my sexume
On my run the other day it occurred to me that maybe Jack of Vegan Dicks (look like bananas) fame wasn’t so much concerned with my ability to recognize his dick in a theoretical line up of dicks. But more likely he wanted to be on a need to know basis. Like theoretically he knew that a single woman of my age and finely ripened (shall we say assets) may or may not have ridden more than a couple-few cowboys (hard) and put them up wet. But maybe he didn’t want to like KNOW—if you know you know—KNOW. You know what I mean?
Anywho. So I says to myself. I says—that’s three months of my life I’ll never get back. And I think this as I flirt with Sebastian who lives off of Hawthorne. He’s a dead ringer for Roger Sterling of Mad Men fame, but in looks only. He doesn’t appear to be an entitled jackass. He knows how to run a chainsaw. I saw him picking up logs and carrying them. He’s got that steely jaw. That gray coif. Otherwise he’s sweet and tends to walk his derpy chocolate lab (Lola) at the same time I run Two Bit.
We met weeks ago over a downed hurricane Helene tree. Neither of us had showered for weeks. My hair was a steel trap of rusty brillo that stood out stiffly in two braids on the side of my head. Pippi Longstocking—GenX version. You could not run your fingers through it. Or do a Farrah Fawcett hair toss.
We stood a safe six feet apart chatting about the weather and water. I was (am) desperate for attention. Because I’m bored and out of work for the third time in a year. So I just blurt it out and point. I saved a little kid from drowning down there (jabs finger at the river full of rat carcass, toxic mud, and dog shit). He looks at my hair. Putting two and two together. But still he smiles. He’s all charm. I try to tilt my head coquettishly but the osteoarthritis rears its ugly head. God. Damn.
The dogs slobber over each other and sniff each other’s bums. And then Two Bit—as he’s wont to do—jabs his nose into my nether regions. I swat at his snout and curse him for doing dog things. Lola gives him the side eye. One of them farts. Or maybe that’s a whiff of me. OY! That’s embarrassing. Gotta run, I say. So I turn and try to jog smoothly away in my wafty shorts but the hill is a 90 degree angle so it’s more of a walk-lunge. But at least it’s upwind from the breeze—thank christ.
Call me Sally O’Malley. I’m fifty (7) years old. I like to kick. Stretch. And kick.
And right then I have that Oprah ah-ha moment. I wonder how much hurricane-flood granny panties— rich with the riff of Dude wipes might go for on ebay? Do prisoners still buy and sell those things? I’ll have to rewatch Orange is the New Black for some ideas. Build a Wix website called Only Grans. Launch sexy dating app with said name. Sell merch that says Only Fans? Try Only Grans. By the time I’m past the root ball—I’m a legend in my own mind. And O Magazine will do one of those things everyones been doing lately. At 50 she was a washed up writer wannabe. At 56 she joined Substack. At 57 she was a billionaire. Endorphins are a funny thing.
And then he yells see you later sweetheart! I melt. And then he goes I’m sorry, that was rude. What’s your name again? His forgetfulness is endearing. Rebecca I say (right eye twitching with the beginnings of a mini stroke) because this calls for a Rebecca. Becci is so I like big butts and I cannot lie. And I’m definitely not Becky with the good hair. Then he taps his chest and hollers. I’m Sebastian! In case I’m also hard of hearing and had forgotten his name. Have a nice day Rebecca. I swoon because I am a bored and ridiculous human.
So all that to say. That while we’re probably both delirious from the hurricane and it’s probably just me making shit up (as I’m wont to do). You just never know. And as I rounded Fairview drive and noticed all the golfers whacking away on the newly opened back nine—Jack came to mind. And I thought, you know, these poor bastards who get roped into me really should save us all some time and read the cliff notes version of my sex life before jumping through all the small-talky dating hoops. That way when they read my memoir or whatever—it’s less like a spider jumping from the phone onto their face (which BTW is what a dick pic feels like) and more like a Slow Comfortable Screw (.5 Sloe Gin .5 Southern Comfort .5 vodka 1.5 OJ).
For the sake of time I found it was easier to categorize my experiences in groupings—like a resume with highlights that can be skimmed for a quick read. FYI I’m not writing about my ex. I think two kids and this c-section sag fulfill the burden of proof. Plus he’s a lawyer so there’s no sense in opening that can of worms. The last thing I need right now is a lawsuit.
RELEVANT EXPERIENCE
LIKE A VIRGIN—Living Room Floor in a farmhouse, Shade Gap, PA (1984)
Lost my virginity to a guy named Steve whilst watching Benny Hill chase secretaries around the sound stage. The cartoonish soundtrack. Honestly, I don’t know how we did it seven times. My parents said we had to get married. Instead I went off with a guy from Jersey who I met at Church Camp.
PIANO MAN—Scullville, New Jersey, (1985)
Mike looked vaguely like Billy Joel in the way that his eyes were a little bulgy. Which is why we did it right after he picked me up at the Philly bus stop. Good lord, talk about a country bumpkin. I almost bought a watch from the guy in the trench coat. I felt so Uptown Girl. He was a vegetarian which I had never heard of before.
EASY RIDERS—Harrisburg, PA (1986-1989)
This was a hodge-podge of coke dealers. From what I can remember most of them rode souped up Harleys and were very energetic. Although one did drive a Green Mustang with stripes on the side. Not sure why that sticks out.
KRAMER VS KRAMER—Hollywood, FL (1992-1999)
REDACTED
THE GRADUATE—Huntingdon, PA (1999-2002)
Those college kids were a smorgasbord. Two that stick out. Tim played baseball for Penn State and was so cute. Once, right after sex, he asked if I could meet his mother. There wasn’t really a word for it back then but I ghosted him shortly after. Jeff was the lead in a play I wrote. We hung out until I placed higher than him in the Baileys Oratorical contest. I came in second. He didn’t even qualify. He’s bald now and teaches English at the University of Connecticut. I found that out during COVID.
TERMS OF ENDEARMENT—Huntingdon, PA (2002-2003)
And now this is weird, even for me. I hooked up multiple times with Ted, the owner of both a Hummer and several radio stations when he had cancer. And the year after with a bartender named Bill (also cancer). We met at the Brass Rail Bar in the Days Inn. My friends started calling me Florence Nightingale. The only thing I can think of is all those Cherry Ames books I read when I was a kid. Cherry Ames-Army Nurse. Cherry Ames-Private Duty.
DRY SPELL—(2003-2017)
I mention this just to prove I’m not a total nympho. I can turn it off when I’m working two jobs whilst writing my MA thesis and shit like that. Also raising kids is a huge time suck.
PORTLANDIA—Portland, OR (2017-2021)
March madness fling with The Vegan until I ruined it. Three weekends with a french guy from Paris mainly because I liked his accent. He asked me to marry him. Weird. On again off again affair with Roark the architect. I broke it off when he was in London with Mayor Ted wheeler. Two cyclists. Very fit in the thigh area. A gaggle of Tinder fuck boys who should be filed under miscellaneous. But they deserve a mention.
EDUCATION
Goddard College, Plainfield VT—MA in Transformative Language Arts
Juniata College, Huntingdon, PA—Bachelor in English and Communications
MISCELLANEOUS
This is a catchall for all the forgottens. One in particular stands out. Sexy construction worker. One night stand. We met over Tanqueray and Tonics at Coach’s bar up by the college. The reason he stands out is because he came back a year later. Big smile. What can I get you? Me—cheery and bartendery. He goes did you miss me? Coaches? Last year? Color me BLANK. I got nothing. I go in with a handshake to introduce myself. And then it dawns on him. Poor bastard. Not only did I forget his dick—I forgot his whole entire self.
Laughing, nodding, all the feels. Thanks!
Only Grans is 100% now a thing.