It's Not About Sex
“Did you feel what I just felt?” “Oh Yes.” “How old are you again?” “I’m Sixty years old.” “How is this happening?” “Because we believe.”
When is too old, too old for sex? My answer: how about never. This topic, unlike any other topic, can go from demure to combustible very quickly. The very nature of the subject matter in of itself is incendiary. There are no absolutes and since this publication contends that “60 is the New 40”, by all accounts we should start at the now. Better still, I think in this regard, I will start at the beginning and work my way to the now. Right now, you and I have reached this amazing age; an age that carries with it so much respect. Many may feel as though this is the phase in life where a certain aspect of the chapter closes. That may have been, but it is no longer true. Today, the opposite is the new reality. We now have stored in our minds an entire book at our disposal. A book that we have read and memorized each subtle gesture and meaning of. In this book, that we have memorized, there are portions of it that are complicated and confounding. The name of the book is, Sex. It’s complicated. It's confounding.
Lets begin with the complicated. Have you ever tried explaining Sex to a young person? The mere thought of it initiates feelings of anxiety; thank goodness for Artificial Intelligence. Or you could find yourself doing it the old-fashioned way of sitting down and having an actual conversation. A real talk about Sex. Since we are starting at the beginning. The upcoming scene illustrates just that; how exasperating it is to explain, as an adult, Sex to a young person. My memory of this event comes courtesy of my father and his attempt to explain Sex to me when I was 13-years old. BTW this is all true. I would also like to add that during the entire time together, my father never actually said or used the word, Sex. So this is a conversation about 'Sex', without ever using the word 'Sex'. Which I thought, at the time was odd, because I was long past his very abbreviated notions about it and well well past carnal knowledge. Still, my father struggled during this conversation and much of those struggles were attributed to his middle age notions of Sex and who should be having it. He, my father, wrongly presumed that at my age, any notions of physical intimacy were too complicated for me to understand, which might explain why he referred to 'Sex' as "you know". So here I am at the age of 13 with my father in my room, sweating and talking to me very intently about, "you know". As you may have surmised, yes, we were miles and miles apart in our notions about Sex, much less a discussion about it. But I was the student?
It all started when I was 12 going on 13. I remember I had a birthday party at my home. I was in seventh grade and I was allowed to have some friends over for the party. The list was enormous, a virtual who's who of middle school girls that I liked, and a limited number of guys that were my friends. I had it all planned out, the girls out numbered the guys. Except, no one was really dancing and I had had enough with games, such as twister. I made a bold move and announced, in my own head, the hell with Twister. No more right leg to number seven green circle. I wanted to get the party really started, so I took it upon myself and I attempted to dim the lights in the living room a bit more. I started with the lights on the end tables of the sofa and then I moved on to the chandelier with its 10 incandescent bulbs reflecting off dozens of crystals. I really should have known better, as my parents would have never fully relinquished complete privacy to me and my friends. But it seemed to be working as everyone who was sitting down was now up and standing. I was fueled by the success. Unfortunately, as always hovering near or peering from the kitchen was my mother; watching as some of the girls lost their shyness in the now dimly lit living room and began to dance. As I moved in to dance with a very attractive middle school girl, named Paula. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that it was pretty clear that my mother quietly objected at my attempt at dimming the lights, and she gave that look to my father; and his reaction was immediate.
Keep reading, only 6 Minutes Left…
He was not having it. Not at all! My father as if on cue, responded by not only turning the living room lights on, but nearly every other light in the house. It was now so bright in the living room that we could have been confused with a practice or rehearsal of a stage show. I may have had mood setting on my mind, but my parents were not obliging. There would be no slow dancing tonight! This party would continue just as any other birthday party with cake, candles and some ice cream. My adolescent boyish dreams, squashed. When it ended, too soon, the clean up was a very solemn affair, and as the last of my guests began to leave and I said my final goodbyes. I remember attempting to have one of my friends sleep-over. The answer from my father was, "No! Not tonight". That left, my parents and I alone together for the post party clean-up. I knew I had triggered something, because during the hour or so of cleaning up, no one spoke. Not a word. I don't even remember what I received as a birthday gift. The mood was not festive. It would be days before I would find out what I had unleashed. Days into the following week, I would find out what my meek attempt at setting the mood had done. My father and I were going to have, "the talk". If you have ever had "the talk" from either your mother, father, in the early 70's, then you remember how serious this was, to them. I mean this was very serious business. My father announced it about a day before. Only saying, "when I get off work, you and me are gona talk." I started sweating immediately, I felt limp. Talk? About what?
The day had come and my father came to my room, he didn't even change his work clothes. There he was with arms like Popeye, in that blue shirt and blue khaki pants with is name stitched on the shirt pocket. I knew at that moment, this was serious. He didn't ask or introduce the subject matter, but his face was already taunted, and constrained. His brow looked like he was angry, I was more worried that he had found some chore that I had, as always, left unfinished or swept under the rug. It was first a relief that he hadn't found out about something that I did or failed to do. That was until he started talking; throughout this one-sided conversation the strangest thing happened, or didn't happen, he never blinked. He never blinked! He just stared at me intently. I know I had some problem acne, and it had made me very self-conscious; for a moment I thought that I had a new pimple and he was focusing on it. I felt like this was an interrogation and I was starting to sweat, even more. My perspiration was now very noticeable, and although it was only April, it felt like the hottest day in July. Also, and this was weird, but I felt the sudden urge to pee. I could literally feel my bladder as it began to swell. However, I never moved, I didn't even flinch. If my father had only knew that I was ready to confess to almost anything, anything. During this entire conversation of about 15 straight minutes, I never asked any questions. Not one. I just remember nodding my head a lot. I could have easily been mistaken for a bobble head doll. He was so serious, so intent on me understanding what he was trying to say. However, he never said the word Sex. He danced around it with examples of cars and sports. Sports? Mentally, I was like, dad what’s football got to do with me wanting to slow dance with Paula? His examples left me more confused than I had ever been. My dad went on to explained, "When you play football you don't just keep the boy on the ground after you tackle him, do ya?" My reply, "No dad, I don't." "When the whistle blows you get off of him, right?" My reply, "Yes dad". Before I knew it, he was saying, “you understand" and I was like, “Yes dad, I understand.” That was it. That was "the talk". That was it! After that he left the room. He never said bye, or a patted me on my head or my back, or hugged me, he just got up and left. That was my father explaining Sex to me.
Many, many years later, I had “the talk” with my eldest son who was then, ironically, too in middle school. One day while searching through his room for contraband I found some girl’s panties in his drawer. Yes, I occasionally went through my son's rooms when they weren't home; I'm not apologizing. It was my house. Anyway, the panties wouldn’t fit him and they didn't belong to anyone else in the house. I kind of panicked and not, because I found some panties in my son’s room; rather, because it was now my turn to have "the talk". I didn't want to make this awkward for him or myself, nor did I want to drop the ball or pass up on this opportunity for some bonding. Or so I thought to myself, I would get prepared. Although I knew enough about Sex, and I did; I took the liberty of studying some terminology and the physiology of both men and women. I got some encouragement from his mother regarding my strategy and I took the initiative. I was determined not to be like my father. A few days after the discovery, I didn't tell him that I wanted to speak with him; I asked him if I could speak with him in his room after dinner.
Keep reading only 5 Minutes Left…It Gets Funnier…
He was suspecting something; in later years I have since discovered that his brother had already told him what I found in his room. Just a cautionary tale, never think that the walls in your home are thick. When we finally spoke, I sat down at his desk chair and he sat on his bed. I advised him that I had found the panties, and I didn't inquiry whom they belong to. At the time I really wanted to show him that I understood his motivations, and I wanted him to be impressed by my knowledge. As I began talking I said and used the word Sex; but I also used terms such as birth control, and condoms, and IUD's, and STD’s, and pregnancy, and so much more. I was proud of myself, I felt like this was a Sex Education class and I was the teacher. My son, conversely, from the look on his face, had other thoughts. It was obvious it felt like this was too much, especially coming from his father. He showed a pained expression when I used and said the word va-gi-na several times. I wore him out mentally, because I addressed this as a concept and from a clinical perspective. I used words like Fallopian Tubes, Menstruation, Ovulation and what the Vas Deferens did. I even discussed arousal and ejaculation. My son's body language was Vulcanic, like Mount Vesuvius about to erupt and he couldn’t wait for me to get the hell out of his room. When I was finished, I asked him the same question as my father had asked me. "You understand?" He replied, "Yeah Dad I get it!" I did hug him and I told him that I loved him. As I exited his room I could hear his sigh of relief before I even closed the door. As a post-script, I can say that I never found any other women’s garments in his room. That day I blew him away. I blew myself away. I was surprised that I had this much knowledge. A victory, no. An education for the both us, yes. This it wasn't about Sex, it was all the things involved in the decision to have Sex.
I openly exclaim that Sex is the world’s greatest intoxicant, it's also very difficult to figure out. Speaking in the first person, I have done nearly everything and anything to have Sex with a girl. Literally, from silly behaviors, ridiculous clothing, see the jacket that the late Michael Jackson wore in his “Beat It” video, to Break dancing, Pop-it-lock-it, The Hustle, tight white Capezios, platform shoes, plats, braids, fades, and the vaunted Jehri-curls. The list is endless. Sex, for me at an early age became inscrutable and the unmerciful driver of my lust. The only problem, of the many problems associated with this unrelenting drive, I didn’t know or fully understand what was happening to me. I thought my behavior was normal. That going to club, wearing the clothes that I had on, and dancing to the entire 12 minutes of Rapper's Delight, while at the same time drinking a slow-gin-fizz or brass monkey until 3am; just for a phone number was normal. On a Wednesday night, no less! Shout-out to The State College at Old Westbury, and C.W. Post. Add to that a couple of slow dances that were designed to mimic sex, vertically. For me, it was well worth it, if only for a long or short kiss good night. Especially if it led to the overly inflated possibility that Sex was in the future. It was my strong belief, at the time, that Sex was something; that the more you had of it, the better you were at it. Like so many others before, I was wrong. But these ideas, were fashioned in part by an endless parade and praise of the male libido.
Keep reading only 3 Minutes Left…
Billboard ads in Manhattan and Queens and Brooklyn celebrated what a man wanted, and it was advertised as a good thing. There was SuperFly, Shaft, Black Caesar, The Marlboro Man, The Mack, and Dolomite What was even better, for a kid from Long Island, on those times when I ventured, with friends and without the knowledge or permission from my parents, on a trip to the Westside of 42nd Street. Yes, I was hanging out on 42nd street in the 70's as a teen. I had the means, and I was curious. Judgment free zone! These forays presented to a wide-eye teenager an endless parade of flashing lights and a prominent displays on every theater marquee dedicated to the 24th letter in the alphabet. The screen legends on these marquee's featured the two most famous Johnny's of the time, and some lady name Linda. Let me also not forget the author who got me and many of my friends to read, the one and only Iceberg Slim. These were my heroes. This was a time in America, when were just coming out of the Age of Aquarius and Free Love, and right smack into the Hedonisms. Sex had become specific to me as the pursuer, and the pursued. The lines became blurred, and this haze continued for many, many years. I have intentionally skipped any graphic metaphors or descriptions. Apologies, but I'd rather not allow this forum to cascade into any additional discussions, its a very slippery slope. However, to be young and single is to really think that the world is your oyster, and exploration will lead to new discoveries. It does, and they do. However, as I have since learned, you don’t need to swim in dangerous waters to discover what is, and what is not dangerous.
Sex is so much more than a physical aberration; it is truly emotionally exacerbating. It is the ultimate in interpersonal communication, because it requires a physical link, and a mental link. Who amongst us hasn’t felt the occasional emptiness after sex; this void or lack of emotion, bearing on discontent is not easily solved. Literally, sometimes we are left asking ourselves, why did I do this? What was I searching for? Why am I here? Then there’s regret, which builds like a tsunami, bringing with it hostility and guilt. Youth is not wasted on the young, Sex is wasted on the young. When I was younger I confused sex with love and love with sex. This is not a condemnation of the act or the actors, this is a discussion about knowing what you’re doing, and if you’re prepared for the potential consequences. Speaking for myself, I wasn't. What young person actually is? There are jobs and professions that allow for mistakes, for liberties, for errors, even for flaws to be made. Sex often regales against mistakes because in the blink of an eye or a grunt. It can suddenly without so much as a warning demand change; we can find ourselves going from mediocrity to an absolute lifetime of devout commitment, in as little 280 days or less. Do the math. The only exception is animals. In their natural setting, appropriation has a goal; survival of the species, and more the passing on of the best genes to accomplish that goal. It’s amazing that they, animals, are unaware that appropriation is not only a beautiful experience, but also a pleasurable one too.
Only 2 Minutes Left…
A young mind can not, with regularity, differentiate between danger and pleasure. Pleasure, soon becomes the ultimate goal, especially if the minimalist of consequences are involved. That makes Sex, for the young, the perfect reason to be viewed as risky. It’s not the fumbling, or curiosity, it’s the decision making and the decisions that often have to be made. It was impossible, for me, to make accountable decisions when I was driven by pure desire. The heat generated from explosive pheromones, and motor neurons that seem to be disconnected from rational behavior and thought becomes one big continuous chain reaction. All this confusion in such a short span of time is dizzying. Memories of clothes flying off and unintelligible murmurings that suddenly become sounds of passion still linger. However, it was during these disarming moments that insecurities would fly out of the window. Everything becomes heightened, and the entire body transforms into a sensory magnet. This illustration begs the question; can someone so young manage all that? I don’t have the answer, but I was there once, we all might have been, I know struggled. Speaking again, for myself, I admit that I didn’t handle it very well. I treated Sex, when I was younger, like it was just a game, and I was out, like any game I played, to win. The prize was, what I determined to be, ecstasy. Worth every bit of 10 or 12 minutes tops. Better than the Cyclone Roller-Coaster ride at Coney Island, and way more thrilling. But this was youth, and it seemed inexhaustible. Unfortunately, it isn’t. It’s really a trap, think of it as a Venus Fly Trap. It lures you in, especially the inexperienced, and then, it closes but not quickly; slowly and imperceptibly it shuts. But unlike a trapped insect in the death grips of a plant; Sex has a backlash, it's called maturity. Maturity is not a hormone; the body does not produce or manufacture a maturity chromosome. It’s not something you can just call upon when you need it. It has to be nurtured, developed, trained, and put to practical usage. It’s not a surge, like water in a water pistol. You cannot just pull the trigger, and outcomes, maturity. Maturity is what we don’t know, until we know. However, when you know, so do others. Thankfully, we are now mature.
It’s during our transformative years of our 40's and 50's, that Sex starts to feel different. Monogamy suddenly comes into view, or at least it should. One becomes synonymous with pleasure and quietly time has crept into the equation. Sex is now no longer a matter of quantity; it now becomes a matter of quality. What we like and love about Sex is that it’s even better and more engaging with the person you like or love. At 60 years of age, Sex no longer plays a significant role in confidence. It does now share a room with mutual respect and honesty. Although, it must be mentioned that health, good health, is a contributing factor. However, it's not the defining factor. We now have years of accumulated knowledge and a reservoir of maybe 40 years of applied know-how, as it relates Sex. Even better, we the 60 years and older, know what we like; and our bodies now bend and ease into suggestion as opposed to rushing in like a tornado. I will admit that sometimes there's nothing wrong with a "controlled tornado". However, we now sip and simmer, instead of gulping. We have a new appeal and appreciation for time; and a good time now becomes a great time; and anytime is a good time for a great time. Gone are the days of awkward silences and feelings of guilt. They have now been replaced with a warm feeling of emotional assurance, and deep breaths. It’s not an injection of confidence, because of a membership to a club or group for physical improvement. It's not even the vaunted reputation of "The Little Blue Pill", although if prescribed for health reasons sildenafil's do help. However, in my opinion, they do not take on a greater role than knowledge and experience. That's what we now have, in great supply. Imagination is now re-discovered and now daring exploits are replaced with subdued expletives.
30 Seconds Left…
Sixty is the beginning of the Best Sex ever, because it is the convergence of the body and the mind finally being on the same dam page. The physical is heighten because the mental is now secure. I apologize if you were expecting to read about two people coming together and the explosion that occurs as their bodies collapse into one another. That may be what happens, but because we are the New Millennials and our maturity, confidence, security and our imagination is now fully developed. A single solitary event is redundant. What we want an require is sustainability. Our souls; once satisfied are like the late great duo Ashford & Simpson once wrote and sang; " So-So satisfied”. A trusted companion or someone you feel confident and comfortable with; slows down the Life Clock. And when life and time merge in to one; gone is the absurdity of questions such as, “was it good for you” or "how do you feel"? Those questions are now replaced with respect, appreciation and trust in the person whom you have shared this amazing experience with. Sex is emotion, and if you can't trust the partner then you can't trust the emotion. "It's Not About Sex, because it's more than just Sex. It's the reward for patience, and the appreciation of trust. it's the understanding that time is not a clock, and pleasure can be for an entire lifetime with trust and maturity. We now have that, and time now gives us the courage to be unafraid.
You can open your eyes now, and leave the lights on…
If you have or know of anyone who has any stories discussing “It's Not About Sex."
Please feel free to share your thoughts and or comments.