Men and Wimmen

I was over at the Hog and remembered a time when I was single, playing the field.

Just getting over a tragic divorce. My mind was a twisted knot of angst and self-doubt. I knew that I needed to make changes in my life but hated how those changes were being forced upon me. I lived in a small town, less than 20,000 souls. Only a certain percentage of those were willing females. Most of my age group knew one another anyway, from years of taking the kids to baseball games, and street dances, and all the other small town activities that make American society. It was a closed loop.

It was a small town. 'Nuff said.

I maintained the life of a monk for awhile, then decided to get out of the house. I didn't want to forge any relationships of a sexual nature. Not even close. And there was this gal who caught my eye, but I just wanted to hang out. So, in the old-fashioned method of dating, I asked her to a movie. We went to the movie. We went home. Each to our seperate abode. We continued to date over the course of several weekends and one night the question of sex loomed between us. Loomed to the point that she started taking off clothes. I refused. Refused gratefully, gently, lovingly, then told her I'd tell her all about it when I got my thoughts together.

So I went home and wrote a letter. More like an essay. It was a literary work of genius, with multiple revisions and much of the writer's craft, designed to calm her fears and reassure her ego. I generally told her that the last thing she wanted was sex with me. That I was a tumultuous bundle of bits and pieces and that my mind wasn't fully around my divorce. I told her that I was certainly desirous of sex but that I was afraid of becoming entangled in a sexual relationship. I told her that she deserved more, and that with time I would be willing and able to give her more. I told her that when I was ready, I'd let her know; that I thought she was a beautiful, magnificent, strong woman and that when I was ready I would do everything in my power to make the physical act a powerful, worshipful, meaningful experience that we both deserved.

She was smitten. And relieved that her desireability wasn't in question. She swore a girlfriend to secrecy and showed her the letter. Who told another friend. Who told another friend. It was a small town.

She and I eventually had sex and it was wonderful, worshipful, masterful. She gave it everything she had.. Then, a job offer lured her away. I helped her move. And the word was out.

I was besieged. Besieged with offers from women who just wanted to hang out, to be friends. Women who were intrigued with the idea that a man didn't want sex on the first date, or the second, or necessarily the third. Successful, articulate, educated women who had never heard of the concept that a man and a woman could be equals, friends, intimate without sex. Yet they all knew that I was proudly heterosexual, but with boundaries. I was besieged! Besieged, I tell you.

It was a wonderful time to be alive.

Then, one day at a Super Bowl party I met a woman from out of town. She and I became friends. We started dating. We became exclusive and eventually, she asked me to marry her. She is Milady and we have been together for five years. Five wonderful, glorious years. I hope to be with her the rest of my life. We each have our boundaries and we respect them. I have never been more loved.