I shall call them M1 and M2 to protect the innocent. M1 graciously said yes when I asked if my husband and I could share their table near the crowded dance floor. M1 is a very attractive woman that I estimated to be around my age or a bit younger, with an exotic accent. She and M2 were talking about plastic surgery and I joined in the conversation, intrigued. Neither admitted to having any or wanting any (insert pregnant pause). I am skeptical. I asked them if I was cramping their style, preventing them from entertaining a couple of the stag line regulars. M1 told me bluntly, “ That part of my life is over.”
“My dear,” I said, you’re not that old. She declared an age two years above my own and I was genuinely surprised. I told her my number and she reacted with equal surprise. She was a gem, a lovely figure, face practically unlined, and she seemed comfortable in her skin, or at least in her stylish clothing. She was from Spain originally she said, and had a grown daughter and grandchildren.
“That part of your life is never over M1,” I stated positively.
“You are very unusual if you feel that way,” she stated dubiously.
A month or so ago I had spoken to a friend at work about her newly revitalized love life. She had been married the first time to a man that dedicated at least five minutes a month to sex. He probably closed his eyes and pretended she wasn’t there while he gratified himself. A virgin when she wed, needless to say she wasn’t keen on the physical side of the relationship for the duration of their 15 year marriage. After their eventual and inevitable divorce, she met and married a pure scoundrel who opened her eyes to the delights of the flesh. Unfortunately his enterprise was limited to the bedroom and she had to put a notice in the paper that she was not responsible for his debts when he absconded with her bank account. She says he still calls her occasionally and asks her to spend a weekend with him, on her dime of course. She told me it was tempting because of the sex, but she always told him she couldn’t afford him. She was telling me all this because she just met a man who seems to combine the best of the both worlds. He owns his own successful business, tells her she is the most important person in his life, and he is hot and wicked in the sack. She spoke in whispers to me in the break room, recognizing a kindred soul and knowing there aren’t a lot of us out there.
M2 left us to dance with a gentleman for a few turns while my husband and I did the same. M1 sat at the table smiling at the young people having fun. I am not nosey with strangers, but I long to find out why she has decided to live the next 20, 30, or even 40 years celibate. Does she restrict herself for religious reasons? The Catholic Church has a mighty hold on Spanish souls since the time of the inquisition and before, and M1 was born before Spanish democracy eroded the church-state indivisibility. Even though I think it might be her excuse, as she does not declare herself a widow and available, I really think a man may be at the heart of her decision. I know joy in bed is not a criteria or a necessity for reproduction, but I do wish there were some sort of test required for compatibility before marriage. Living together is not an adequate preliminary trial because we are all so good at self-deceit. I’m also quite sure that I’m not qualified to design the test, as my vision is limited to the little square in the rear view mirror.
Once again I’m just spinning my wheels, wanting to fix things and having no idea where to start. I suppose that would be with defining the problem, so here goes.
1. Too many women are waiting until their forties, fifties, and sixties to learn what has been missing in their lives.
2. Others have no real interest in the physical side of marriage and spend many years frustrating their husbands.
3. We have no surefire way of telling one type of woman from the other, even if we are those women.
“My dear,” I said, you’re not that old. She declared an age two years above my own and I was genuinely surprised. I told her my number and she reacted with equal surprise. She was a gem, a lovely figure, face practically unlined, and she seemed comfortable in her skin, or at least in her stylish clothing. She was from Spain originally she said, and had a grown daughter and grandchildren.
“That part of your life is never over M1,” I stated positively.
“You are very unusual if you feel that way,” she stated dubiously.
A month or so ago I had spoken to a friend at work about her newly revitalized love life. She had been married the first time to a man that dedicated at least five minutes a month to sex. He probably closed his eyes and pretended she wasn’t there while he gratified himself. A virgin when she wed, needless to say she wasn’t keen on the physical side of the relationship for the duration of their 15 year marriage. After their eventual and inevitable divorce, she met and married a pure scoundrel who opened her eyes to the delights of the flesh. Unfortunately his enterprise was limited to the bedroom and she had to put a notice in the paper that she was not responsible for his debts when he absconded with her bank account. She says he still calls her occasionally and asks her to spend a weekend with him, on her dime of course. She told me it was tempting because of the sex, but she always told him she couldn’t afford him. She was telling me all this because she just met a man who seems to combine the best of the both worlds. He owns his own successful business, tells her she is the most important person in his life, and he is hot and wicked in the sack. She spoke in whispers to me in the break room, recognizing a kindred soul and knowing there aren’t a lot of us out there.
M2 left us to dance with a gentleman for a few turns while my husband and I did the same. M1 sat at the table smiling at the young people having fun. I am not nosey with strangers, but I long to find out why she has decided to live the next 20, 30, or even 40 years celibate. Does she restrict herself for religious reasons? The Catholic Church has a mighty hold on Spanish souls since the time of the inquisition and before, and M1 was born before Spanish democracy eroded the church-state indivisibility. Even though I think it might be her excuse, as she does not declare herself a widow and available, I really think a man may be at the heart of her decision. I know joy in bed is not a criteria or a necessity for reproduction, but I do wish there were some sort of test required for compatibility before marriage. Living together is not an adequate preliminary trial because we are all so good at self-deceit. I’m also quite sure that I’m not qualified to design the test, as my vision is limited to the little square in the rear view mirror.
Once again I’m just spinning my wheels, wanting to fix things and having no idea where to start. I suppose that would be with defining the problem, so here goes.
1. Too many women are waiting until their forties, fifties, and sixties to learn what has been missing in their lives.
2. Others have no real interest in the physical side of marriage and spend many years frustrating their husbands.
3. We have no surefire way of telling one type of woman from the other, even if we are those women.
Okay, I’m going to force myself to stop there knowing my propensity to make lists that start with “pick up dry cleaning” and end with “achieve world peace”. My job is done. If you figure out the solution let me know, else we’ll just keep stumbling along one step forward, two steps back until we evolve some more or the sun explodes, whichever comes first.
