It’s been a busy few days. Every time I get into an Uber to jot something down there seems to be an abundance of potholes to keep me from focusing. Waiting on yet another apartment. So goes the saga of life in the big city.
Last eve I went to an AA meeting on Waverly Place in the West Village, my first time at this particular meeting, and whilst I can’t really relay the stuff I heard there I’ll expound apon the age-old issue of sex. Right, that dirty word that brings a tingle to many.
A vast majority of people now (myself included) are glued to their smartphones for what seems like every waking and walking minute. I get a lot more done on my iPhone than just social media. I do use it for work and photography and calculating numbers and geographical advice and… Well let’s just say my lil iPhone 6S is my friend and I would probably have a hard time giving him up.
About 2 years ago my square-jawed Ivy League dreamboat friend in San Francisco suggested I go onto Scruff to mix and mingle with the non-Grindr types of gay men who were looking for more than just quickies in alleys and public restrooms. I was on this app and still am since then and although I’ve chatted with a lot of guys I’ve only hooked up with a handful and while my brain automatically goes to the romantic side of interpersonal relations, after the sex is over I tend to check out right away. But even at my tender age of 47 sexuality seems to be at the forefront of my underlying subconscious. I’ve always been very sexual and I definitely know what I like. But doing it with another person is that final step that, unlike Patsy Stone’s “Vessel waiting to be filled” I can’t seem to disconnect my brain from. The guys I’ve been with have been a variety of sorts, but the ones I seem to go for now are the alpha tops. Having been in this position my adult life, bottoms gravitating to me because I’m built like an Irish Rugby player, I hadn’t really considered giving in to my inner bottom until the last few years. A few very aggressive alphas have persuaded me. One in particular who lives in L.A., an ex-Marine who’s also a writer and very very into me. But it’s long distance and I need that actual skin-in-skin sensation. Still waiting.
This brings me to the sex app revolution. All you gotta do tell me what you want. If I let every guy who hits me up online hit me up in bed I’d spend more time getting tested than working or writing or whatever it is that I do. So when I hear someone say they’re having sex with two and three random guys a day I have to wonder if this activity is not just a crutch for something else missing in their lives. Or is it just the need to get laid? I could do a long psychological dissertation on the human need for physical contact but we’ve heard it all before. It feels good and the penis brain usually overrides the cerebral brain, it’s a biological condition. Men are slaves to this, so we’re told. And the random stranger fucking does sound kind of sexy in theory (yeah I did this in my twenties but sadly never with more than one a day). I can’t help but be a little cautious now that my ass is the target of all these random hardons. Thus I’m remaining Unfucked. But still crazy horny. I’m fortunate to have the libido of a teenager at my age. But with all these interested guys I know deep down I long for a husband. Sickening, right?