Unsatisfied

Today I'm going to talk about sex, otherwise known as the National Obsession. I mean, after all, we are all waiting with bated breath whilst the verdict in the Michael Jackson trial is being decided. To say that America has sex on the brain is not hyperbole, it is fact.

An interesting thing happens to us female types when we reach a Certain Age; we hit our so-called sexual peak. After years of being mystified by men's sexual monomania, this mania suddenly overtakes us, too. Out of nowhere, we become like fourteen-year-old boys; thinking about it all the time, obsessing, looking lustfully at the opposite sex like we never have before.

Pathetic thing is, of course, that men our age are generally not interested; they are busy dealing with their own mid-life crises, as well as career and personal issues. They generally are looking to the sweet young things for satisfaction of a physical nature, in desperate attempts to recapture lost youth. Turnabout being fair play, however, we Women of a Certain Age also look to the twenty-somethings for satisfaction, and often find them quite amenable to suddenly finding a Mrs. Robinson in their lives.

Where does all this lead? Certainly not to emotional satisfaction; that is an entirely different matter for both genders. Generally speaking, we both need to make an intellectual connection for the emotions to be involved. Which brings me to my situation. Being the open and chatty sort, I pretty much tell people as much about me as they can stand to hear without any consideration of the effect it may have, or of the potential consequences. That tends to be pretty scary to some people, even overwhelming. But that's how I am--all or nothing. Can't help it. Combine this with the circumstances described above and you have a pretty big mess on your hands. To say that I am frustrated, starved, obsessed, maniacal is just plain understating the case.

So when they look, I look back. When they come up to chat, I listen. When they offer to buy me drinks and hear my story, I am drawn in. But though I am "attractive" and "enticing," I am also intense, smothering, overwhelming. I am Too Much To Handle. Great to look at, fun to be with, but Impossible. Don't come too close or you will be sucked into the vortex. (Must be a sign hanging over my head.)

So...I have lots of "friends," and nothing else. Passion is too scary for most people; it involves both emotional and physical connection, and ultimately, commitment. I have felt that passion of late, however, and I burn with it yet. It is hot, it is intense, and it is unsatisfied.