December 20, 2005

• My Sexual History: Chapter 9

  “My Sexual History”(Chapter 9)
  A Personal Journey through the pleasures of the flesh
  An “essay” by Michael F. Nyiri
  (begun in December 2004 and continuing)

  NOTE: I am presenting this latest series of “essays” in serial form here on WhenWordsCollide. I am currently posting the ninth chapter of this latest “reminiscence”.  Previous entries are in the links below. This was originally to have been a series of short essays like my “short histories” but has become much longer and more detailed, and will probably be novel length by the time it is finished.  After my failed “fling” with Cathy, I met two women, one a decade younger, and one a decade older, who fueled my sexual fires for the next year or so. As mentioned in the introductions to previous entries, these essays are not meant to be purient, or in bad taste. I am merely being as honest about my sexual history as with all other aspects of my personality. Because of the subject matter, which is written matter of factly, some parts of these essays might not be suitable for all people, so please be warned. I have offered to put these enties under “protected mode” and will again offer with this entry, which does get rather “descriptive” at times. Usually, most of my readers feel these essays are no more risque than anything else I post. So I hope you enjoy this entry, which covers the years 1979-81. MFN 12/18)

  1. “Then the boy pees into the girl.”
  2. “The Very First Kiss”
  3. “High School Daze”
  4 “Stag Films and Frat Parties, Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll”
  5 “Whoreticulture”
  6. “Meeting Ruth, the Sexual Goddess”
  7. “Red Headed Wretchedness, and A Respite Before Falling in Love”
  8. “Cathy: The Second Love of My Life”

  9. “Opposites attract: The 38 and the 18 year old.”

  i. Karen, at 17 and 18
  There is a frantic swirl of memory which buffets the events of the final years of the seventies into erratic encounters, with people, places, parties, and a plethora of emotions colliding and careening through my mind. The FedMart chain gave up the “Furniture to Go” concept while I was employed as the warehouse manager for the store located in Torrance in the South Bay, and if the swirling thrall of memory serves, the exact time was about 1979 while I was in fact helping to open a second location in the main store in San Diego. I drove my 30 foot bobtail, which I called the “volkswagen of the trucking industry”, filled with stock, or flew the 20 minute flight from LAX to San Diego airport quite a few times while preparing the set up of the new store. Some of the stock for San Diego came from the Torrance location.

  The doors were shuttered to the Furniture to Go store in Torrance, and since I was pretty capable driving the delivery truck, my job now passed to the “Southern California” division, driving a “shuttle” between the dozen or so stores in the division, and Cathy, the second “love of my life” continued her job as a cashier in the Torrance FedMart Store, which was right next door to the Furniture to Go. I no longer worked “in a store”, but my headquarters were still in Torrance. Since I was still lacking transportation in 79, I sometimes used the truck as my “car” parking it across the street from my apartment building. In the mornings I would drive in to the Torrance store, park the truck in the parking area, and proceed to the store manager’s office, where I would receive the day’s trip log. I have always relished this particular part of my employment history. Although I could party quite heartily at night after work, I was always chipper and fully cognizant the next morning. Part of this was due to my discovery of “speed” or “uppers”, small white pills, or “black beauties”,  black capsules filled with white powder, that kept a body “up” when it really should have been tired and collapse because of little sleep. At only 26 years of age, however, my young body felt as if it could handle anything, and I kept up my schizophrenic lifestyle with relative ease. I had no set schedule at “work” either. I finished my “day” when I finished the delivery route. Sometimes this would take me from Torrance to Oxnard, up the California coast to the north, and down to San Diego or over to San Bernadino or Riverside all in one day. These days could last up to 23 hours at a time, which is the longest I was ever “on the road”. On my off times, I crammed myself full of drugs and beer, and immersed myself in my friendships. I had given up on Cathy, and in the Toy department at the Torrance FedMart while delivering toys in December of 1979 I got to know Karen, who would become my “Jersey Girl”. She was only 17 years old. I’d actually met her the previous summer, while the Furniture to Go was shutting down. My “base of operations” allowed me the run of the store, and I flirted rather shamelessly with a lot of the cashiers, hoping Cathy would take notice, remember the little book of poems that I gave her as a gift when we parted, and show some interest in me at last. This didn’t happen, so I kept flirting, but I took an extra special liking to Karen.

  Usually, my “sexual ideal” is described as with my “Kathys”. Tall, long legged, with smallish breasts and long auburn hair. Karen was short and chubby with rather large breasts, more similar to Ruth, my early “sexual goddess”, than with either of the Kathys. She wore glasses, a real turn on for me, let her auburn hair down long and full, and had that wonderfully nasal New Jersey accent. Her family had just moved to the Los Angeles area and she brought with her for me memories of my 1977 vacation in New Jersey, but memories paled beside her presence. I had a real nice long talk with her during the toy delivery. She was head clerk for the Toy Department at the time. I also got to deliver live Christmas trees from one store to another, and the Torrance store’s lot was always busy, so when I was delivering there, I always looked up Karen in the Toy Department. She intrigued me, and of course I gave her my volumes of poems to read after a few conversations with her. My introduction to my girlfriends always included my poetry, the greatest icebreaker known to me then or now. 

  Like Cathy, I got Karen to drive me home a few times, but since she was only 17, I made no advances toward her. We talked much. I visited her family, and got to know some of her friends. My social skills have always been outstanding. I have been involved with many disparate groups of people, and through Karen, became acquainted with more friends and neighbors. Our age difference was duly noted. I was almost a full decade older than she was. I found her intelligent and vivacious, however, and she acted much “older” than her age. I got jealous when she hung out with her fellow high school and college aged chums. She was Catholic, and attended a Catholic Girl’s High School, and her uniform was complete with plaid skirt, white blouse, knee high socks and saddle shoes. Needless to say, my sexual arousal upon seeing her in  her school uniform was substantial. She could melt my heart and stiffen my manhood, and she excelled in both areas. I stayed my probing sexual exuberance until she had her birthday, which miraculously made her ripe for my wanting to know her better.

  Karen had another “boyfriend” besides me. He was a recovering alcoholic closer to her age. She eventually gave me up to spend time with him, because my alcohol consumption bothered her as it had Cathy. I was always a bit too forward and “oversocial” when drinking. Karen was still a child really, dealing with adult problems in her men. I first had sex with her after her birthday had passed, and I had missed an opportunity during an earlier evening to kiss her. I wrote her a poem called “Missed Midnight Kiss” and read it her while we were sitting on my couch in my apartment one evening in the summer of 1980.

  “I really like you, you know.” I stated upon finishing the poetry reading.
  “I know”, she replied. “I like you a lot too. I’ve wondered why you haven’t kissed me yet.”
  “I didn’t want to make any advances until you were ‘legal’.”
  “Well, I’m 18 now, Michael. ” She leaned forward a bit, brushing her leg against mine. She wore pantsuits at times, and looked rather striking in them, but I’m a sucker for a woman’s leg brushing against mine, and Karen wore a skirt this evening. We hovered a bit closer to each other, and I put my arms around her. I deftly removed both my eyeglasses and hers, setting them delicately on the coffee table. We looked into each other’s eyes, and I got lost in the warm waters of her pupils. Karen’s eyes were green, like a lush forest which needed exploring. Her smile was one of those little half smiles, partly sweet, partly skeptical of life. Sort of like the Mona Lisa’s. She smiled, her eyes closed, her long lashes sweeping toward her cheeks. I breathed in, catching my breath, and parted my lips, closing my own eyes as our noses first, and then our cheeks touched, and our tongues began to probe the open space inside our mouths.

  The kiss lasted forever, or maybe only memory tells me this, and we tasted the surging and belated passions which had been growing within us for most of the previous year. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time”, I exclaimed. “So have I” she answered. We moved from the couch to my bedroom rather easily, shedding articles of clothing as we held our long kisses. She wore a large white bra under her blouse, and upon unclasping it, two luscious mountainous breasts revealed themselves to me. Tipped with dark large diametered aueroles and erect nipples, I was caught like a deer in their headlights. She had thick young legs, and though her belly was quite large, this didn’t diminish my enthusiasm or my erection. For me, especially after a long time without sex, the foreplay leading to the act itself was the special and memorable part of the experience. She performed fellatio, and I reciprocated. I really enjoy cunnilingus, and availed myself of her charms, enjoying a “meal” of folded flesh and heaving musky smells.

  She positioned herself on the foot of my bed, and I stood over her, pumping first slowly, then more rapidly. We eventually collapsed in each other’s arms. She still lived at home and so she didn’t stay the night. I felt renewed again. For a little boy who began his sexual history terrified and afraid, I was getting to be quite a “sex monster” when it reared it’s head.

  Subsequently, we coupled about three more times. Eventually, Karen chose the recovering alcoholic over me, the active alcoholic. I had finally received some monetary compensation, along with my siblings, in 1980, for the fact that my dad had died on the job. Even though he had died in 1974, the Union lawyers (he had been shop steward where he worked) had been fighting for some kind of compensation for nearly five years. Each of us, my brother, sister, and I, were awarded about five thousand dollars. I had used my money to buy a new stereo system and a 1974 Honda Civic, which gave me much needed transportatoin. One time I upset Karen a bit by playfully demanding oral sex while we were sitting outside of her house in my car, her parents visible through the windows. She complied, however, and this little act thrilled my sense of adventure. I had received my Volkswagen back from the guy who had been restoring my motor, and while it still wasn’t in perfect operating order, I now found myself with two cars. Eventually the Volkswagen died completely, and I sold it for 500 dollars. Karen pretty much faded from my life after I stopped driving the company truck and moved into another one of the stores as warehouse manager. I lost my truck because I lost my license when the DMV took it away because of too many drunk driving arrests.

  ii. Diane, at 38
  I still partied with friends I had made while at the home improvement chain back in the early 70s. I also began to hang out with John, a biker who moved into my old “bachelor apartment” in the apartment building in which I lived. I moved into the one bedroom apartment, and the bachelor’s had had a couple of tenants. John once showed up at my door and we proceeded to get drunk and play music. He admired my new stereo and my large record collection. He joined my “South Bay” group of friends, which included longtime buddies Morgan and Steve, and Keith, who had been a garden shop salesman at Oles’ as well in the early 70s. I took lots of speed and acid, snorted cocaine, drank massive amounts of beer, wine, and mixed drinks. I still had my “bar” set up in the living room of my one bedroom apartment. Friday and Saturday nights at my place could get quite loud, and the “party” never seemed to end. In business, I graduated from Warehouse Manager at two Long Beach stores, to the Culver City store, where I was part of a “dream team” of managers sent in to “clean up the store” which had deplorable sales volume, and lots of theft from middle managers, who knew how to bypass the system and rip off the store. Karen still worked in the Torrance location, and I rarely saw her, but we still got together at certain times for chat and the occasional petting session. Our biggest “date” was to be a Bruce Springsteen concert in 1981. She was a big fan, since she, and he, too, hailed from New Jersey, and our “date” was terminated when I blew the timing chain on my Honda. But during the year previous to this, when my car was still good, I met Diane, who rented the corner apartment to mine in the apartment building in which I lived. For a while, I was “seeing” both Karen, 18, and Diane, who was nearly a decade older than I. She was a widow, whose husband had perished in Vietnam. She had two teenage daughters, both of whom had befriended me, and had “partied” a little, without alcoholic beverages, in my apartment on numerous occasions. I knew everybody in the sixteen unit building rather well. To my left lived Sherry, with her teenage brother and sister and her parents. I never had sex with Sherry, but smoked a lot of weed and dropped a lot of speed with her and her brother. Her boyfriend was in jail for most of the time I knew her, and I threw a party for him when he was released. It is a bit difficult to keep all the people and the time frames completely straight during this time. I dropped acid with my friends Morgan, Steve, and Harry, and I still partied with Tom, my friend from high school, who lived many miles to the north in Whittier with his parents. I was never lonely, and always had enough people in my life to keep me occupied socially. Sometimes, after the “party was over” and my friends would go home, I would turn on the record player, lie down on the floor in the living room, and trip out to the music while coming down from the LSD. It was on one of these evenings that Diane decided to introduce herself.

  I heard a knock on my door one Saturday night at about 1am in the morning. I was playing some Pink Floyd or Boston on the stereo. My mind was making patterns in the stucco on the ceiling of the living room, and I was meditating about the state of reality while listening to music. I wasn’t expecting anyone this late, but I was still tripping, and feeling alive and awake. Diane was shorter than I, with close cropped dark hair, large brown eyes, and a nice figure, trim but with a healthy bosom. She was wearing a light blouse and shorts, and had just changed after having been dropped off on her doorstep by one of her “dates”. She was a country western fan like me, and she would spend her weekend evenings honky tonkin at one of the many country and western bars in the South Bay.

  “Hi there” she greeted me at the door, with the outside hall lights washing her in a lovely glow.  She smiled. “I’m Diane, your corner neighbor” she swept her hand toward the door of her apartment.
  “Hello, Diane”, I was more stoned than drunk, so probably didn’t exude any patina of drunkenness to her as I spoke. “I’ve talked to your daughters quite a bit. They’re nice girls. Nice to meet you.”
  “I’ve been meaning to drop by for some time. I wanted to tell you that I really like the music you play.” It was no mystery that I played my music as “dee jay” for most of the warm summer evenings when I was home from work. I caromed the album cuts from one turntable to the other, since I had bought a new turntable with part of the settlement money from my father’s estate’s posthumous suit against his employer. Sherry liked to listen to my music, as did her brother and sister, and Diane’s daughters. I had just never had the opportunity to say hello to Diane before, since our schedules clashed most of the time. “I’m glad you like the music. So far nobody tells me to turn it down much.” I used to listen to records instead of watching television in the evenings like most people. The younger crowd liked the music. Diane was ten years older than I, but I didn’t know it from looking at her. She was 38 at the time, but could pass for her daughters’ sister.
  We settled on the couch and talked about music, our lives, and our work. I confessed that I was flying rather high on LSD, which tends to stay in the system for long periods of time. This didn’t bother her in the least. Our conversation lasted an hour or two. On acid, one loses track of the time. She was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, drinking a beer I had offered her, and I was standing alongside her. I leaned down a bit toward her face to listen to what she was saying.

  Our heads stayed a bit stationary for a moment, as we gazed in each other’s eyes. Mine were probably spinning like pinwheels, but they might have just felt that way because of the drugs. The ‘trip’ was almost over at this point, and feelings of satisfaction and pleasure were bubbling up inside me. A moment which by all means should have been somewhat awkward passed seemingly as if my drug addled mind were writing the script for it as it happened. Diane cocked her head mischeivously, “So this is where we have sex, right?”

  If I were less than as messed up as I was, I probably would have been taken aback by this honest statement. I was higher than the proberbial kite, however, and I replied in the affirmative, while placing both my hands on her shoulders. The rest of the evening unfolds as if in a dream, and this was a dream made real, thanks to the beauteous neighborlady and my enhanced state of awareness.

  We stripped. We roamed among each other’s bodily landscapes, I draping my being upon her heaving breasts and inserting my existence into her glory. She was more shapely than either Karen or Ruth, and I was incredibly turned on by her body. She didn’t seem “old” to me at all. She was smooth, lively, and made love as if she actually ached for the intense coupling we shared.

  I had developed a robust sexual appetite with Ruth, had seen it dashed with Elfie and Cathy, and had not been able to really satisfy my sexual needs with Karen in the months immediately preceding my first coupling with Diane. My appetite became insatiable, and I was filled with a hunger for Diane I had not felt previously. She fulfilled every fantasy that night except one. She would not fellate me, but I engaged in much of my favored cunninlingus, eating her deliciously as a late night drug enabled dessert. She not only tasted great and wiggled with all the right moves, squealing in all the right places, but she worked herself up so much during this phase of our lovemaking that she actually squirted me in the face. I enjoyed this fountain of womanly delight with much relish. I wiggled my face into her womanly triangle, smearing the juice from her “beard” into mine. When I mounted her, we moved to the floor, and I nearly developed rug burn on my knees, as I “rode” her around the floor.

  Sex with Diane, in the throes of an acid trip, was like a dream come true. She liked more than my music, and I played her like a great musician, “blowing” into his horn of plenty. She left in the early morning hours, as the sun was peeking over the horizon. She wanted to get back into her own bed before her daughters noticed she’d been out all night.

  My relationship with Diane was purely a sexual one, and it lasted a good six months. We would see each other on those Friday or Saturday nights when she would come home from a date, and I would happen to be off from work, or home in the evening after a day shift. She would kiss her date at her door, go inside, freshen up, and then come over and knock on my door. I felt as if I got take home sex whenever I coluld get it. Although we began our relationship with a long conversation the night we met, each subsequent visit involved less talk and more sex. I did sometimes drop by her apartment and watch television, and I went out to the country bars with her a couple of times. Once I got a flat tire when coming home from a bar with her drunk. In the end, though, we didn’t have much more in common than our sexual appetite for each other. I had never until meeting Diane, nor have I since, met a woman who actually “comes” by releasing love juice. Our craving for each other actually took us to talk of  even more ‘dirty’ sex acts including urination, however we would have done this in the shower with the water running. I did mount her while she was sitting on the toilet after urinating, and we probably covered all the pages of the Kama Sutra in our experimentation with positions. We werent’ really a couple, though, and as such, we were doomed because of this.

  Eventually, Diane met another man closer to her age, and she and I, though still living catty corner from each other, parted ways both sexual and social. I would still say hi to her when we passed each other in the hall or the parking lot, but our spitfire sexual relationship lasted only about half a year. I still craved sex with Sherry, but she became less desirable as soon as her boyfriend got out of prison. He might even have been her husband, but as I mentioned, these events are somewhat muddled, and the end of the decade was one filled with lots of mind and memory altering substances. Karen remained a friend too, when I saw her, which was infrequently. One time she did come up to the Culver City store as part of a team of Toy managers from other stores for a division meeting, and I went out with her for coffee. Her relationship with the recovering alcoholic was almost a marriage by then.

  It’s too bad I can hardly remember these times in my life with the clarity of others, thanks or no thanks for the most part to the liquor and the drugs, but they were some of the wildest and most fantastic times in my life. I was making real good money. When I drove a truck, I made my own timesheet, and got an expense account for meals, and was paid overtime at time and a half and double time after 12 hours on the job, which was often. When assigned to the “dream team” and sent to Culver City to “clean up the store”, my paycheck was among that of the most well paid managers in the company. I bought my “designer drugs” at that time from the security manager of the store. The parties never stopped, and I never stopped making new friends. The family who moved into the apartment building, in the corner down from where Sherry and her family lived, and across the courtyard diagonally from Diane, were the new managers. Their son, who had been living in Chicago, moved in as well. He was about my age. A girl named Melanie, who was single with a toddler son, moved in between the new managers and Sherry’s family. It was at a party that Kevin, the manager’s son, gave, that I met her for the first time, and fell into bed with her that night. But that’s yet another chapter of “My Sexual History.”

  To be continued as written. Next up: “Chapter 10: The Me Decade Gal: Sex and Transcendence”

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