A Lifetime of Sex

He sympathized with a friend who had enjoyed great success with women but who was now old and infirm. The friend assured him that age had its compensations.

"For the first time in my life, I can be with a beautiful woman and take comfort in knowing she has no power over me."

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A fashion model corrected his technique in bed, saying he must learn to enter her more gently.

"After that," she said brightly, "you can fuck my brains out."

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When two people part, it is the one who is not in love who makes the tender speeches.--Marcel Proust

Far be it from him to disagree with Proust, but he could not recall his wife making tender speeches when she left him.

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He had not taught for some time, and the weeklong experience left him drained and exhausted. When he had completed his function, in (continued on page 126)A Lifetime of Sex (continued from page 112) Montreal, he visited a topless bar and became intrigued by a slender young dancer. He offered to pay her to go back to his hotel and sleep with him. She was reluctant to do so and resisted--until he offered her his entire stipend for his week's work. When he realized what he had done, he felt ridiculous. But when he awakened the next morning, he was refreshed and invigorated.

The starlet arrived at a Hollywood party and was greeted at the door by the host, who asked her to suck his cock.

"I left," she told friends, "since I was not at his level of partying."

He was thrown off stride when a woman he had been pursuing for some time asked him, on their first date, to spank her before dinner.

He complied, but only halfheartedly, feeling he could have done a much better job of it if they had been a bit further along in their affair (or perhaps had dinner first).

Her friends became concerned when the starlet, who was generally jolly and upbeat, appeared to be low in spirits. She explained that while she was en route to the Academy Awards ceremony in a limousine, her date, an Albanian, had come on her neck.

Prior to attending a symposium in Bogotá, he joined a group of academics who decided to visit a local bordello. No sooner had they entered the premises than the most prominent of them--a leading literary deconstructionist--sat on the lap of a fat prostitute, thrust his tongue down her throat and then disappeared with the woman--never to be seen again for the duration of the conference.

She'd had a crush on a young novelist for quite some time and finally succeeded in luring him into bed.

But she could not forgive him for folding his pants neatly and placing them on a hanger before he embraced her.

In a change of style, her lover entered her slowly--exquisitely and almost unbearably so. And she knew, in an instant, that he had been with another woman.

Both were on the so-called rebound, both new at sex--and they went about it frantically. They made love in the forest, in rest rooms, stairwells, in a darkened classroom, on the quadrangle itself. Yet only when they danced together languidly--and closely--at a sorority function did a supervisor threaten them with expulsion.

The starlet described what she did in Hollywood swimming pools as "light screwing."

A letter to the editor of Cosmopolitan, never mailed:

Dear Cosmo,

Your article in the November issue ("Big Butt Be Gone") fails to take into account a considerable group of us out here who admire and even prefer a big butt now and then. Shapely, of course. We are not talking lard-ass here. But substantial? Absolutely.

Sincerely,

B.J.F., Southampton, N.Y.

With no apparent source of income, she lived in a magnificent townhouse in Greenwich Village. The wallpaper in the master bedroom was composed of photographs that had been taken of her in the nude. One night, she confided in him that she was being sponsored by a wealthy older man. All that was required of her was that once each year she be available to join him on his yacht--and massage his prostate on the high seas.

He thought it was a reasonable arrangement but would have preferred that she had not told him the story.

In a show of self-assertion, the starlet told her friends she had decided to stop sleeping with an actor she had been dating because of his abusive behavior toward her.

"But he is a movie star," she said, reflecting. "So I'll continue to give him head."

Throughout his life, he had taken it for granted that homely women would be more receptive to his advances than attractive ones. More often than not he was mistaken.

During the Cannes Film Festival, the producer rented an entire bordello for his exclusive use and had the women service him, one by one, throughout the night. Later, he accepted his therapist's explanation that his behavior was neurotic and had nothing to do with sex--but he refused to regret the experience.

He agreed to parade in front of his mistress in the nude, thinking it only sporting, since he had often made the same request of her.

But he was unprepared for the suggestion that he lose a few pounds.

For all his bravado, he refused to allow a pretty young female physician to examine his prostate.

She had little reason to doubt the film producer who said he had slept with dozens of actresses. But was it necessary for him to narrow his eyes and add, with some ferocity: "And I took no prisoners"?

He stopped watching porno films when he realized they had created an expectation that every woman he met, within minutes, would fall to her knees and begin cheerfully to suck his penis.

At a time when he was tormented by feelings of jealousy toward his mistress, he found comfort in an unlikely source:

A young man, writing in a sex magazine, said he realized one day that he had spent a year of his life being tortured by what another individual (in this case, his wandering girlfriend) did--or didn't do--with her genitals.

Seen in that perspective, his situation came across as being absurd, and he was able to relax and go about his business.

In the early stages of their affair, she would fall to her knees and suck his penis before allowing him to venture out alone. He was aware of being controlled but could not bring himself to ask that she discontinue the practice.

Remarks from women that lingered:

"Call me if you're ever in the mood for an affair."

"It appears I'm just another chapter in your book."

"I'm up for a fuck if you are."

"Oh, my God, you're worshiping my ass."

"I don't understand--my last lover had no trouble getting it in."

"Relax. I'll sleep with you. But let's have dinner first."

As he prepared to leave a party in Greenwich Village, he noticed that his raincoat was missing. The hostess, who lived alone and was quite beautiful, assured him that if he returned the following day she would have it there for him. He could not understand why the coat was unavailable at that moment--and why she was so confident it would be there for him the next day.

In one of the great miscalculations of his youth, he sent a friend by to pick it up for him.

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A lifetime of sex

(continued from page 126)

He was traveling to Manhattan for emergency dental work when a beautiful young woman boarded the bus and took a seat beside him. As it happened, he had met her briefly once before and thought of little else in the months that followed. In the course of the trip, she made it known to him that although she was leaving for Europe the following day, she was available to go to bed with him that afternoon. After an agonizing internal debate, he decided to keep his appointment. But he was furious with--and never forgave--the dentist for allowing his teeth to deteriorate.

Remarks that would have been considered gross had they not come from the lips of beautiful women:

"You sure do know how to suck titty."

"Buttfucking? Hey, if you can get past my hems, go for it."

"He thought he was some preppy big shot, so I blew him--to put him in his place."

He was not entirely sure of what a "forensic accountant" did, but when he learned that his wife had hired one, he agreed immediately to see a counselor and try to repair the marriage.

He: I've never been shocked by someone's behavior in bed.

She: Then let me shock you.

When his wife began to have affairs, he sought out--for no other reason than that--a lover of his own.

"Do not attempt to compete with a woman on that level," a wise friend counseled him. "You will always lose."

Late one night, an attractive woman with whom he'd had a brief affair knocked on his apartment door, rousing him from a deep sleep. Clearly distressed (she'd been quarreling with her current lover), she asked if he would perform oral sex on her. Though he was only half-awake, he accommodated her. But when she left the apartment, he began, for the first time, to question his lifestyle.

He attended a weekly poker game in Hollywood during which the late-night conversation would veer off now and then to the subject of blow jobs. Great blow jobs. Memorable ones. The perfect blow job.

He was not taken seriously--was indeed hooted down--when he said with all sincerity that he personally had never had a bad one.

He continued to live with a woman who had become fat for fear that if he left, she would immediately become thin again. But his fears were not justified. Eventually, he did leave her--and learned from friends that she had the good grace to have remained fat.

During the Clinton sex scandal, he asked the pretty, young secretary in an adjoining office what she thought of the president's predicament.

Correctly guessing his motivation, she said: "You're only asking so you can hear me say 'blow job.'"

His first wife watched his every move with suspicion.

His second wife never inquired as to his whereabouts or his activities.

He remained faithful to his second wife.

One of the more pleasurable experiences of his life came about when he joined two attractive young women in conversation at a bar in Los Angeles and was told--after drinks--that they had always fantasized about going to bed with an older man. All three returned to his hotel suite for a magical and exquisite night of sex. Though he did not see the women again, he kept returning to the bar for a period of 20 years--hoping for a comparable experience, which never came about.

The only complaint about her lover was that he never said anything filthy to her in bed--but it was a major complaint.

A distinguished-looking gentleman he met at a café in Rome claimed that as an Italian prisoner of war (captured by the Americans in World War II) he had been forced to give oral sex to the Andrews Sisters.

In the course of an interview with the late and quite brilliant novelist Terry Southern, a journalist gave as his opinion that in terms of satisfying a woman, there was no substitute for the penis.

Whereupon Southern thrust a fist in front of the interviewer's nose and said: "What about this?"

He had learned that there was no point in competing with a good dancer for the attentions of a woman.

Lies from women that he had found to be effective:

"You're much too dangerous."

"Quite the spoiler, aren't you?"

"You always get what you want, don't you?"

A neophyte at hotel assignations, he dressed in blue jeans and a tank top, kept his feet bare and arranged himself languidly on the bed, a cigarette between his lips. But it had to be deflating when she swept into the room, looked at him and said: "Oh God, don't tell me I'm getting Liam Neeson."

He was attracted to a pretty, young receptionist who worked in his friend's office and asked if it would be all right to call her.

"Absolutely," said the friend.

He took the woman to dinner, had a brief affair with her--after which the friend refused to speak to him for the next 20 years.

"How could you not realize," the friend said, finally breaking his silence, "that she was the love of my life--and my one chance for happiness?"

He went to bed with a woman who refused to suck his penis, saying she had only done this twice in her life. Had she not mentioned the two occasions, he might have accepted her position more graciously.

During a routine shopping trip to the supermarket, he decided, on an impulse, to stop and see a former girlfriend who lived nearby. They made love, which took no more than 20 minutes. When he walked into his apartment, the picture of what he felt was innocence, his mistress said: "If you ever do that again, I'll kill you."

A new tactic he used with remarkable success was his proposal to women he had just met that they become "friends."

Some dialogue he had waited all his life to hear:

"Lie back. I'll take care of everything. You deserve this."

She was curious about an attractive, accomplished, obviously adoring couple--and wondered what it was that had brought them together.

"The first thing I noticed about my husband," the woman explained, "was that he had a great ass."

Picasso's Guernica was awesome--but no more so to him than the sight of a woman pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, as preparation for (delivering) oral sex.

Holding court in a Santa Monica restaurant, a Hollywood mogul had for years insisted that women who wanted to meet him first pay tribute by placing a hand on his ancient penis.

In a New York Times interview, the actress Natasha Richardson said she realized, while performing in a Broadway musical, that a man in the front row had a clear view up her dress--somehow implying that the man was at fault.

A woman that he admired at the office paid absolutely no attention to him, behaving as if he did not exist. Yet when he turned up at a company function with his wife, she managed to get him aside and to brush her hand lightly against his crotch.

A college roommate, who was visiting from New York, arrived back at her Beverly Hills apartment in a distraught state. She had made a date with a film star and when she arrived at his hotel suite, he asked her if she would like to "taste his ass" before they went out to dinner.

"I don't know why you're upset," her friend said. "It sounds like a fairly representative Hollywood first date to me."

"Act like you are doing it for the first time."

These were the words she heard from a film star with whom she was spending the night in bed.

It was not until the next morning that she realized he was giving her an acting tip.

Her roommate returned to the flat they shared in unusually high spirits. She explained that she had met a fashion photographer who had paid her a high compliment.

"My, we've got a funky ass," he'd said, thereby relieving her of anxiety about that part of her anatomy.

He was about to place an ad in the personals saying he wanted to meet a young woman who was witty and charming and had "mischief" in her eyes--when he realized he lived with just such a person.

When his first wife asked that he forgive her for an adulterous affair, he said, in a grandiose moment, "I'm afraid I have neither the size nor the philosophy to do so."

"I wouldn't worry about your size," she responded--and he immediately forgave her.

He received a surprising number of replies to the following ad in the personals:

"Mature man, with some means and a bit of literary achievement, seeks slender, pretty, intelligent young blonde for a moderately perverted affair--not leading to anything in particular."