Having knocked out 50,000 words for a NaNoWriMo submission this past November while working a never-saw-this-possibility-on-radar job pre-loading UPS trucks from 1:00-9:00 a.m., I recognized (not for first time) how much more difficult the love scenes were to write without some, you know, relatively recent transfer of that sexual energy.
Watching reruns of ‘Mad Men,’ I’m not talking Don Draper, drunk but always ready-able to get it up and in at any opportunity–THAT hasn’t been a reality for waaay longer than being sixty. An aunt I truly respected suggested (well, stated) that I needed to have more/better bait vs. just being a Good Guy and the right equipment, and I get that in capital letters now. Frankly ladies, we all want to know we’ve still got ‘It’ on that front, and not that you’ll be needing The Rabbit to satisfy you when we leave.
For those who might be expecting an analysis of recent opportunities or techniques related to that 60+ category, ummm, today I turned 61, and the past 366 days haven’t included sharing that desirable activity, so I’m sorrier than you’ll know about not being able to enlighten anyone about empirical factors the title might suggest. Mostly I’ll believe I’m not the only guy wondering which end is up in the post-Weinstein scheme of things, a million miles from getting through awkward breakfasts in college, much closer to Seth Meyers recent proclamation when hosting the Golden Globes that, “For the male nominees here tonight, this is the first time in three months it won’t be terrifying to hear your name read out loud.”
There’s been LOTS of documented abuse of women along the way by Hollywood and/or male brethren of all stripes, but I’ve never been a ‘crotch cricket’ as Dad referred to certain womanizers (like a college roommate), or walked around with my pants to my knees. As Meyers noted, I’ve never had the power to hold sex over anyone, although I undoubtedly said something similar to what local Carolina Panthers owner Jerry Richardson allegedly did about the shapeliness of certain jeans-wearing females posteriors. Hey, college and the herpes-challenged ‘80s featured Jordache and similar $100-plus jeans, and it was pretty much mandatory that noticing and commenting was expected. Now and sixty-plus is an obviously different day.
Working in scholastic fundraising in the ‘90s– where younger, smart, good-looking teachers were common and I wasn’t close to 60– wasn’t the place for ‘cutting a filly out of the herd’ reputation-wise; the divorced moms with kids I’ve dated after moving to Charlotte were okay– often just a scheduling thing. Ditto for working in real estate years (although I was in a relationship then), and the recession flat out sucked, which is kind of the nut I’m working with.
Fundraising success and feeling very Good Human Being-ish while participating in Junior Chamber of Commerce activities back then was legitimate, and can we admit that ‘successful’ usually trumps POS Guy at this point, Chippendale types always being an exception? I’ve been told I’m pretty well-preserved, and with recent knee replacement, personal energy is higher than its been in years, but finances since recession haven’t sparkled. It seems those Women who bought houses (or got as result of divorces) are a bit more concerned about possibility of sharing resources with ‘keepers’ than less equal if kind of studly older lovers.
‘A good man is hard to find, but a hard man
is good to find’
SEX, whether sweaty or sloooow good, is less like the lady who once told me, “Just because we’re not going to be forever doesn’t mean we have to give up something we obviously both like,” and more about Beyonce and ‘Put a Ring on It,’ although relationship status doesn’t really affect The Act. I’d bet that a quantity of the negatives we’ve heard about still kinda fit in the category of “I seem to remember the circumstances a bit differently,” that Lauer and Rose used, as un-PC as that might come out.
And really, is it possible Al Franken is the ONLY guy from SNL days that groped someone?
Writing-wise, I seem to be using OLD memories, and while I’ve never been graphic-graphic in book scenes, and the sensuality and caring still flows, actual pillow talk and fitting in last night’s interludes, or bouncing previously written material off a date while noting which parts reeeeallly worked for her, made things so simple. Sex isn’t as distant as the moon, but it doesn’t show up every Friday night either– and FYI, contrary to what ol’ Bill Clinton danced around, sexually guys DO know what is, is, but cuddling isn’t sex.
My question is: If-when I hammer that 50,000 or so words into a script and it miraculously become a Success, will it get easy to find mutually desirable-willing ladies again, or will *I* be on guard about life resources coming down the proverbial stretch? Am I, hard to believe, being too picky myself?
I admit missing the notion that, ‘A good man is hard to find, but a hard man is good to find,’ ‘It takes two,’ or yes, very definitely, “There’s a Good Woman behind every successful man (and she wants you to get your clothes off NOW!)” To say good sex still comes from the heart and not a little blue pill is problematic—I’ll let you know after I’ve been in a situation where that little blue pill might make a helluva difference.