franchise (and Sarah Jessica) became so successful that it was bound to enrage many little minds.  

I planned to meet Arie Thompson and some of her friends Tuesday night to see the movie together and discuss over drinks after.  The 9 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. showings at Chelsea Cinema were sold out.  I left to meet my lover; they bought tickets for the 10.   I finally saw SATC 2 on Wednesday night; and Arie and I are having that discussion via email.

While we quibbled on whether or not the portrayal of the Arab world is fair and accurate--we agreed on this:

"Much of the negativity aimed at the movie," she says, "is this crazy obsession with women’s age. I read a few reviews that made snarky comments about how the women look too old for close ups and then slammed the film for being materialistic.  Isn't that hypocritical?  Watching the film, though, I could almost feel the spectre of age/loss of sexiness just hovering in front of the lens.  Honestly, walking out of the theatre, I had one of those profound moments of “FUCK IT—Enough with all of this age bullshit, people.  Live a little deeper than your wrinkles and it won’t be such a fucking problem!!!  

"Really, is the most interesting thing that we can say about sexuality is that as people get less photogenic, only the ones who go crazy trying to remain physically ageless can have hot sex--or at least the hot sex everyone wants to look at?"  

I left the theatre feeling that SATC 2 danced around the sex (like a heavily veiled belly dancer) because the writers couldn't figure out how to show us what happens in bed between mature adults after the thrill (that NREU high I discussed in Tuesday's post) is gone.  For real sex on screen, we still have to plunk our money down for a foreign film.  Most of the bullets were dodged here.  Carrie's Big Kiss was much ado about nothing.  Charlotte's nanny turns out not to be a sexual threat to her.  Miranda's sex life is entirely off-screen.  

Cattrail bravely played Samantha, allowing the fear beneath the outrageous behavior to show on her face, in her eyes.  She is the best actress in this film and deserves recognition for playing the difficult role, not castigation for the character.  More than anyone else, she created, in me at least, the desire for another sequel.  Will Samantha learn how to tone down her style?  Will she figure out that good sex doesn't look like porn stars coupling?  What does a sexually active single woman at fifty look like?

The script writers let us down, but, all things considered, this is a film worth seeing.  Is every reunion with old friends an unqualified success?  Do you sometimes come away with more questions than answers?  But, yet, you go back.

SATC fans love the clothes, the sets, the fantasies; and we love the characters.  And we want/need to see them handle sex and aging in a way that has everyone talking once again.  

Arie says, "The film definitely plugs into a place of deep fantasy/longing for a lot of women and at the end of the day that’s both its strength and its weakness."

Re. the Arab storyline:  I dated an international investment banker and thus spent time with Arabs.  The rich take ostentatious to a level that would awe Gordon Gecko.  The women do wear designer clothes under their burkas and read Western books in their book groups.  There are kind and honest people selling their wares in souks.  A British couple recently almost went to jail for PDAs.  And, yes, Dubai is over and Abu Dhabi is where it's at.

copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime

IT'S KIMMIE WEDNESDAY!: Bad Girl, The Conclusion (And The Sailors Say, "Thank You, New York")

It's the end of Fleet Week in New York City--and the concluding chapter in Kimmie's story "Bad Girl."  Sigh.  I hate to see the sailors and the bad girl go.  I was having drinks in a little bar in the Village with J, a male friend, yesterday when some sailors came in and sat at the bar beside us.  J insisted on buying their drinks.  The sailors said they wanted to thank New Yorkers for the warm welcome they received in the city.

One commented, "A lot of people in other parts of the country think New Yorkers are cold people and anti-military.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Men and women of all ages and races have stopped us on the street to say 'thank you for doing a great job.'  Thank you, New York from the U.S. Navy and Marines!"

I opened my laptop and showed them the SexyPrime blog.  Kimmie has new fans.  And once again, I am proud to say, here's Kimmie:

 

BAD GIRL, The Conclusion

 

He jogged up and kicked the ball away from me this time, grinning at me over his shoulder as he ran back onto the field. Goodness. Dimples. I took a deep breath and shook my head back, enjoying the swish of my own hair on my back and the sun on my face. I closed my eyes again, thinking about how he might ask me to come home with him after the game.

He would probably celebrate with his team first, a writhing knot of men high-fiving and slapping each other’s rear ends, all sweaty and dirty from running and sliding around the field. I saw white shorts streaked with brown and dusty cleats, and lots of wet chests and arms twirling their shirts overhead. There would be chest-bumps and back-pounding and yelling as they crowed their superiority over the other team. He’d be on an adrenalin high, I’m sure, pumped up on his team’s success.

The tight group would start to disperse after a bit, separate conversations and schedules drawing them away from each other, back to the real world. He’d probably grab his bag and make sure his pants and shirt were in it, and maybe change his sneakers. He’d glance my way once or twice to see if I was still there, but I would hide my eyes behind sunglasses so he couldn’t tell if I was looking at him or not.

As he got closer, I would stand up and gather my things. I wouldn’t want him to think I was waiting there for him, or that I had all the time in the world to sit and talk to him. A girl doesn’t want to be an easy target, after all. I would time it so that I was just about ready to leave as he got close enough to speak to me without yelling.

“Hi again,” he would say, his dimples and lips curling into that gorgeous smile. I would laugh, acknowledging his boyish behavior from earlier, and probably tuck my hair behind my ear. “Going somewhere?” he might ask, and I would say something about how my sun time was just about up for the day, lots of things to do. “I’ll walk with you for a bit,” he’d probably say, shifting his bag to one shoulder as he stepped next to me. “Ladies first!”

We would chat about this and that as we strolled, keeping things light and fun. We’d probably make each other laugh a lot, and I would be keeping track in my mind of all his admiring glances. Suddenly, he would stop. I’d go a step further until I realized it, and then turn back to him to see what was going on. I’d turn right into that wonderful smile. He’d put his hand out, and mine would kind of float into it on its own. “Listen,” he would say. “I think you’re adorable. I just had to come over and meet you today. You looked so ravishing relaxing there in the sun, and then when I saw you smile, my brain… well, it sort of exploded. My place is right across the street. Why don't you come over while I take a shower and then we can go get something to eat? I really, really don’t want to let you go right now.”

All the thoughts I had of him nude on the bed would flood into my head, filling my brain and eyes until I couldn’t see. I would stand there in the street, frozen, my hand in his, staring dumbly at him while my poor brain tried to remember how to do something other than flash pictures of his naked body at me. It was showing me how he would look walking out of the bathroom, his tight waist wrapped in a towel and his skin still glistening from the hot water. His strong calves would move him closer to me as his hands slowly unwrapped that towel, revealing everything I’d been fantasizing about and more…

My phone rang, interrupting my reverie. On the field, the game was still going strong. I glanced at the caller ID. It was a man. MY man, my gorgeous man whose body I did know for real. I picked up and smiled. He was home early. I gathered my things and stood up, taking one last glance down at the field. He might not know it, but I was taking that soccer player home with me, too. He was already in my head, he might as well stay there for a while.

Such a bad girl!

copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime

SEX ADVICE FROM SAILORS--A Fleet Week Special

 Photo Credit:  "Fleet Week" by Oilgun on Photobucket

Last year three junior officers took me out for lunch and asked for sex advice.  Masturbation was the subject on their minds--and specifically how it would (or not) ruin their sex lives with their partners.  A few days ago four junior officers took me out to lunch and shared their best sex advice.  Here it is:

Women like to be seduced.  (Yes!)

"I've watched drunken sailors make sloppy advances and, unless the woman is equally drunk, they get smacked down.  My advice to men who go out to bars hoping to hook up--drink less and seduce the woman while you're still sober.  Pay her genuine compliments.  Ask questions about her.  Be interested in who she is and what she has to say.  Make slow and easy physical advances.  Touch her hand, her arm.  When things heat up a little, move closer to her and run your finger down her cheek.  If a piece of hair falls down on her face, gently lift it up.  Take your time with her and she will be the one kissing you at the bar."

Become a Tantric sailor.

One of the guys wrote to me several months ago after buying a copy of The New Tantra:  Simple and Sexy on shore leave in London.  He wrote:  "I practice my Kegels now and do the breathing exercises while masturbating.  I've learned how to prolong masturbation and have stronger orgasms.  When I get in bed with a woman again, I know this will make the sex better."  Yes, he now says, it did.  (Check out a recent Ask Auntie Sue column for tips on using these tehniques to have multiple orgasms.)

Instead of reading/watching porn obsessively, learn about women's bodies and how they really work.

Another of the group also wrote to me about one of my books, The Sex Bible for Women.

"My sister sent me a copy and wrote--'Maybe you will change your luck with women if you learn what they want.'  I laughed, threw it in my locker, forgot about it until another guy pulled it out.  The photos are great.  The book got passed around and came back to me with comments written in the margins.  I can't tell you how many times guys wrote, 'Did you know that?'  I read.  I know now.  One thing I learned, don't go straight for the pussy.  While a guy loves it if a woman puts her hand or mouth on his erection right away--women want to be opened up more slowly, starting from the lips down."

Good advice, sailors.  I love corresponding with all of you.  We can't thank you enough for being out there, protecting us.  We are free in America to live our lives--writing about sex, having sex, speaking freely and more--thanks to our men and women in uniform.

I am stealing this from Dan Taylor's sign-off yesterday on wcbsfm 101.1's The Morning Show:

"Please take a moment this holiday weekend amidst the barbecues and mattress sales to remember those who died in service.  On Memorial Day, this is the Land of the Free because of The Brave."

copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime

WHAT IS "WHITE"-- And Why Are The Men Called "Tame" And The Women Sexy?

 
Photo Credit:  "Jazz" by csutton on Photobucket

 

“Race is an idea, not a fact…Each person shares 99.99 percent of the genetic material of every other human being….People from the same race can be more different than people from different races”…and race differences are often determined “by individual taste and political need,” Nell Irvin Painter writing in The History of White People (Norton).

 

Add psycho/social/cultural norms and expectations to the list of determining factors and I am with her.  I had Painter’s book in my tote bag when I went to this party in Harlem where race is the political issue and race/sex is the subtext.  Her words resonated in my head.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored pale linen jacket and dark pants, his shaved head gleaming in the soft restaurant lighting, Dard was the natural focal point at the private cocktail party introducing the renovated Setti Pane to the hoi polloi of Central Harlem on a Friday night in late March.   Everyone knows him or at the very least knows of him.  Martha Stewart and France’s La Nouvel Observateur have called Dard  the “Prince of Harlem.”  A former model and friend of Sean John, Bobby Brown, Whitney Houston and Tyson Bedford and playboy lover of hundreds of women, Dard chose as his Princess, the equally beautiful but pale and blonde Jodi, a former teen beauty queen from Pennsylvania.  She is the angry black woman’s poster girl of The Enemy—but they pretend to love her around Dard.  You can read the pretense in their eyes.  A re-imagined Setti Pane, its bakery counter now a bar, is a natural setting for this Harlem power couple.

Nearly all the invited guests angled for the opportunity to slip into the space beside him and wait hopefully for recognition to be conferred upon them.  The people who don’t go above 125^th Street were all there:  the new white professional couples with babies, the whites who came uptown before it was cool, the edgy interracial couple in the arts—he in dreds, she wearing a black Fedora over straight blonde hair—Munir, Moroccan owner of MoJo’s restaurant and lounge, the middle-aged white photographer whose African wife never seems to leave their West Village home to be with him uptown where he has his studio, the younger (and not so young) single black men who judge women by their shoes—yes, their shoes!—a smattering of French residents, well-dressed older African American women, long-time residents, a few gay designers and music promoters, Billy, who has lived in the same rent-controlled huge apartment for decades and B, the new face of the slum landlord, accompanied by her tall African husband. 

B got her brownstone under the generous auspices of the Clinton Empowerment Zone plan, neglected the trash in the backyard, including a rotting sofa, ignored the rodents the junk heap nourished and encouraged inside, ignored the mold in the cellar that worked its way upstairs—until a white tenant took her on in court.  The longtime African American neighbors sided with B as she railed against the tenant (also a party guest) who put rent in an escrow account, demanding lease termination.  The adversaries sipped wine and stared each other down.   Perhaps because the former tenant—in a black lace skirt, expensive white cotton shirt, denim jacket and kick-ass heels—was way better dressed (and certainly had the better shoes) than the landlord—attired in old black flats, a shapeless black dress and an over-sized gray sweater—the black male opinion subtly shifted to the tenant.  By the end of the evening, the landlord’s marriage and sexual persuasion were in whispered speculation. 

The new white couples were oblivious to the dramas swirling around them and surely went home rhapsodizing about the sophisticated mélange of people—all getting along, side by side!—drinking wine and sampling gourmet appetizers in a lovely renovated downtown-worthy space in the “new” Harlem.  They don’t realize that each little group resents, if not hates, the other—with Africans being particularly contemptuous of African Americans—and that their entry into the ‘hood might have been far more problematic were it not for men like Dard—property owners who, in sleeping with white women, have done as much to promote gentrification as anyone short of Willie Kathryn Suggs, the “Real Estate Queen” of Harlem.  Black women may not like the social contract but they pay public respect to the men they privately trash.  If all the prosperous black men dated black women, racial tolerance uptown would take it on the chin.

I too rhapsodize about the sophisticated mélange when I am trying to encourage downtowners to come up and patronize the restaurants my friends own.  Stay in Harlem long enough and you are part of the spin.  Not spin but very interesting, The History of White People is not the book you think it will be.  Tracing the idea of whiteness back to Ralph Waldo Emerson and other early American philosophers who believed only Anglo-Saxons were truly white, Painter, a professor emeritus at Princeton, is an African American woman who brings the highest scholarship to the endeavor.

 

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I LOVE NEW YORK!

 

Photo credit:  "Rose" by Rocandy on Photobucket

 

9/11/2009 is a chilly, rainy day in New York City.  Eight years on--people remember but mostly go about their business as if it were any other day.  That is the right thing to do--for the city and its people and in memory of those we lost.

 

Dr. Charles Weiss says in "A Fortress City That Did Not Come To Be:  Recalling The Fears of September 12," The New York Times:  'There's a tremendous drive of human beings to make the most of life.  We're not hermits.  We rise up and move on."

 

copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime 

DANCE THE TANTRA TANGO: And Celebrate Bastille Day

 

Photo credit:  Richard Anton Diaz

 

There is a definite connection between music and sex.  I met Jean-Claude last year at the bar at Jazz Standard.  He complimented my legs in a way that made me want to wrap them around his waist. Then he played out the beat of the music ever so lightly with his thumb on my knee.  By the time he was holding my hand and caressing my wrist, I had decided to go to bed with him.  What New York woman hasn't been enticed by a visiting Parisian?  We had four erotic nights together; and now, he writes, he will be back in town this week.   I wanted to take him to Tantra Tango Tuesdays at Sexy Spirits, but, his flight won't arrive in time.  Too bad.  How better to celebrate the French Revolution than by dancing the Argentine tango with a Frenchman?

 

"Tantra Tango?" he asked. "Is that some American's idea of a sexier tango?  You do know that the tango passion started in Paris, don't you?"

 

I did a little research and discovered that, yes, he's right about the history.  Tango was born in the Buenos Aries brothels in the mid-1800s and spread to the cities of Europe with Paris leading the first international Tango craze in 1912. Wealthy Argentinians didn't embrace their native dance until it was a success abroad.  Parisians also launched tango on its modern journey with the big stage show Tango Argentino in 1983.

 

But Tantra Tango is not to be dismissed as "some American's idea of a sexier tango."  It is a sexier tango.  Created by Richard Anton Diaz, World Champion Latin Ballroom Dancer and Tantra teacher, it "fuses the energies of Tantra with the dark, intimate dance of the tango."  Introducing the Tantric element, he says, "deepens connections that allow us to dance intimately with a stranger."

 

On Tuesdays nights the strangers come together at Sexy Spirits in midtown Manhattan.  The class is mostly for beginners and intermediate couples and singles.  Anton does recommend private lessons for newcomers to get the most out of the dances.  (When you go to the Sexy Spirits website to learn more on Tantra Tango Tuesdays, sign up for the newsletter, artistically illustrated and informative, a little gem in itself.)

 

He says," My desire to teach this most sensual social dance was in large part inspired by my lonely nights as bachelor when I got my 'fix' for intimacy and affection by simply going out to a Tango salon.  There I had the opportunity to be in close embrace with many women in one evening, their breasts pressed against my chest, our eyes closed inward as if making secret love. I went home alone, as desired, but felt so fulfilled from my intimate connections with women who, to this day, I don't even know."

Photo:  Anton and his lovely lady Rita

Go out and dance with a stranger tonight.  Maybe you'll find someone to join you after for a glass of red wine, some French cheese and a baguette.  Viva la France!

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IT'S GAY PRIDE WEEK IN NEW YORK CITY!: Thank Your Lesbian Sisters For Your Sex Life

Photo:  38th annual Gay Pride parade in New York City, 2007

 

When I moved to New York City over twenty years ago, AIDS was cutting a swath through the gay community.  I volunteered for a while with God's Love, We Deliver, delivering hot meals to home-bound AIDS patients, mostly gay men.  That some of these dying young men were not wanted back by their families across the country was America's shame.  That they were cared for by New Yorkers was the city's pride.  So I felt from the beginning that Gay Pride was shared by all of us, gay, straight or bi; and I love the annual parade.

 

As a woman, however, I--and you!--owe a special debt to lesbian women for our sex lives.  Lesbians have been in the forefront of the modern women's movement since its inception.  They have marched and protested and organized and argued for legislation that would first legislate and later protect reproductive freedom.  Without the lesbian women who started Eve's Garden in New York City, Good Vibrations in San Francisco and Toys in Babeland, we would not have the wonderful range of sex toys available to us today.  Nor would we be able to access good information about sex toys online.

 

Launched by Rachel Venning and Claire Cavanah in 1993 as a catalog business with website following three years later, Babeland opened its first store in New York City in 1998.  Their mission from the start has been to promote and celebrate sexuality, provide an open and fun environment accepting and tolerant of all kinds of sexual expression, encourage personal sexual empowerment--and offer workshops for community education.  My friend Cheryl Means Berry, sex toy entrepreneur and inventor of Talking Head vibrator and Vibrating Sponge among other toys, says, "We have high end vibes today thanks to Babeland opening up the market for high quality toys.  Without Babeland, women would still be selecting from a small range of products."

 

Thanks to your lesbian sisters, aunts and mothers--you can buy a glass dildo that is a work of art or a high end vibe or pearl handcuffs or any number of delicious toys.  (Go to Babeland and shop the current sale!)  

 

Yet gay and lesbian people still do not have equal rights in this country.  In most states, including New York, they can't get married.  Just as there should not be a state religion in the U.S., there should not be a state sanctioned sexual lifestyle, i.e., heterosexual marriage.  Gays and lesbians have stood up for the rights of all people.  Why aren't more of us standing up for them?

 

If you know your history (as sadly too many of us don't), you know that President John Kennedy made an historic speech in divided Berlin in 1963, a speech that was widely considered a turning point in the Cold War.  He had just come from Checkpoint Charlie, the most notorious of the crossing paths where many Germans lost their lives trying to escape from East Berlin to freedom in West Berlin.  Standing in solidarity with all Berliners, he said:

 

"All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words:  Ich bin ein Berliner."

 

I am a Berliner.

 

If you are in the city this Sunday, watch the Gay Pride Parade go by and raise your fist in a salute of solidarity.

 

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THE KINKY DECADE: Alex Zola Reflects On His Thirties And Figures Out Why He's Not Married At 40

Photo Credit:  Alex throws down three card monte in Manhattan by Karen Sterling.

Other men have told me similar stories about dating in the city, but only Alex is bold enough to go on record. Here he is in our fourth interview which may be the nadir of his sex life. (Soon I will be asking for donations to the Buy Alex A Date fund.) Alex Zola, writer/bartender and blogger (The Zola System), is one of those guys some girl would have married a decade ago back in the Midwest—had he not been mired in increasingly frustrating dating in Manhattan.

When he came to the city as an 18 year old freshman, New York University, he reveled in “a target rich environment, beautiful girls everywhere, why choose one?” In the past decade, he’s had one relationship with the potential for marriage. She broke up with his voice mail two days after breaking their date for New Year’s Eve. (While he was at work, she picked up the things she’d left in his apartment, including some Christmas gifts to him, and dropped off the keys with the doorman—all a fait accompli as she left the voice message.)

Other than that one foray into “serious relationship”, he’s been a provider of kinky acts for the women who love them. Yes, women ask to be spanked, whipped, paddled, choked, fisted, tied up—in one case, she begged him to chain her to the radiator in his apartment room and leave. Women control the sex scene in the city. We go after what (and whom) we want; and a lot of women are at least a little bit kinky.

But my first question to Alex is:

Why is that what you have attracted for a decade? There are still women out there who want to have oral sex and intercourse, with perhaps an occasional slap to the ass.

Alex: I honestly don’t know. I tried having the “Into Kink” tattoo removed from my forehead. Apparently that didn’t work. About that girl and the radiator: It was May, not heating season. And she was on Real Sex 28. She was hot, an erotic performance artist.

Susan: Not gonna’ let you get off with that “I don’t know how the kinky girls find me” explanation!

Alex: It could be the energy that people radiate. I must give off a vibe.

Susan: Yes, I think so. You’re a little bit misogynist. Women who want to be disciplined tap into that. On the other hand, women like the one you briefly considered marrying don’t pick up that vibe. She was a dom. I remember that she left you with a memorable 112 item Honey-Do List.

Alex: She used to tell me that she was thinking of making a life with me but things had to change. So I once said to her: Choose three or four things that you want me to fix in my apartment. I’ll see if I can get them done before you come down next weekend. She gave me a Honey Do list of 112 things. Two full pages, back and front. A few small points: Change brands of toothpaste, toilet paper and soap and categorize loose change by denomination instead of throwing altogether in jar. Jesus. I was thinking I could paint and clear out one of the closets for her.

Susan: You were the odd couple, both trying to force a relationship. Frankly, I thought you were behaving like a woman, trying to make something out of clearly nothing. I remember meeting the two of you for dinner; and you had your head down most of the meal, looking miserable, while she talked about all the changes you had to make in that apartment.

Alex: I even bought some skirts, not for me, mind you. Now I wonder what the fuck I was thinking. Maybe I was afraid of ending up alone. I don’t know. There was no humor in her; and that was probably the worst thing.

Susan: After she dumped you, there’s only been the spanking girl, right?

Alex: Yes, the spanking girl and some sloppy wedding sex with a bridesmaid and a post dinner-date kiss or two. That was the Sex Life of Alex Zola, 2008.

Susan: A lot of people commented on the spanking story in an interview I did with you posted on my blog, SexyPrime. You never had “sex” with her, just a few spanking dates, one lasting two hours. Ouch!

Alex: She said, Spank me. Spank me harder. Keep spanking me. What else could I do? I’m a gentleman. I spanked her. She told me that she gets nauseous when she gets close to somebody.

Susan: Ah, ha! There’s an obvious disconnect between two people if the entirety of their sexual expression is spanking (or any other single kinky act.) Her acknowledgement of nausea is telling. Did you ever make her throw up?

Alex: She threw up once; and she hadn’t been drinking that much. We made out for an hour and a half, I spanked her for two hours and as I tried to undress the rest of her—she got up, went into the bathroom and vomited. I thought: Boy, I have to hit the gym if I’m having this effect on women.

Susan: She threw up when you took off your clothes?

Alex: No. But it did make me think about what her gag reflex might be like.

Susan: No BJs? [Alex shakes his head: No.] Did you ever get to see her breasts?

Alex: Yes, I did.

Susan: Was that the last time you saw her?

Alex: Yes. As I left she said, “I’m going to be mean to you now.” It’s sad that she can’t make a human connection beyond having someone whack her rear end.

Susan: Oh, my, Alex, when did you get into this pattern of being a kink provider for women?

Alex: The Real Sex girl. She was into whipping. I used a belt. She gave me a paddle once. She called it “getting a beating.” One time after a wedding, we were in a cab and she said, “Alex, I need a beating. Do it here.”

Susan: A lot of guys would have paid the cab driver and gotten out. What did you do?

Alex: I spanked her. When she asked, “Why am I bad?” I said, “Jesus, you’re bad because if you wanted me to do this in a cab, you could have worn a skirt not jeans.” The poor cabbie was from Pakistan or India and dumbfounded.

Susan: So. The experience left you hungry for more kinky women?

Alex: When I was younger, I thought I was being open to the experience. I thought I was having adventures. Now, I wonder if there is more, a different kind of adventure out there.

Susan: The culture supports these kinky, limited activity hook ups. They seem deadening. On the other hand, the culture also supports endless yammering about soul mate intimacy—and I find that stultifying.

Alex: The new technological age is supposed to keep us closer in touch, but it has dehumanized us more, put more walls up. Instead of sitting down and really getting to know somebody, you choose an act, advertise, meet someone interested in same act, have a drink, commit said act and leave.

Susan: Exclusively limiting your sex life to one activity—intercourse missionary style or spanking—is not adventurous. The missionary folk consider themselves more righteous than the rest of us while the spankers think they are edgy. They’re all playing it safe, as they define “safe.” No risk-takers here.

Alex: I would agree with that. The kink-as-sex-life strategy backfires if you are interested in meeting somebody. You’ve become addicted to a singular act. That act is what you’re looking for, which limits your partner options.

Susan: The big sex trends of the last decade and more: Kink and heterosexual anal intercourse. (Well, there’s Cougars and Bi Girls, but we’ll save your thoughts on that for another day.) Is anal one of your fantasies/fetishes?

Alex: No. If Tucker Max has taught us anything, it’s that people really don’t know about anal sex. The way that most people commit the act—no preparation and after wining and dining, no less!—they run the risk of causing damage to her rectum and their sheets.

Susan: Yes, I periodically run my anal sex preparedness lecture on the blog. It seems to me that men (and women) Gen X and younger are more limited in their sexual expression than previous generations. Kink and anal.

Alex: As you have pointed out, sexuality in the city is highly feminized. The scene is run by women.

Susan: So don’t blame men? Maybe women’s responses developed, in part, as a reaction to male sexuality. What about the impact of 24 porn on the male sensibility? Men watch porn and think that they can “just slip it into” her anal opening as easily as her vaginal opening—and, she loves it! And the cock comes out clean!

Alex: Maybe women are influenced by porn too. Story: Recently in a bar, a girl came up to me and asked, “Can I confide in you?” I thought: She must know I’m a bartender and she wants to tell me her break up story. We chatted a bit. She said, “I’m a practicing auto-erotic.” I was gun shy to do anything else with her. I didn’t want to end up like Robert Chambers.

Susan: (LOL) Do you have any interest in vanilla sex now?

Alex: In the past decade, it’s all been very kinky. Women have one kinky act that they want practiced upon them. I play the facilitator, the blank canvas on which they paint. I did meet one normal woman and brought her back home from a date with me. She peed on the floor of my lobby; we didn’t make it upstairs. I asked her to clean up her mess and put her in a cab and sent her home.

Susan: Ah, dating in the city. Is this what happens to men who’ve remained single too long? Years ago, I told you that you were behind the curve, that you should have been in your starter marriage, having your first affair. When people wait too long to get married, they grow rigid. And odd. And cranky. And neurotic. It doesn’t matter if the marriage lasts or not. The marriage inoculates you against becoming a curmudgeonly, misogynistic old bachelor.

Alex: I should be married. When I was feeling depressed about being dumped at New Year’s, I made the mistake of Googling my first love Amanda, now an attorney working for a firm in Midtown. Well, it turns out that Amanda had gone off and gotten herself married back in 2005. It was a really nasty knock, the kind that leaves you winded with your stomach in knots wondering if therapy might be in order. I tried to be rational. We hadn't talked in 14 years or seen each other in 10. Why should I be upset? But I was. I felt like a car that had been blown into a mobile home by a tornado that came out of nowhere. I soldiered on, figuring the whole thing would blow over in a few days.

Susan: And it’s still a sore spot? [He nods in the affirmative.] I guess that surprises me because you haven’t had more close marriage calls. What’s up with that?

Alex: In this bartender’s opinion, I blame the internet. Or Cosmo. A lot of things started going wrong for me when I picked up an issue of Cosmo.

 

 

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A SHOUT-OUT TO JAMIE BUFALINO, TONY SEX COLUMNIST

A big story in the local New York City news this week highlights the risks inherent in finding your sex partners online.  WABC newsman George Weber was brutally murdered by a crazy teen who answered his craigslist ad for "rough sex."  Jamie Bufalino's sex advice column in Time Out New York went to press before the incident--but couldn't be more timely.  His answer to a young woman asking if she should go on Craigslist to find a man who would dominate her (because she is too shy to share with a man she knows) begins with:

"Okay, let's think about this for a second: You're telling me that you'd feel better about meeting a complete (possibly homicidal) stranger for some dom-sub fun than telling someone you're close to about your (perfectly unshocking) fantasies? That's some bad decision making...."

I am a big fan of Jamie's.  His answers to a variety of sex questions every week are smart, witty--and practical.  Nobody does it better.

While reassuring her that she is "not a freak," he tells the wanna-be sub how to explore her fantasies safely, in part by using Craigslist.  Email the guy whose post turns you on, he says, and get into a little online dialogue.  Make it clear you aren't looking for a hook-up.  (Pretend to be married.)  Use that same MO to initiate dialogues with other BDSM posters.

And he concludes with:

"...if you want to get a feel for how many other folks out there think like you do, keep cruising the Craigslist posts and talk to whoever will give you the time of day. Not only will this exercise provide you with tons of masturbation material, it will eventually give you enough confidence about your place in a fairly mainstream sexual community. Then you'll be able to finally fess up to a nonanonymous someone who can actually make your fantasy come true."

Jamie, this is not only good advice, but it could potentially save a life.   Love you, Babe.  Keep up the good work.

 

 

copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime