Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Let's Talk About Sex

Yo, I don't think we should talk about this
Come on, why not?
People might misunderstand what we're tryin' to say, you know?
No, but that's a part of life, come on

Let's talk about sex, baby
Let's talk about you and me
Let's talk about all the good things
And the bad things that may be...

...Now we talk about sex on the radio and video shows
Many will know anything goes
Let's tell it how it is and how it could be
How it was and of course how it should be
Those who think it's dirty have a choice
Pick up the needle, press pause or turn the radio off...
~ Salt N Pepa, Let's Talk About Sex


Let's talk about sex.  SMO's not gettin' any.

For a society that's fixated on sex, sexuality and over-hype of it, interestingly enough it's the one thing no one takes into account when a spouse dies (read Do Better) - - including the widow/widower - - you've lost your intimate partner.   Here's what's gone:

Sex:  Those sassy romps.  The romantic escapades that became historical markers in your relationship.  They were infrequent, unique and most memorable, often due to the location or some other standout milestone point.  Like the kitchen counter and being accidentally walked-in on by your resident adolescent, who, as a result, you've unintentionally emotionally scared for life.  Or how about the ocean-front balcony of your hotel suite in Los Cabos, Mexico.  There was also the local beach after-hours (read S.S.B.B.) and that one night you were chased away by police.  When the two of you consciously christened the first home you shared together, with a romp in every room, bath showers and rooftop deck included (read Migration).  Sure, even the front seat of the car made a backdrop appearance a few times.   All this special fondness is exclusively yours, between the two of you and you each reminisced over your personal favorites (read A Dozen Babies).

Lovemaking:  The physical, soulful intimacy, your bodies laying side by side, perfectly molded together, like two pieces of fresh clay from a potters' wheel.  The heat of his body always keeps you warm in the cold.  The times when you whisper with one another your deepest thoughts, expressed emotion, and share that secret to your partner that he is the only one who ever truly brought you to complete and total orgasm.  It's the fireside nestling with a movie that leads to a little somethin'-somethin' half-way through the flick.   Clothed or naked, made no difference, the intimacy of physical energy and emotional connection between the two of you, was magical and comforting - - for you both (read Anticipation)

Affection:  His touch. How he use to always extend his long muscular arm to rest his hand on your thigh whenever you were driving in the car together, sitting in the theatre, or at home on the sofa.  His loving back-hand nudge to your leg while watching Jeopardy when you'd answer quicker than him or just knew something he never imagined you'd know.  I can't watch Jeopardy these days.   Or how you'd cup his face cheeks with the palms of your hands going in for the smooch (read Smooch , Getting Caught, and Sweet 16 ).    His words of love and endearment - - spoken and written.  Love notes - - there were abundant, a true gift of affection.  The way you use to run your fingers through his hair at his temples.  Pet names (read Every Name) that became your signatures together.  Affection was everywhere.  

Sex, intimacy, affection - - overall, rich throughout our lives together, plentifully captured in these blog writings - - is all now just a memory.  And for a woman, this woman,  in her prime of life, the loss of spousal sex, intimacy, and affection can be little frustrating (lonesome too).  So what's a woman to do?   Uh, huh, you know...

Yeah, that didn't work.  It may work in the fantasy writings of TV, but for this mid-life widow,
the real reality of self-sexual satisfying is a nightmare.  I've broken out in tears everytime.  That's grief.  That sucks.  A stark reminder this is another key ingredient why spousal grief is so traumatically painful.

And as for sex - - yeah, SMO's not gettin' any.  If you know me, a substitute boy toy is NOT an option.  It's neither emotionally healthy or my style, let alone professionally not recommended. 

Boomer's laughing with self-pride, professing that he's the only one with the golden touch for his SMO.  So true - - for now. 

I ride it out the best I can.  Maybe bust a little old skool groove move around the house with Salt N Pepa to lighten things up and take the edge off...followed by a cold shower.
 

No comments:

Post a Comment