THE ART OF LOVIN' EM & LEAVIN' EM


I'm a 60-year-old white man, why should I have to pay for birth control?

~Conservative Talk Show Host Hugh Hewitt on the Brian Lehrer Show, January 2017

Santorini, Greece 1994/Interlude #2

I had been canoodling with a Michael Hutchence (INXS) look-a-like for days. We would casually find one another at the local, bandy back and forth the obligatorily laconic What’s up? Nothing. What’s up with you of twenty-somethings and then after a round of tequila shooters make out. It was sexy and fun at first but then I wanted more because one: he looked like an Irish version of the Australian lead singer of one of my favorite bands (Google him. Super hot.) and two: I didn’t have much time. I wasn’t going to be on the island forever, unlike Michael (I will call him Michael because his name has long since been lost to Wild Turkey) who had lost his passport months before I arrived and penniless and unfazed, had no idea how or when he would get off the island of Santorini.

The Boy

Emboldened by my first trip abroad and the sheer grown-ass-womanness of passport ownership, I spent days gently moving things along until we found ourselves alone. Night after night we would kiss and coo, moments away from graduating from Sweet Valley High to Harlequin Silhouette, when to my consternation and after much dilly-dallying, he would be unable to perform due to copious amounts of alcohol---sorry it sounds like a stereotype but it’s true. With sheepish apology, he would literally piss off and scuttle back to our local. Finally after four or five days of this and the girl’s version of blue balls, (Blue nipples? Rosy ovaries?), I decided to change tactics. I caught up with Michael at the beginning of the evening---after a delicious meal of course---instead of at the end. Hands on mini-skirt clad hips, I demanded,

“Are we going to do this or not?”

Tall, Dark &....

It may go without saying that I’d had a half a carafe of native vino, but to my great relief, he clasped my hand and off we went to a dark, secluded section of the beach. We kissed and rolled around in our little alcove for a bit and I grew more and more excited because I had been fantasizing about sex with a handsome stranger ever since booking my ticket to a Mediterranean island, but then suddenly Dave or Michael, or Niall, or whatever the hell his name was broke the mood. No, he didn’t pass out. No he didn’t throw up. He didn’t even loose his abilities. It was worse. He spoke.

“You seem so together.”

“Huh?

“You. You seem so together. I mean you’re obviously smart. You got yourself here by yourself. What do you want with the likes of me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you want to hook up with me? I mean, you’re so together and all. You seem to know where you’re going.”

“Why not? You’re nice, and fun, and good looking.”

“But…”

“But what?” By this time, I had sat up, covering myself with my tiny bits of clothes. I peered at him through the moonlit gloom. I spoke as gently as I could, “I’m on vacation. You know I’m not keeping you, right?”

“But…”

“But nothing. I am smart. I am together, and I’m only 24. I just want to have a little fun, so…”

And dear reader, we did it. Just the once and it was fine, although the friction of all of our rolling around in the sand left me with an unspeakable rash in my lady parts that I had to reveal to Jen and Allie after a day and a half of agony (Vaseline, people. Vaseline.). It also left me with a nagging feeling that has followed me through my life and nearly every sexual encounter. The feeling, which has also upon occasion also been verbalized, that basically there is an expectation that if you’re smart, together, or have a life plan that you in turn cannot be free, joyous and like to fuck. It’s not true, obviously. But it is something that has haunted me and I’m sure many other smart, together, ambitious women. And just like with Dave, Michael, Niall, or whatever his name was, I usually explain myself once, have whatever fun there is to be had and then move on because you guessed it, I’ve got planning to do!

What A View!

Be sure to come back in March for my final dispatch from Greece, when I go to the dogs!

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