Wild River Review
Wild River Review
Connecting People, Places, and Ideas: Story by Story
May 2010
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December 29, 2009

IN SEARCH OF ORGASMS

By The Sexy G.

Several weeks ago I attended a lecture at a local Center City book store. The woman, Mara Altman, wrote a memoir about her quest for an orgasm, Thanks for Coming: One Young Woman’s Quest for an Orgasm, Harper Collins, April 3, 2009 She had her first sexual experience at 17 and then went on a crusade about learning the mechanics of the female orgasm even meeting up with sex gurus.

Altman once worked as a staff writer for the Village Voice. She is an intelligent, gracious speaker and well-informed. The premise was that she spent a decade trying to achieve an orgasm with a variety of men. She tried therapy, sex conventions and various lovers with no success. The talk was most honest, daring, interesting, fun and informative.

The audience was young – 20’s to late thirties with a fair share of men. And overall they seemed very attentive and right there with the speaker. The room was pretty well packed and when questions were asked, something strange happened. To be honest, I was taken aback by the reaction of several of the males.

Here’s what struck me. And it wasn’t the concept of the book. When I closed my eyes and listened to the men speak, I could have sworn the responses were virtually no different than the male contemporaries of my older generation.

When they expressed that they were confounded by what women wanted lots of women in the audience reacted and offered suggestions. It all seemed fine with lots of the usual curiosity. But when the speaker or someone in the audience responded, some of the questioners seemed to go off on a tangent. It my opinion some in the audience had come with their own agendas that had nothing to do with learning about better ways to communicate and having mutually more satisfying sexual experiences. Whenever women spoke about needing various aspects of romancing, there was audible snickering from a few. And I want to make it clear these young men were articulate and intelligent.

There was the implication that when women made known the ways they wished to be pleased for better sex it was interpreted as an insult and a put down on the man’s ability in lovemaking. In other words, when a woman asks for something the man isn’t giving on his own it immediately sets up a hostile environment.

Another young man kept repeating how upsetting women were because almost none of them wanted to have anal sex. Another spoke about the really exciting, hot and sexy women willing to do one-night stands but then weren’t interested in seeing him again. On the other hand, the ones he went out with over the course of several months were sexual duds in bed but wanted a long-term commitment. What was he to do?

For the most part the women seemed eager to make it a two-way street, but several of these young men seemed to have closed minds. There were one or two males who sounded sensitive, but they spoke in a convoluted and preachy manner – almost like a prepared speech. They seemed to be using the right words but, to me, their statements made very little sense as it pertained to the topic.

When questions and answers were nearing the end, one young man who had complained about women who brought attention to their own sexual needs asked the speaker if she were a feminist. The women in the audience protested that the question was irrelevant, and the speaker refused to answer because of the obvious – feminism had nothing to do with a woman searching for an orgasm. I assume that meant a feminist will make unreasonable demands sexually. Does that make her a ball-buster? To be honest, I’m not sure exactly what he meant.

What really rocked me was I heard the retorts I’d expect from an older generation of men, but not from enlightened young ones. So, for the most part, I didn’t see any remarkable changes of understanding and seeking paths to better relationships. The evening set up a rather angry male/female environment that is damaging and perpetuates a lack of communication. I didn’t see men from Mars and women from Venus. I saw a few men unwilling to give up an inch of control, men unable to hear what a woman needs, acceptance that physically, emotionally and psychologically women work a bit differently from men.

As the audience mingled when the talk was over a young woman leaned over and whispered to me this must be the “The Madonna Complex” shockingly still exists. And it is a potent factor in this generation that says there are two categories of women – the Madonna pure mother image or the slut.

Since becoming widowed, I’ve found in my generation of men that there are two major reactions by men when I have made suggestions that might enhance sexual pleasure. One is a smile and a nod of agreement and then a total disregard that anything was said. The other is outright annoyance. The suggestions were rather basic and not experimental. But, for the most part, I could have been talking to a wall and gotten the same response.

And that’s what I was hearing from some of these much younger men. Supposedly, this younger generation of male attitudes toward women had changed for the better. In this venue I saw very little change. Worse, much of the same hostility and resistance to meeting women’s needs still exists loud and clear. It’s true that I’m talking about a handful of verbal males who were willing to speak up on this evening. But, on the other hand, no guy got up to defend the position of the women.

Gentlemen, please open your ears, your understanding and empathy. We might need slightly different kinds of attention and touching than you do. We need romancing. Is that too much to ask when they payoff can be sensational? All we ask is that you listen.

The SexyG franuc@aol.com

December 22, 2009

WHAT IF YOU MET SANTA AT A SINGLES BAR?

Filed under: Uncategorized — metzman @ 10:30 am

The holiday season got me into a contemplative mood. After the rush and noise of Christmas shopping and gift-giving, on December 26, I drove through hushed, deserted streets. I was alone and feeling a bit down because the sudden quiet was anti-climactic for me. I live alone and today, when everyone is staying indoors, I miss the hoopla leading up to Christmas but hate the aftermath letdown. I drove over to my neighborhood bar.  

 

I began to think about a concept that has been rolling around in my head since my last relationship broke up. Do I really want a sensitive man, the kind in touch with his feminine side? Even though I say that’s what I want, I think I may be unconsciously put off by the very same qualities I say I need.

 

Then I thought that the image of Santa Claus. He has the ambiance of a sensitive man. He’s a philanthropist of the highest order, making sure every child gets a gift despite the huge amount of work involved. He is applauded and adored around the world, is kind to the elves and reindeers, and never even took an income tax break for charity.

 

I entered the bar in Center City Philadelphia where the older set like myself hangs out.  

 

I sit on a stool in this upscale bar that is made of ornate carved oak with a black marble counter top. Behind the bar are brightly lit, glass shelves with top-drawer bottles of liquor. There are very few patrons. I order an icy vodka martini and chill out. A man, two seats down, stares at me. I give him a small smile. He moves over and sits next to me.

 

“Want to buy me a drink, sweetheart?” he asks.

 

“Not really.” I say.

 

“Just kidding.” He looks up. “Hey, barkeep, give this nice lady another, whatever she’s drinking.”

 

I look over at this brash man who didn’t even ask me if I wanted another drink but find his appearance pleasing. He’s wearing a navy, cable knit sweater and tan slacks. His salt and pepper hair is cut short, but several strands sweep over a high forehead. His nose is large but quite appropriate for his tall, thick size. He’s solidly built and in his early sixties.

 

“I’m Jimmy.”

 

He extends his hand, and I shake it. It is cool and smooth to the touch, not a hand that belongs to a manual worker. It’s how I picture Jimmy to be – plastic. “Okay. Are you married or otherwise engaged?” I ask

 

“Nope. Been there, done that a couple of times and gave it up for Lent. Just want to have fun now.”

 

At least he’s honest. Do I dare sound corny and tell him that I’ve been there once myself, but am ready for a terrific committed relationship now? I decide to keep quiet.

 

“You’re a pleasant looking p…of… uh, a…lass,” he says peering down my v-neckline at my cleavage.

 

I notice he almost slipped and said that I’m a pleasant looking piece of ass. Well, can’t say wearing this somewhat revealing outfit was accidental. We’re smack in the era of cleavage and backside skin showing. Now viewing the slight beginning of a butt crack is not for me, but a little cleavage works wonders in getting male attention. Oh, sometimes men are simplistic. But for this guy, it’s looking like I’m going to pass on him, but I decide to give it one last try. 

 

“Do you know why your marriages didn’t last?” I ask. In my mind the reasons men give are revealing.

 

“I wasn’t home much because I’m a workaholic, and when I was around I watched sports on TV all day long. What man doesn’t do that? I just didn’t get the kind of women who tolerate it. Then they cheated on me. But I’m not changing.”

“When you and your wife were together were there ever any moments where you enjoyed intimate conversations? Were you a good listener and did you give either of your wives a little quality time?”

 

“Hey, that’s chick stuff. I’m sure I was a good husband. I’m not good with domestic stuff. As a provider I did the best I could and loved my kids. Isn’t that enough?” He shook his head. “Look, let’s not talk serious stuff. If you want to have fun, I’m your guy.” He looks at me sideways. “I’m good in the sack.”

 

So, I’m face to face with a man who has the bad boy syndrome, and, I must say, it has a sliver of appeal. Why not be carefree and enjoy every second? No strings attached. Hey, next year arthritis might get me or some other damned illness.

 

Thudding footsteps sound behind me. I turn. Santa Claus is standing in the middle of the marble floor, removing his big, white mittens while flakes of snow drift off his red jacket. I’m in shock. He walks over and sits next to me.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks. His beard has tiny icicles hanging from it. I nod and we give our orders to the bartender. How can I refuse having a drink with Santa?

 

“Santa, what are you doing in here?”

 

“No one is home. I haven’t publicized it because it will upset millions of children, but Mrs. Claus passed away last year. The elves have gone home to be with their own families. I was lonely.”

 

I’m shocked. “Santa, you’re a super star. Thousands of people would invite you to dinner.” Jimmy, seemingly unaffected by Santa’s presence, moves away and sits next to an attractive woman.

 

“It’s one of those oddities. You see, because I was busy pleasing everyone, I never developed close relationships. Children love me, parents love me, but there are limits. They love me once a year. It’s sweet and pleasant, but I finally realized I’m not really an integral part of their lives.”

 

The bartender delivers the drinks. Santa had ordered a chocolate martini. We click glasses.

 

“Since my wife died I had a revelation. I was remiss in our relationship. I used my enormous fame and generosity as a ploy to keep from being close to her. We only talked about my work and the stresses that go with it. If my wife complained about something going on in her life, I didn’t listen. It even made me angry when she interjected herself in my busy life.

 

“I insisted that making toys for the children superseded her requests for attention. So many people depended on me.” His expression turns weary. “It’s only since she’s gone that I realize how I used work to deny my fears of intimacy. I think that real intimate love scared me because it would make me vulnerable, feel less masculine.

 

“Now I see Mrs. Claus was the love of my life and meant so much to me, gave me everything within her capacity. I cut her off emotionally so that I might devote myself to the world. Giving my all to others was easier than working on my marriage with the one person who mattered most in my life.”

 

I finish my drink, grab his unfinished cocktail and down that quickly. Was this real? Or was I having a psychotic episode? I admit to being a bit strung out from guzzling bourbon eggnogs over the holiday, but this was beyond hallucinating.

 

“I opened up to one woman since my dear wife’s passing,” Santa continues. “She had champagne waiting for me when I came down her chimney. She’d heard about Mrs. Claus’ demise and thought we’d get along. I poured my heart out, telling her that I’d reevaluated my life and knew I’d missed so much in the pursuit of success. I wanted to change now, discover who I really was under this hand-tailored, red suit. I wanted to discover poetry and learn to cook. I let myself cry in front of her, told her how upsetting it was to always act strong even when I don’t feel it. I had always lived in constant terror someone might not like me, and I became the epitome of a crowd pleaser. Now I want my image off of all those greeting cards. I would willingly trade my celebrity for love, passion and obscurity.

 

“Suddenly, this woman got a look of horror. She told me I’d be a nobody and she didn’t want a man like that. She wanted me to act masculine. I knew what she meant, but I was through with false images. She didn’t want someone willing to give up fame. I said I’m looking for a woman who wants to be friends first, before we’re intimate.

 

“She thought the idea of being friends first was gay. She asked if I had sexual relationships with the elves? That did it. With a clatter, I zipped back up the chimney. As I sailed through the air in my sleigh, I decided that I wouldn’t let her attitude stop me from seeking answers within myself. Somewhere, a woman exists who truly wants a sensitive man. I’ll search even if I have to miss next Christmas.” He sighs and his blue eyes get a mischievous twinkle. “When I first saw you, I thought you might be that kind of woman.”

 

I look over at Jimmy. He sits alone now and gives me a big smile and a small salute.

 

I stare at Santa, little beads of water from melted icicles cling to his brilliant, white beard.

 

“I’d love for you to dance through life with me until the music stops,” he says

 

Or my tits fall off –  whichever comes first. I say a little prayer that Santa is a vegetarian. Then I remember his fondness for his pet reindeers. He’d never eat meat.

 

“Santa, want to come back to my place?” I ask.

 

 

The Sexy G                                                    comments to: franuc@aol.com

December 14, 2009

MATURE WOMEN AREN’T ALLOWED TO TALK DIRTY

Filed under: Uncategorized — metzman @ 11:41 am

For a change of pace – sorely needed after concentrating on disturbing issues in my last several articles – I want to relate an amusing incident that occurred recently. At least, on the surface the incident was amusing, but, in my mind, there were more serious undertones.

 

I stay in a lot during the day writing, and I’m pretty much alone except for the telephone. Some evenings I’m glad to step away from the computer around five or six to just chill, pay bills or take care of the some paper work. More times than not, I like to get out and meet up with a friend or two for a local happy hour in Center City, eat some bar food, have a watered down half-priced cocktail and go home.

 

So there we were, three mature, working women sitting at a table in a tavern/bar type of place, sipping, for a change, rather strong cocktails. After finishing about a quarter of our drinks, we started to let our hair down. The place is somewhat off the beaten path and maybe a half dozen men sat at the bar, watching a sports game on the TV. About forty feet away was the restaurant section which is separated from the bar by a narrow hallway.

 

The room was dark and no one sat at any of the tables that ring the bar except for us. One guy not far away peppered his conversation with the “F” word, and all the other guys laughed at his running commentary of the sports event, sometimes using additional obscenities. In light of a somewhat undisciplined atmosphere maybe we unconsciously unwound even further, and the more we sipped our drinks, the higher we got. I swear we each only had one.

 

As our tongues continued loosening up we got into a conversation about sex positions, oral sex and one “F” word slipped out. We kept our voices down but laughed loudly and hysterically. I believe, it is the laughter that probably hit the hot button because it is not often old geezers like us are seen having such a raucous time. Through it all this man at the bar used the “F” word maybe two dozen times.

 

Suddenly, a waiter came running over to chastise us for improper language and to warn us that there were children in the restaurant – way over on the other side. By eyeing the distance, I’m sure the restaurant section was at least forty feet away. As I glanced through the narrow corridor leading to the other side, I didn’t see children anywhere near the entrance to the dining room.

 

No one said anything to the man with the loud voice at the bar. And neither would I. Bars are notorious for deafening noise. You’re drinking booze, and maybe three plus TV’s are going at the same time. There is a tendency in these situations to ratchet up the decibel level. That’s why people go to bars. Not to mention that restaurants today encourage the same noisy atmosphere.  

 

So, I ask you. Was it that the image of three older women laughing loudly for a solid fifteen or more minutes set this fellow off? Is it that grandmoms are not supposed to have conversations (private ones at that) and find funny issues about whether one swallows or not or if we’ve had anal sex or at what age did we first have sex? Someone had to be very close by to hear us or be listening in from a discreet position. We were less noisy than the cheering/jeering men at the bar.  

 

What made this young man react so angrily? Did he think we were age inappropriate? Did he think it disgusting that three older women were discussing the humorous side of sex? Are we not supposed to talk about a topic that is probably one of the most discussed and thought about subjects among humans just because we’re older women?

 

I have to wonder how it would have been handled were we much younger women. That might have brought the men away from the TV and into the discussion. I have seen the most rowdy behavior among men in bars, not to mention their being sexually suggestive and no one has said a word. Men have to be falling down drunk and aggressive toward other patrons to be kicked out. How about if we were sitting coupled with men? Would the waiter have acted similarly?

 

But when there are three older women speaking that way, privately, YUCK! Was he imagining his mother, aunt or grandmother talking dirty in a bar? Who knows what went on in his head. We left in a huff but laughed about it all the way home.

 

Here’s a message to that young man. Some of us older gals still think about sex and, believe it or not, do it. Get over it!

 

 

 

The SexyG                                                                                   franuc@aol.com

 

 

 

Most of the events occurred, but there is some fictionalization for greater enlightenment of the issue.

December 5, 2009

AN ALL-OUT ATTACK ON WOMEN’S HEALTH ISSUES

Filed under: Uncategorized — metzman @ 11:47 am

I very much want to see an overhaul of the health insurance problems. But the plan that passed the House of Representatives (unsure of who they’re representing) has turned into an opportunity to further attack women’s health rights. If the bill goes through the way it is stated it will, for all intents and purposes, practically eliminate women receiving funding for abortions from the government and, now – private insurers as well. LET ME REPEAT THAT! It seems so implausible in this day and age, but the present restriction on abortion funding from the government, under this proposed bill, will extend to bans on paying for abortions by private insurers. This is disastrously more restrictive than the law already in place.

 

In the midst of all the chaos, we have statements coming from a federally chosen task force that recommended NOT publicly paying for mammograms for women in their forties, and women fifty to seventy-four should have them once every two years. The findings also suggested that health care professionals should dissuade women from breast self-examination.

 

I know many women who found cancerous lumps themselves by self-examination. In some types of cancers, by the time you feel a lump the disease has advanced. This all seems to echo the past when women were thought to be hysterical head jobs when they complained of chest pain. As a matter of fact, a great number of health care providers still are unaware of the symptoms peculiar to women who are having heart attacks – the number one killer in the US for women.

 

I’m sure most of us know women in their forties who were diagnosed with breast cancer as a result of a mammogram. In my own personal, narrow sphere I know of at least seven women who contracted the disease in their forties and have heard of dozens of others that I know tangentially. Some of these women survived while others ultimately died.

 

It is far more dangerous for younger women to develop breast cancer for the cells multiple much faster. And the reason the task force wants to deny women under fifty a mammography exam is that a small number of them develop breast cancer – not a large enough number to do testing. Let’s see some numbers – 40,000 women under forty get breast cancer and 10,000 die. Of the 40,000 would you want one of them to be your sister, wife, daughter or close friend, girlfriend or whatever? Are you willing to take the risk under those circumstances?

 

What about those women who can’t pay out-of-pocket who get breast cancer in their forties and die because it was not detected early? I assume most of the politicians and those on the task force earn enough to pay for yearly exams our of their own pocket for themselves or family members.

 

On the other side of the coin, Medicare (a government funded health program) and some private insurers will partly cover the cost for a penis pump that helps men with ED (erectile dysfunction) to maintain an erection. The cost runs from $300 to $600. WHAT? Public funds for a man 65 plus to have some fun? We’re talking about women’s lives — whether mammograms or abortions. The restrictions on abortions will send many women back to dangerous methods of terminating pregnancies. And the government has no compunction about partly funding a mechanical device to aid in erections.

 

As you know from my writing I’m all in favor of sex and fun in the later stages of life, but not at the expense of women’s lives. Women are now and may be in the future dearly paying the price for a new health care bill – with their own health and lives.

 

I still can’t understand why so many liberal Democrats knuckled under to pressure from minority groups? I’ve heard rumbling that they’ll take care of the abortion issue later after the bill gets passed. Really? Then let me ask why wasn’t the original Hyde amendment that passed in 1976 that first denied public funds for abortions, a perfectly legal procedure, dealt with for all these years? Is that how politicians fix things after the fact?

 

Should we trust the word of our politicians in view of the Hyde amendment sticking like glue since 1976? And guess who ultimately pays the price once again – low-income women, of course.

 

 

The SexyG                                                                                    franuc@aol.com

 

 

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