Notches on the bedpost is such a mundane concept. It’s a number any guy can throw out there, but it says very little, doesn’t it? As a simple integer, it lacks context or that special descriptive nuance which earns appreciation. A guy who says he’s had sex with 85 women is obviously up for some sort of stud status. But knowing only this, I can only picture 85 faceless, anonymous female figurines who have paraded across his bedroom stage. Were they young, old, pretty, ugly, handicapped, obese, anorexic…who the hell knows this stuff? And who will find out? It’s difficult for a man who’s had his fair share of bedpost etchings to remember them all. I’m hardly a stud, but I seriously cannot remember my first time. I just can’t. I’ve been asked and drawn incredulous looks when I am unable to answer this question. So it’s not likely most men can give a detailed summary of the characteristics of all the women they’ve had sex with. Many encounters happen while drunk, so there are many memory voids to be overcome. There are probably many instances of sex men would prefer not to ever repeat. I mean, we’ve all had our bad days. Those vulnerable moments of quiet desperation, or those erratic moments of youth in which you didn’t care about anything other than simply getting laid.
One popular marker which guys fret over is age. What is the oldest and the youngest, or which was the oldest or youngest relative to the his age when the sex happened. This is interesting to me as well, but the other day as I thought of this nonsense, it occurred to me that there is another perspective we can use when examining the age of our conquests which adds a historical tinge to our ruminations.
Which decades have you had sex with?
Ah, this requires some thought, doesn’t it? It’s not a foolproof notion because many times we don’t know think about her age in terms of decade of birth. We can estimate her age at the time if we don’t know it, but we don’t think of it in terms of “she was born in 1976.” There are a lot of blind spots when contemplating decades. Still, after putting my memory to work and reenacting many of my conquests, I was able to narrow the range to the 1940’s, 1950’s, 1960’s, 1970’s and 1980’s for myself. I’ve been with women spanning five decades. It would be a nice touch if I could add the 1990’s to this list, but my bedpost notching days are behind me and I don’t think this will come to fruition. Still…
This was one incident, I believe. I don’t recall sleeping with any other woman born in the 40’s. I was about 31 or so and drinking at a dive in Hollywood during a weekday. I had the day off and this old lady started making eyes at me from the other side of the bar. She was not unattractive, but she was assuredly not Joan Collins, either. We talked a little and then I left. As I drove out the parking lot, she was standing near the driveway and waved me over. She asked if she could get a ride home. She lived nearby. We stopped at a Rite Aid and I bought some more booze then we went to her apartment. She was weird, she had jars of dead animals floating in formaldehyde all around her apartment. She was 53 and we commenced to do our thing while animal corpses surrounded us. I saw her at another Hollywood bar, years later, while I drank with some friends. She must have been very close to 60 and she looked it.
Without going into extreme details, I was 26, she was about 39, which was not a big deal. Our affair was intermittent. We saw each other every few months. What was a big deal is that she was the mother of a “close acquaintance” shall I say. Utterly immoral and depraved. I didn’t say illegal, OK?
The decade I was born, and you might think, the decade I would share the most kinship when it comes to women. My ex-wife. ‘Nuff said.
One of my strongest relationships. Owing to my youthfulness (immaturity), I tend to get along very well with 1970’s women.
I went through this “stage” during my early 40’s. Let’s call it a mid-life crisis. I believe I was acting out the immaturity I never got to fully express because I married before I was ready, before I ripened. Whatever the case, this was a Craiglist date with a 19-year-old girl who just wanted a free meal. It was very thinly-veiled prostitution, just without the open exchange of money. Our motives were implicit in this little date of ours. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours” is how it went and I didn’t realize it until much later. We both got what we wanted and we never spoke again. She was into video games and pointed out that her dad, who liked golf, was just 3 years older than me.