Jean Lund's Blog











{September 25, 2011}   STORIES FROM A-BROAD
                                                                                                                              No Sex in the City


It’s pretty sad when you start sharing the details of your sex life (or in this case lack of) with your own kid. But hey! That’s the kind of relationship I have with my youngest daughter who is going on 34. Maybe it’s because we are the same sign and part of that sign is openness. At any rate I have, by choice, for way too many years, been celibate. It probably stems from my believing that sex is personal–(obviously not personal enough to discuss on a public blog!!) and should have some kind of connection (even friends with benefits is good). I am too passionate for it to be anything else–as in a one night stand (not that I haven’t jumped on that band wagon in my youth)..however I have for sure been missing intimacy the past couple of years and my libido has skyrocketed for some reason which sure as hell hasn’t helped matters any. So last year I decided, okay–a one night stand–fuck it—fuck me!!!  It took very little guts and quite a bit of alcohol for me to say yes to this guy at the bar who wanted to come back to my place and hang out..So I had this dude follow me, with his 12 pack (that he stopped and got along the way)–and we “hung out” meaning we were going to watch TV——-in my room——-on my bed—(yeah right) —that never works, what was I thinking?  Well, I figured I could use him as practice just to see if I remembered how to “do it” as I’d felt like I’d turned into the Virgin Mary (elasticity wise) from the long self drought I’d put myself on. I wanted to see if everything still “worked” before I ever decided to venture out there and find a “real” romance–whatever that  is. It’s nothing where I would ever put my trust in anyone anyway so “romance” could mean a casual, yet caring, loving, fun friendship as long as the ride goes, right? Anyway since my body, from lack of use felt like it was tighter than a cows ass during milk time, I hoped there’d be no pain……I didn’t even expect to have an orgasm because I had no passion for this dude—but again, if he went there I’d use it as practice.


So we crack open a beer and I turn on the boob tube and we flip through to some cool rock concert on HD and not long after he puts his arm around me—then he’s cupping my breast and I’m thinkin’ “okay here we go” and I sorta held my breath in anticipation of what was next…and was it going to hurt?  As he is suckling my nipple, I’m wondering what his package was like…was I going to be able to handle it? Was he a husky or a slim jim? Would he be soft and slow and gentle like I like or was it going to feel like an attack from a backhoe operator on speed? After all he had no more passion involved than I did so I decided up front (to myself) that he was going to be a one hit wonder getting off in a NY minute leaving me behind in the orgasm department  with a Pink lyric  singing in my brain: “Slam bam, oh hot damn, what’s the delio?” Well he climbed aboard the Amtrak and tried and tried to make penetration. I’m laying there thinking “Oh no!  I really did turn into the Virgin Mary, tighter than a drum!  He won’t fit!!”  And of course then with all my thinking, I wasn’t turned on so my moistness went by way of the Sahara. 😦  So we changed it up—I got on top—mind you we’d both been drinking and it’s now 2AM on a Friday night after we both had worked all day…and the rock concert is blaring in the background on the TV, (which I had turned up so my roommates wouldn’t hear the joy of moans and groans coming from my room) and so I couldn’t concentrate anyway while I’m listening to the music because my brain was singing along. At this point I just wanted him to get off, and then get off!!  But suddenly I hear a small noise—coming from his throat—his eyes were closed but it didn’t  sound or look like the heat of fucking— finally I realized he was falling asleep—poor bastard was tired and buzzed and poor me for not getting in a practice round.  I looked down as I hovered over him and he was definitely not a husky. Hell he wasn’t even a slim jim.  What was he? Where was he???  My god if it had been a glow in the dark stick I still wouldn’t have seen it!!  He had turned into Limp Biscuit—or actually he came right out of the package that way. Now I didn’t feel so bad and knew I was a slut after all and not the Virgin Mary!! Moments later this noise rose out of him shaking the bed, and me—he was sawing logs like a lumberjack!  *Sigh…..so much for my practice for the real thing—for when there is someone I care about—have some passion towards—-I know he’s out there—he just needs to come around——


So not too dismayed I crashed and a couple hours later I heard the bed move–it was before daylight, but he said he had to go. Whatever.  I didn’t really care and now that some of the alcohol had worn off, it was just as well. I didn’t even move to hug him goodbye—just showed him to the door and went back to bed.  In the morning I was disappointed and trying hard not to think of my first attempt in years as a failure—or let my lack of self esteem take the blame. Later that day I called my daughter and told her the news. She was thrilled I was making some sort of contact even if it didn’t work out–at least I reached out….yeah well—-I told myself then it would be a long time before I would have the balls to reach out again…..but Lisa, as always, with her like mother like daughter mentality, found a way to cheer me up and make me let it all go.  After she laughed her ass off at the story–she sent me a little consolation poem she wrote via e-mail. It was short and sweet:


Dear Mom—


Hickory dickory dock.
He couldn’t get up his cock.


Love, Lisa

 

 

I laughed till I pissed my pants and the whole world was bright once again. 🙂


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