Mentors and memories  

rm_connor696 60M
944 posts
7/21/2006 1:27 pm

Last Read:
7/17/2007 7:00 pm

Mentors and memories

Sweet memories came to call today, lovers lost to time, distance, or just the vagaries of life. It felt good to recall those lives, theirs and mine. I'd like to think they would feel the same.

Patty was serious and motivated, a political rabble rouser who took no shit. I never knew she had a high-school crush on me till years later, in college. In bed she became mirthful, giggly, making our bodies--hers rounded and plump, mine thin and awkward--a source of joy and laughter. Making love with her was like walking through the woods and serendipitously stumbling across something wonderful--birds learning to fly, otters playing, a troop of white-tail deer flashing by in that curiously stately bounce.

Barbara, a wee Scottish lass, had a temper like wildfire and a passion to match. She remains one of the spunkiest women I've ever known, and when she got in your face, her cheeks would redden with emotion. Her lack of inhibition taught me valuable lessons. When she squirted--for she was a squirter--she just accepted it, and thus so did I, even though I'm sure neither of us had any idea what was going on. Once, to go see the Rocky Horror Picture Show, she dressed her Betty Boop-like body to thrill, to say "I'm the sexiest little thing you'll ever see," and she was. And I was thrilled.

Cherrie was the first truly kinky woman I knew. I was lucky, really, because she was basically a lesbian, but for a short while I was her toy . . . and she liked to play. Another tiny, compact woman, she expressed her sexuality in the most matter-of-fact way. This is who I am, she said, and this is what I want. I was privileged to give it to her.

And I recall Laura, with whom I had a brief but mind-expanding relationship. She unapologetically took her pleasure. Her body, wide and soft and enfolding, presented me a cornucopia of delight. When we made love, she would get on top and grind herself against me, giving herself pleasure where and how she wanted it. We were making love, but she was fucking me. As it turns out, I like to be fucked.

Sherry could have stepped out of a 1950s Playboy. With her, sex became naughty in the best possible way. Tall, with womanly curves, she emanated an impudent boldness, a provocative yet playful challenge. I still can't believe we grabbed a quicky in her bedroom that day, with the shade up on the window facing the street and her sister and sister's boyfriend in the next room . . .

Yes, even Susan left a few crumbs. I don't know that I'll ever forgive her cruelty when, after my divorce, I most needed nurture, but she nevertheless taught me even more about what a woman can be. In a way, she resembled a character out of a Mary Gaitskill story, an academic femme fatale who took no prisoners. And so she was, I suppose. But her aggressive sexuality, her unending appetite, and her devilish kinkiness reassured me that I was not alone. The very first time we were together, she reached down and touched herself as we made love. No comment, no hesitation, just a woman lost in the moment and unshackled by stupid gender roles or social conventions. And then she pulled out the nipple clamps, wearing an evil grin as she made them jangle.

There were others, of course, other good memories. I wish I could include my ex-wife on the list. That's not sarcasm; I really mean it. But sex was always fraught with difficulty for us, with enough blame to go around. Yes, there are many good memories of her, but they lie elsewhere.

For Patty, though, and Barbara, and Cherrie, and Laura, and Sherry, and all the others who helped me plumb the depths of shameless pleasure and the self-effacing and yet self-reinforcing intimacy it can produce: Here's looking at you, kid!

florallei 99F

7/21/2006 3:12 pm

TY for sharing Connor...for taking us down memory lane...You were indeed fortunate to have such an array of women each their own flavour. I could relate to what you speak of...moments that can be safely treasured...cheers

rm_connor696 replies on 7/22/2006 7:00 am:
Six and a half billion of us, and although we are much too much molded by social and cultural forces of mixed value, we still manage to become unique selves. It's a trip, isn't it?

song2262 54F
643 posts
7/21/2006 6:42 pm

Connor, what wonderful memories you've shared. I love how florallei likes each as a flavour. Do all men see lovers and shared experiences in such a fascinating way? I wish I had the same acceptance as Barbara, Cherrie's ability to say "this is what I want", Laura's unapologetic taking of her own pleasure, Sherry's impudent boldness, and Susan's aggressive sexuality.
What's next on your plate?

rm_connor696 replies on 7/22/2006 7:11 am:
I suppose we all, men and women, see former lovers and experiences through our own eyes--some nearsighted, caught in small, narrow worlds; some farsighted, with a gaze fixed on the distant ideal and missing what's right at home; some woefully astigmatic, misshaping everything to match the viewer's own deformity; and some outright blind, alone and isolated. And some see just fine, bless them. But in the other cases, we can always heal ourselves. It's not a miracle, just hard work.

Next on my plate? Well, if I depend on this site, it looks like a strict diet! No connections and no new members here since I re-upped. And on that subject, I refer you to an earlier post, now on page 2: afternoon aphorism But blogland still makes me smile

rm_saintlianna 45F
15466 posts
7/21/2006 9:34 pm

I think mine is more likely called "memory gravel pit" except the dead wont shut up.

Your lucky to have good memories.

rm_connor696 replies on 7/22/2006 7:18 am:
Well, I didn't bother trotting out the crappy ones, and the last on my list was a mixed blessing, at best.

I too have the supernatural thing going, a slimy monster that keeps crawling up from the muck. To quote the woman from Creature from the Black Lagoon, "I just can't get that monster off my mind."

So . . . ya wanna run off to Mozambique with me and open a little bar patronized by down-on-their-luck ex-pats, gun runners, and embittered Peace Core volunteers?

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