AS I grow older, I begin to realize that some activities are in the rear view mirror; my sex life for instance. (Oh my God, he's gonna talk about it!) Well, actually, I'm going to talk about the lack of it. First off, don't misunderstand. My wife is an absolutely perfect mate. None of the cessation of sex in my marriage has anything to do with her.
Let's face it. At 73 years of age, and rapidly approaching 74, things don't work like they used to. As someone once said "Making love to a 73 year old is like trying to shoot pool with a rope. And the more I think about Viagara and all those other "helpers" all I can think of is how very ugly a seventy three year old man must look with a raging erection.
Then there's the sleeping disorder that I have. I didn't know that I had one for years, but I finally went in for the overnight sleep test. When morning finally arrived, I got together with the nurse who had administered the test. She told me that I really have a sleep problem called apnea.
Apnea is when, for no apparent reason, I just stop breathing. She told me at one point she almost came into my room to jolt me awake because I had stopped breathing for nearly a minute.
So now every night after ablutions, I have to put my teeth guard in (TMJ), and then strap on my mask, replete with machine and long coiled hose. Anybody want to make love to the alien?
So now, I think about sex. If ever some guy tells you that he doesn't, no matter how old he is, he is bull shitting you. The other day, while driving for Markquart Toyota, I was thinking about various things when suddenly the following "movie" began running in my head.
I believe it was in the year 1972 while I was still struggling with my first marriage. I received a telephone call from one of Eau Claire's long standing grocery store owners. I had already been hired to do a 45 minute set of comedy for the retail grocers of Eau Claire, and I assumed that this is what he wanted to talk to me about. Turns out, I was wrong.
He explained that in addition to my show, they had hired an "exotic dancer" and that she lived out in my neck of the woods, near Elk Lake, so would I be willing to pick her up before coming into town to set up for the show and to escort her back home afterwards. Truth be told, it wasn't the fact that I lived near her that prompted the call . . it was more of a "I can't be seen with an exotic dancer" type reason.
Well, another truth to be told, I kind of looked forward to being her escort as this would probably be a once in a life time opportunity, which now that I think back on it . . it was. He gave me the address and the telephone number and asked me to contact her, which I did.
On the designated evening, I left the house and drove to her address. I didn't even have to get out of the car. She appeared, locked her door, and made her way around to the passenger side. I am not going to lie. She was a beauty. Short woman, raven black hair, which she had up, wore up in a bun, and of all things, she was wearing a business suit. I am talking the three piece with a neatly tied neck tie. As we drove towards Eau Claire's west side, we chatted.
She told me that she is a college student at UWEC, majoring in business. I told her that she looked good in a suit. She not only looked fabulous, but she smelled great, too; not too much perfume at all, but just a devastating hint. We were immediately comfortable in each other's presence as we had something in common. We were both in "show business".
Cocktail hour went by quickly as she sat next to me at the bar and we continued to talk. I do remember that she pointed out my wedding ring and said, I thought with some disappointment: "You're married".
The grocers meantime had their share of booze on an empty stomach and were close to "roaring". You know, when the volume of conversation keeps getting louder and louder as everyone strains to hear each other.
The supper club waitress summoned them to sit as dinner was served. My new friend and I were not invited to partake, and if I had been, I would have declined as I don't like to perform on an empty stomach. Instead we continued to chat while they ate.
After dinner was finished and the introductions and awards were handed out, it was my turn. I did a really good show and had them banging on the tables. After I finished to strong applause, I read the introduction she had written and given to me and she made her appearance, carrying a boom box containing her music.
I cannot recall the music. Had you asked me that night I couldn't have told you because like all the other men in the room, I was immersed and mesmerized by her. I will tell you right now that she did the best strip tease I have ever witnessed, and I have seen more than a few in thirty some years of being on the road. She did not rush at all, but danced, fully clothed, for quite some time, until I could feel the tension growing between her and her all male audience.
Then she started to undress, very, very slowly, in time to the music. First she unbuttoned her suit coat, removed it; then undid her neck tie, danced over to a table of grocers and, grasping both ends of the tie, looped it over a head and did the"drying off with a towel" move. Next , she reached up and with one smooth motion released a cascade of beautiful long, black hair, all the while pulsing to the music. That is as far as she got when the animal noises began from the audience.
Next she lifted her skirt to reveal silk panties and, oh dear, a garter belt with real nylon stockings! She danced slowly, removing each stocking with delicate hands, then slowly slipped each one off into her hand. Both times she executed the lasso move with the stocking, whirling it overhead and then let it fly into the rapt crowd.
Next she began slowly unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a frilly black brassiere. She removed the blouse entirely and tossed that into the crowd as well. She was working these guys into a hot mass of manliness. She danced with her skirt and bra in place for what seemed like hours, then turned her back, unhooked her bra with one hand (I've always marveled how women can do that) and then turned, covering her breasts with the loose bra for several measures, and then that also went into the crowd. She was really good. She covered her breasts with her hands while she danced and threw her raven mane about.
She finally revealed her pert breasts with (as Detroit rocker Bob Seer so sensually described in "Night Moves"):
She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes
And points all her own sitting way up high
Way up firm and high
By now, the dollar bills and fivers were fairly flying in her direction. She danced topless, then removed her skirt. Someone got a hat and retrieved all the bills, filling the hat entirely. She danced furiously in only her panties and then . . . she was all done. This was met with yells of disappointment and "take it off" in unison. But she remained resolute. Even after they emptied the hat and passed it around again, she would not give in to their ardor.
She gathered up her strewn clothing and disappeared into the ladies room. Then she came out and sat back down next to me. Looking straight ahead, all I could say was "incredible . . . absolutely incredible."
Then the grocer who had hired me came over with a handful of cash in one hand and the hat full of cash in the other. He told her that the grocers wanted here to have all the cash for being such a "good girl".
Taking her home was quite different from our trip into town. Neither of us said anything. When I reached her driveway and parked the car, she reached over and shook my hand, thanking me at the same time. Then she did something I was not expecting. She enclosed my hand in both her hands and rubbing my hand gently, she said: "You have really nice hands." She paused, as though waiting for me . . . then she said, "well, good night." and she was gone.
All the way home I could hear her saying "You've got really nice hands." And you know what? I can still hear her voice saying that, clear as a bell, every time she comes to mind.
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