“SO, WHATEVER HAPPENED TO SHAGGING MADLY IN AN ELEVATOR ON WHIM?”
These are the important questions that keep me awake at night. I have found that it my short time on this planet, there are things we all love to talk about doing , and then there’s the reality of what most of us actually do.
As a young sexually confused and frustrated girl, I would often spend my afternoons hiding in tall trees, sucking on lemon popsicles and daydreaming about my future trysts.
I would imagine some tall, dark and handsome hotelier whisking me off to Argentina for the weekend, and upon my return, my friends would ask about what Buenos Aires is like and I’d respond in a cool fashion… (Like they do in the movies)
“Heavens, I wouldn’t know, but the hotel suite was marvelous.” The deeper I delved into my teens, the more graphic and elaborate these fantasies would become, and once I finally lost my virginity, I realized that TV and the movies do in fact lie, and my fantasies turned out to be a lot of hot air.
The problem it seems is that the male libido peaks at 18. At 18, most ‘men’ don’t have the means necessary to whisk me away to Buenos Aries for the weekend, nor do they have the stamina, ahem, to ‘last’ all weekend. Quite frankly the idea of shagging an 18 year old for 36 hours straight is painful and uncomfortable at best. But we all do create these vivid fantasies and somehow it drives us to continue searching and seeking for ‘something’ to fulfill at least part of it.
The best porn I’ve ever seen was at a private screening inside my brain. The closest it’s come to being fulfilled was a dear boyfriend of mine putting on a cajun accent as foreplay. (I have a recurring X-man fantasy featuring Gambit, and while his thought was sweet, somehow the stench of chili he had just devoured and his protruding beer belly did little to make me forget it is in fact 2 am, and I’m thoroughly annoyed.)
My libido according to ‘science’ will peak from the ages of 35-45. Hardly seems to be an even playing field. A smart man once said, it’s because ‘god doesn’t really want anybody to get together.’ But thanks to alcohol, we still do. There is much to be said about the great disparity between our wants (fantasies) and what we actually get (reality). How do we decipher the two? Compromise, but still feel like we’re getting something out of the bargain?
Figuring out the difference between fantasy and reality, and how to feel like you’re living somewhere in between is no cake walk. Suppressing those wants to the point of denial, does nothing for the soul, and buries you deeper and deeper into a reality you never set out to pursue. The bane of our North American existence is our love hate relationship with sex. We all want it every which way, but we’re certainly not going to talk about it. Instead of actually talking about what we really want, we sit around and talk about the things we think we want. Without realizing it, denying our sexuality, our true desires, can lead you down a path to believing those little lies you tell yourself and eventually something has got to give. After years of repression, women have a strange tendency to turn into ‘types.’
The most common ‘type’ out there is the mom, devoid of sexuality, the bad haircut, the jeans (my God! the jeans!) and if she’s a ‘cool’ mom, she’ll go out for cosmos once a month ‘with the girls,’ (and pretty much annoy every bartender within a 5 mile radius). Men tend to receded into escapist fantasies and flirt ferociously with co workers and young interns while complaining about about the other half at home. So why the charade and where is the disconnect? Men seem to enjoy talking about sex, but if you take note of the magazine they read, a lot of the articles have more to with what males think they ought to be talking about, not what really needs to be said.