A blog quip over at author Stephanie Klein's place and the home page of people.com this morning planted boy-girl couplings and sex thoughts in my grey matter.
More than usual.
Strumming about in a newish relationship (the real deal kind, one that’s lasted through a couple of holidays and both our autumn birthdays), I still have trouble naming it. At 38 and 44 respectively, "boyfriend and girlfriend" sounds too Grape Bubble Yum and hands over the sweater, just the tip. Same sex has a lock on "partner” and “lover” (pronounced lovah) makes me think of hippies with overgrown pubes. Introducing him as a "friend" sounds as if we're just doing it (that's the "fling").
So I do "manfriend." He calls it "seeing someone."
A perfect storm of circumstance and failure to keep ones pie hole shut have forced a public confession of infidelity from Tiger Woods. He doesn’t confirm sinking his putter in another gals green, but the PR sanctioned note of apology says it without saying it.
If I sat a long time and thought good and serious, I’d be hard pressed to name coupled friends or acquaintances where one or both haven’t strayed. Or wanted too. Whether sexual encounters, long term affair(s), a drunken kiss in the coat closet at the office holiday party or simple flirtation, people cheat all over town. Coupling is good, like the comfort and warmth of sleeping, just sleeping, with two arms tight around you. Really good. But so often it becomes (or begins as) a situation held together by money or stature or spawn or fear of being alone or feeling this is my prize, something I own and something I deserve.
Simple Simon says if you want to date and/or dip around, be single or polyamorous.
Flings are adventure without strings, nibbling from the buffet and I went through a long period of just that. My last, eleven years younger and cute as an old-school Kennedy, happened while I was wholly and without question uncommitted and absolutely single. The fling wasn’t, in fact he was living with a woman long-term. I was having a relationship (casual as it was), he was having an affair. He simply liked being (his word) “bad.” Years ago I went to watch Bill Maher do stand up. His perspective on why men stray is they simply want “different” (his word).
Commit to and pick one dish off the menu and forgo the scent and tongue feel and savory taste of tapas and appetizers and small plates. Husband means eating at home. So does wife.
And Elyse Keaton is gay. Now. After three marriages and five children, Meredith Baxter (née Birney) has come out as a "later in life" lesbian (Kelly McGillis recently called it too). Hard as I shake my Magic 8-Ball I can’t predict with absolute certainty my sexual future, but given the only female genitalia I’m interested in is my own, I’m confident to go out on the hetero limb...
I like men. And boys. More so the men.