September 14, 2007

• My Sexual History: Chapter 12

  "My Sexual History"(Chapter 12)
  A Personal Journey through the pleasures of the flesh
  An "essay" by Michael F. Nyiri
  (begun in December 2004 and continuing)

  RATED: R or MATURE for language and sexual situations. (I've Xanga rated this entry as "discretion required")

  NOTE: Believe it or not, I haven't posted a chapter of "My Sexual History" since July of last year. Finally, here is Chapter 12 of this  "reminiscence".  Previous entries are in the links below. (I also keep the links in the sidebar and the whole story is always available on my website HERE.) This was originally to have been a series of short essays but over the last two years has become much longer and more detailed, and will most surely be novel length by the time it is finished.  This entry deals with the decade of the 90s, and my sexual history with Pat, about whom I'm also writing another reminiscence. To read more about "My Life With Pat", click HERE for the latest chapter, which has links to previous chapters. I also mention "The Frat House" in this essay and have written a couple of essays concerning my life with Bob in the Frat House in the 80s  HERE. (latest chapter with link to earlier chapter)  I'd like to mention again that the image of the girl with the lollipop I use as my "header image" for this series is a model, and I got the image from the internet. This isn't a photo of one of my ex girlfriends. I just chose it to illustrate the series because it's quite a sexual image, but is not exceedingly purient.  MFN 09/14/07)

  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."
  10:"Melanie and the End of the Me Decade"
  11:"Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder"

  12: "Sex as Bait for the Catch"

  During the "sexual revolution" in the nineteen seventies, as a sexualIy active male, I fell into one tryst after another, sometimes thinking of "love" but most often experiencing sex completely disconnected from love. My emotions would always channel themselves toward one recipient, but sometimes that recipient might not have happened to be my sexual partner at the time. I experimented with sex in the early to mid nineteen eighties, experiencing open sexuality with Melanie, and I even dabbled a bit in bisexuality and homosexuality as a result of my friendships with Keith and Cecil, who both happened to be gay South Bay drug dealers.

  My never ending searches for love continued, and I wrote poetry sporadically, bemoaning my status as a free and easy, but emotionally disconnected young man. I still mourned the passing of my great loves, like Cathy, whose smile I could never forgot, even more than ten years after our last meeting. In 1986 I bought the first of my video cameras, and I embarked on a new direction making video movies which I edited on a series of betamax and VHS video recorders. My roommate in Hermosa Beach, Scott, joined the Navy, and I approached my friend Jim about moving in with me again, and he complied. My friendship with my good buddy from high school, Tom, was somewhat waning due to the long physical distance between us, but I would still see him from time to time, and our shared evenings usually involved going to country and western bars where we would attempt to "pick up chicks". He was 37 years old and worked for a large toy manufacturer as a picker in their warehouse, when one day he fell 20 feet from a motorized picking machine and broke his back. After the operation to attempt to mend his spinal column, he somehow got blood in his lungs and perished. I was one of the pallbearers at his funeral.

  As a merchandise manager for the Target Stores chain in Manhattan Beach, I managed fully a third of the "big box" department store, including my old mainstays, the garden and nursery, electronics, and toy departments. The hours were long, and the pay was good. When the rent was raised on our apartment in Hermosa Beach, Jim and I moved to a less expensive apartment back in Lomita, the town where we'd met when I lived there a decade earlier.  I'd been completely sober for most of the decade, although I still took drugs, including marijuana, speed, and acid when available. However it seemed that I worked even longer days on the job for Target than I did at either Gemco or FedMart, so there was little time for partying.

  Also as it turns out there was no time for sex.

  The close of 1987 was also the close of my retail management career. One of my older friends from high school, a guy named Jon, who was an ordained deacon in an offshoot of the televangelical WorldWide Church of God, and a guy with whom I had double dated and hung out with in the past, was a frequent customer at the Manhattan Beach Target, even before I worked there. During the Christmas rush of 87, I sold his Church some reduced price electric typewriters, and I failed to properly record the markdown, which resulted in a security breach, for which I was summarily fired. I didn't have enough friends in the executive branch of the company, having only worked there for a year, and I found myself on unemployment again for three months while I looked for other work. I created my very first long form video project while out of work, called "Sacked", an hour long humorous look at my humorless situation. I also started drinking again after five years of teetoatling.

  Because I remained an honest individual, I couldn't lie on my applications for work throughout the retail industry, and because companies rarely hire security threats, and I was one, I  couldn't regain any postion within the industry. My friend and roommate Jim worked for a small family owned electrical distribution center in Long Beach, and he asked the owner of the company if there could possibly be a place for me perhaps running the warehouse or calculating inventory. I met with Jack, the owner of the company, whom I knew socially as a result of my friendship with Jim. Jack was a friendly bear of a man who seemed to like me immediately, and didn't mind my honesty in revealing the instances leading up to my being fired from Target Stores. He hired me at a ridiculously low wage, but I could work overtime and on weekends for more money if I wanted. One of the sales engineers was beginning a "panel shop" constructing turnkey electrical control panels from the components the company sold, and he asked if, instead of inventory management, I would like to build these panels. I'm pretty good with my hands, having learned a lot about electrical systems and construction from my father when he rebuilt our family home, so I agreed to try it out for a while. I was a good fit with both the job and with Phil, the sales engineer. He had an electrical engineering degree, and he taught me a lot about panel building in just three months.

  My hours on my new job were much better than any retail schedule. I came in early in the morning, and was home by 5pm, with weekends off. I had more free time than I had ever had in my working life. One of my friends, Bob, although in his mid forties, lived with his mother near where I had moved with Jim, and when Bob's mother died, he asked another friend, Mike, and I to move in his large house with him. After the six month lease on the apartment I shared with Jim ran out, I moved in with Bob, into a very large custom back bedroom which had been built for Bob's cousins, who had been taking care of his ill mother in the months before she died. Bob only charged Mike and I a couple hundred dollars a month for rent, so even though my pay at the electrical distributorship was low, the low rent afforded me extra spending money. I began to buy books, and started my laserdisc collection of favorite films, to complement my already booming VHS and Beta tape collection. The Beta format, on which I edited my videos, was fading, and one of the media chain stores marked down their inventory of movies on Beta, which I snapped up at a great price. I wasn't involved in any relationship at the time, and I collected pornographic tapes as well as more conventional movies, and in no time had quite a collection of the "good parts" which I excised and tape recorded from rented XXX tapes.

  I painted my large room in Bob's house, which I renamed "The Frat House", "Gumby Green", and arranged my furniture so that I had two distinct rooms, a bedroom and a living room, just as I had when I lived behind the garage in our second family home while I was in college. I decorated my rooms with my collectibles, and settled into a fantastic time with Bob and his group of friends we called "The Backyard Buddies." Most of the guys "escaped" their wives by going to Bob's so the party atmosphere in Bob's house was chiefly made up of guy stuff, like sports and barbecues. Bob had a hot tub installed in the area outside his bedroom, and we spent many a warm evening lolling about the hot tub telling stories and drinking beer. Our group frequented drag races and Bob was an "unofficial" member of the pit crew for his friend Brad's stock cars.

  At work, I had my eye on a couple of cute gals who worked in the switch assembly department, on the other side of the building from where I constructed the control panels. One of them, Pat, about five years my junior, struck up a conversation with me when we sat together during one of the company Christmas parties. We both were pretty heavy drinkers, and she matched me drink for drink during the party. My motorcycle had blown a gasket a few months previous to the party, and I had no transportation, so Pat volunteered to drive me home. I easily agreed to this arrangement, heady with liquor and thoughts of sex, which had been somewhat dormant lately in my life except for my increasingly growing collection of pornographic videotapes.

  The Christmas party was held at lunch, and when we arrived at Bob's it was late in the afternoon. Pat and I held court with Bob and a few of the buddies in his back bedroom, and then we "retired" to my suite of rooms. We watched one of my many movies on laserdisc, and kept drinking alcohol, so we were very drunk and very content as evening descended. I knew somehow instinctively that Pat was about to spend the night. I got up to get another beer, and Pat followed me to the kitchen. We walked into the main living room of Bob's house, which was seldom used by the "Buddies". Pat sat down on the couch, and I moved beside her. I reached up and swept an errant hair out of the way, and we looked deeply into each other's eyes. Our faces moved closer together, and I cupped her head in my hands, and kissed her, deeply and soulfully. She returned the kiss with passion. Little Mike, hanging between my legs, sprang to attention for the first time with an actual woman in many years. We stood up, still coupled, and after an eternity, we separated.

  "I'm not looking for a one night stand" Pat declared after a long pause.

  "Neither am I" I responded. After a bit of political maneuvering, so that Pat and I both understood any further foreplay and/or sexual play itself would be the cement on which a relationship was about to be built, we walked back into my suite of rooms, and I closed the door.

  I embraced her again, while removing her layers of clothing. We always dressed up at the company Christmas parties, and Pat was wearing a red blazer over a light green dress. She wriggled out of the blazer, and I lifted the dress over her head. Pat was more of a sexual ideal for me than many of my previous sexual partners. She was tall, with long freckled legs, now covered by pantyhose, but soon bare and slding along my own, as I deftly removed my own pants. We kissed and petted on my  couch, and when we were completely nude, we moved to my queen sized water bed. I'd purchased the bed when I lived with Cecil, and had never made love upon it's bedding before. The evening was like a sea cruise, with rolling waves of water under the sheets and with rolling waves of passionate sexual congress between us. Pat's hair was thin but long, and she had a careworn face which looked as if it had seen a lot of life, and it had. She'd "been around" and although neither she nor I had been involved in a relationship in a while, we both fit perfectly, or so it seemed, during this night of shooting stars in my bedroom.

  I didn't care if Bob or my firends heard any heavy breathing or banging about on the other side of the wall. I found myself invigorated and superhuman, full of joie de vivre. Pat spent the night, and after the throes of passion, whereupon both of us climaxed multiple times, I told her she fit perfectly with me as we curled up together with the bouncing waves of the waterbed still surging calmly. With the morning came our procrastinated parting, and Pat finally drove back to her house.

  In the succeeding months, I spent more and more time at Pat's place in Long Beach, packing a bag full of changes of clothing, and sleeping beside her on her daybed, which she had set up in the living room of her small apartment. She had two children, a boy, Charlie, 12, and a girl, Laura, 14. Neither child warmed up to me, possibly suspicious of what seemed to be another "Uncle Daddy" in their lives. During one of my infrequent stays at my own place with Bob, I proclaimed loudly to the assembled "Backyard Buddies" that I lovred "pussy" and was feverishly and enthusiastically contented with the sex I was having with Pat, which seemed to grow more vigorously as the weeks passed. I talked about perhaps moving in with Pat, and away from the "Buddies". Bob's other roommate Mike had moved away, replaced first by my old friend Jim and then with Joel, another mutual friend. Joel was not delighted with his small bedroom, and liked the idea that I was talking about moving away, because he would get to move into my larger suite, however as a good friend, he cautioned me, "You'd better watch out what you're doing, Mike. I don't think it's a good idea for you to get together with Pat." Joel could sense that her personality was a bit strange, but I kept regaling my friends with tales of our sexual shenanigans. "I love her, Joel." I'd whine. "Pat and I make a good couple, and I can think of spending the rest of my life with her."

  "You're making a mistake", our friend Pete blankly stated one Saturday afternoon during a college football game, after listening to me wax poetic about Pat. Pete was going through a bad divorce. Most of us remembered his wedding, which had taken place only a few years previous. He had a young girl, a big house, and it seemed to me at least, a delighful wife, but he was quite unhappy with his situation, and he and his wife quarrelled loudly and constantly about almost everything. Pete spent more and more time at the "Frat House" and he didn't want to see me get into the same situation.

  When a group of guys get together, the talk is usually about things guys like to talk about. While talk of sex mixes with the talk of sports and cars, sometimes the talk of romance is viewed a bit warily, and that was always the atmosphere at the "The Frat House". The guys didn't think my feelings about Pat were postive. Each one of my friends attempted to extricate me from an upcoming bad situation.

  I wasn't listening to them. When I was with Pat, we would sometimes have our differences, and we did fight a bit verbally over these small differences in our wants and needs, but for the most part I was happier with her than with Bob and the gang. Bob's house was beginning to fall apart. The plumbing was incredibly rusty. Bob never cleaned, and I tried to clean up for everyone living there, but grew tired of  being Bob's "caretaker". I even wrote his checks and paid his bills from his bank account because he was never used to taking control of his life.

  One one hand, I was goaded by Pat to leave my situation with Bob, and on the other, I was goaded by Bob and the buddies to watch out for Pat. She was "setting a trap" and the sex was the bait.

  Evenings at Pat's were spent playing cards and talking. Since we had just begun our relationship, everything was still new and interesting. I love to hear people's life stories, and Pat regaled me with tales of hers, and I reciprocated by talking about mine. When we went to bed, we would immediately begin sexual congress, and I was truly having the time of my life. I seemed to thrill her with acts of cunnilingus. Sometimes she would be so filled with seeming ecstasy that she implored me to stop licking and sucking and "stick it in ". Her inhibitions impressed me. Her kids were sleeping in the apartment behind paper thin walls, but she never gave up anything for lack of pleasing me. Each time I would go back to Bob's I would reiterate the "Pussy is a beautiful thing" speech. And each time Bob, Joel, Pete, and the others would tell me I was making a mistake if I moved out and into a life with my new girlfriend.

  No amount of common sense from the guys could stop me from stepping into what became, as my friends had prophesized, a really bad mistake. I moved out, and began a three year relationship with my brown haired spitfire. As soon as I had unloaded my furniture, collections, and clothing and closed the door to Pat's apartment, the breeze of freedom stopped blowing. The sexual freedom which we had enjoyed seemed to wind down to a trifle, and soon the sex became workmanlike and uninteresting.

  Looking  back with the bright light of hindsight, which always gives a clearer picture than when events are happening, it is easy for me to see where things were headed, but I was bullheaded when the events occurred. I don't think I truly realized that Pat had played me somewhat, offering sexual favors so that I would move in. Once the trap shut closed, the sex almost disappeared. By the third year living with her, I began to even dread the few times we did have sex, although some of our times together were fantastic. At first, before moving in, we didn't talk about sex, we perfomed it instead. Pat had a very bad temper and once got incredibly mad because I wouldn't sneak away with her at lunch for a passionate encounter while we were at work because I was with a customer. I began to notice that her reasoning was not always sane. We did have trysts during lunch time on numerous occasions at first, but after a while, even in bed, the passion faded somewhat until it disappeared.

  I moved Pat and her son and daughter from their small apartment in Long Beach to a larger house, and then another house in Bellflower. In the house in Long Beach, she surprised me by wanting her own bedroom. I kept wanting to find out ways in which to further cement our relationship into something special, but she kept drawing away. In the Bellflower house we did share the master bedroom, and we occasionally messed around. Most of the time, we slept apart even while in the same bed. For me, sex and love have always been forms of communication, and as our lives played out, our communication in all forms dried to a crackle. The first time we had coupled, I told Pat "we fit together" as we cuddled. As the months passed into years, she would shudder visibly when I even attempted to cuddle with her. She pushed me away constantly. I began to wonder if my life was essentially over, playing along as a pawn in a relationship that deadened more and more as time went by.

  Midway through our third year together, Pat secured a night time job with the Policeman's Association, attempting to secure donations house to house in the neighborhood. She surprised me with the news that she was getting another job, as we were financially stable, and she didn't need another job. She claimed she was "bored", and this new job would help to ease her boredom. In our house in Bellflower, I had my own "room" set up in the garage, with a television, my stereo, and a heater, so I retired to my own "place" when Pat was on her other job. Her hours seemed to get longer and longer on this job. Sometimes she didn't even come home at night.

  What I didn't know was that Pat had begun cheating on me with the guy who ran the Policeman's Association. Her idea of staving off any boredom was by fuc*ing around with somebody else. I couldn't even believe this until Pat's son Charlie once told me it was so. Then I found a letter Pat had begiun writing to her new paramour where she had left it in her truck and it was filled with sexual talk. I replaced it unbelievingly. After a while, I confronted her and she admitted that she was cheating. This was the exit strategy I had been praying for. We had a year long lease on our house, and until it was up I moved into the garage, with my own bed. I just couldn't sleep on the master bed when I realized Pat and her new boyfriend had been using it for their own shenanigans.

  Eventually, I left Pat. It's amazing to think how easy it is for one to be hornswaggled by sex when it is used as bait to set a trap. Even as I was being warned about this trap, it was sprung with ease, and I found myself enmeshed in it for a third of the decade. I finally extricated myself, but only when I had a good reason, because I still believe that most people are inherently good, and wanted to believe that Pat and I were perhaps on rocky ground, but would find a smooth path after a while. She chose to wander off the path without me, and I ended up walking away on my own.

  Before leaving her outright, I spent my weekends back at Bob's sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room, while Joel and Bob would cheerily chide me with  "I told you so"s. I had to tell them they were right after all, and I compared finally ending my relationship with being let out of jail after a long incarceration. In 1995, I was ready to say goodbye to relationships, and get my rocks off only when watching pornographic movies on tape.

  ---

  EDIT: 5:30pm pdt. I figured I'd mention this again since it came up in comments twice. You might think you've read parts of this before if you've read "My Life With Pat", another series I'm writing. In the introduction to this piece, above, I relate that parts of this chapter were also by necessity parts of my essay series, "My Life With Pat." (Links, by the way, are also above) I deal more with the sexual aspects here which I deliberately left out of the other series, knowing I would be writing about it in the Sexual History series. Apologies if it seems as if I'm repeating myself. 

  • 10:48 am
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