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-
- And on another episode of "how
green is your lover," I was making out with an 18-year-old
guy when dry humping was introduced. After grinding for about
five minutes I decided to relieve the poor boy. As my hand meandered
down the front of his pants, imagine my surprise when I discovered
that he'd already relieved himself quite amply in his briefs.
-
- However, what the young guys
lacked in sexual sophistication, they sometimes made up for in
boldly romantic gestures-like the well-hung cutie that worked
at the flower mart and decided he was going to bring me tulips
every day. How could I forget the floppy-haired college boy in
his overalls--like the Dutch Boy Paint character come to life--feverishly
painting the walls of my living room?
-
- And so, I survived on my steady,
sweet--albeit not incredibly nutritious--Twinkie diet. On occasion,
I would stick it out with one or another for a few months at
a time. One guy I met, just-turned-18, told his mother about
our affair. In true Dutch practical fashion she slapped him on
the back and told he'd learn a thing or two about sex from an
older woman.
-
- As I neared my late 20's I dipped
into the 22-year-old demographic. There was the shy musician
who wore nothing but my faux fur coat as we rolled around on
my wild bore-skin rug from Prague. That was the special rug that
had gotten me temporarily incarcerated in the Dutch customs office
one winter, clad in the aforementioned coat, a Russian hat, and
fur gloves. After much backroom bickering and joking an officer
emerged and asked me, "Are you some kind of fur fetishist?"
-
- At one point, I was involved
with a lion-hearted uber-Christian guy from the Boondocks. His
face was like a young Brando's, his body that of a CK underwear
model, and to quite religiously quote David Bowie (who covered
Jacques Brel), "with God given ass."
-
- Though I had to accompany him
and his strict reformist church-going family to New Year's Eve
mass-a.k.a. the 'apocalypse now sermon,' it was worth it. The
pious ones are the kinkiest. We roleplayed boss and corporate
slave, bored housewife and thirsty contractor, he did push-ups
on me as class jock to my headmistress… And while out on
the town, I pretended not to know him, he acted like he was following
me home and ultimately ravaged me to the tune of mediocre Dutch
house music.
-
- I'll never forget the time I
went to a boating supply store to buy rope to tie 'Young Brando'
up. The white-haired store clerk with the walrus mustache had
asked me, "How big is the yacht?" After an awkward
silence, I had shrugged my shoulders and answered, "It's..uh
about average." As a result of my naughty nautical estimate,
I ended up buying far too much of the cord. It ultimately took
me 20 minutes of ambling around the bed running the thick, lengthy
twine through its posts, to secure his ripped and ready spread-eagled
body. "In the port of Amsterdam You can see sailors dance,
Paunches bursting their pants, Grinding women to porch."
- PAGE
3: The One That Got Away...
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- BACK
TO PAGE 1
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- Copyright © 2008
Shana Ting Lipton
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