Mrs.  Robinson redux

   true, fucked up

   A recent first person account in Nerve ("What I learned about marriage
by sleeping with married women") about making out with and /or fucking
married women made me think about my own adventures with Mrs.  Robinson and
her sisters of the Mrs.  Sisterhood.

   I really really wanted to get it on with the Doctor's wife.  I was 16 or
17, she was in her 30s.  But it didn't happen.  (I think she wanted it too,
at least in my fantasies.)

   My fatal flaw:: When I was drinking I'd fuck anything.  I got the crabs
off a girl I rubbed pubes with in the back seat of my cousin's car in
Boise. Julia Davis Park.  Cops.  As I recall, I never did get it in, what
with the booze and the clothes and cops.  Fucking nightmare.

   Later.  College.  Xmas break.  Party, went back to the motel with a . .
. grandmother.  She hadn't been with a man for over 10 years she said. 
Both drunk.  We smooched.  It was a hard dry relatively unpleasant fuck,
she cried at the end.  I wanted to do it again of course.  Morning.  Jesus.

   About this same time I was having regular sex with a petit 19 year old
townie, Phyllis as I recall, who I could fuck 3 times a night, no problem,
great sex, she gave head, wanted me to reciprocate -- uhuh, that was a
sloppy cunt, I mean she was juicy, I just couldn't do it -- it took me
several years to acquire that taste.  She dumped me for a fucking wimp who
played in a band.  Probably gave head, too.

   No crabs however that time around.  What a naive world I lived in then,
when crabs was my only worry.

   Listen, married women, tho.  Night school at Boise State.  Met a married
woman in a drama class.  Bang, we took off in my old car once a week,
skipped class, drove out in the boonies and fucked in the front seat of the
car.  She had three kids, her husband was a carpenter.  I dropped by her
place one day, she was ironing, her kids were there -- what was I thinking?


   We never talked.  We necked and rubbed bodies in the library.  We drove
as quickly as possible to park and fuck.  She was hot, she was juicy and
passionate, it was great.  While it lasted.  I couldn't keep track of her.
No crabs.

   I fucked the receptionist in the psych grad department, a couple of
times one night when her husband was hell knows where and my wife was out
of town.  Had a sixpack or so, when out to a field of stubble near the cow
college, spread a blanket and fucked madly two or three times.  Yaaas,
disaster, got the clap from that one -- was a bitch to hide from my wife.

   The clap.  Those were more innocent times too.

   Still, the sex was pretty hot.  I woulda gone back for more if I hadn't
started seeping from my brainless dick.

   I was teaching an intro psych class.  She was separated or divorced, had
two or three kids.  I borrowed a closeby apartment from a friend and she
and I would rendezvous for an hour or two every afternoon that summer.  Hot
lubricious sex.

   She was apologetic, her cunt was so juicy I had to pump up superdick to
get purchase -- she said that was why her husband had divorced her, after a
couple of kids her cunt was so big ....  and juicy.  Ah, well, I liked it,
I went back for more and more.

   Finally got so I went over to her place at night, sometimes had a meal
with her and her kids, watched TV, fucked her in the bathroom.  Had to be
careful because of the kids -- most of the time then, I controlled myself,
no ejaculation.  Needed to have something left in case my wife put the
demands on me, I never knew when it might happen.  Fucked.  My mind was
fucked up.  (Still is, but that's another story)

   Last fling:: I was working in a mental hospital, had a passionate fling
with the secretary of the kids ward.  We'd eat lunch together, talk, it got
personal, gaze into each other's eyes, you know how it goes.

   I fucked her a week after she got married, fucked her regularly that
summer.  We'd find a place to park -- we'd meet under the pretext of
working late.  A couple of times we abandoned the front seat of the car for
a motel room.  It was great.  (By this time I was going down with abandon.)

   Ahhh, her husband caught on.  She confessed.  He confronted me--why I
didn't get shot I'll never know.  I packed my wife off.  I almost lost my
job.

   Okay okay, not my last fling: Quickly established another liaison with a
social worker at the hospital.  We had attended a conference together,
gazed into each other's eyes, clicked.  That night it was hot sex and it
was that way for the rest of the summer.  Her husband was on tour, some
entertainment thing.  Tess, I called her Tess (or did she call herself
that, thinking of Thomas Hardy?), turned me on to -- what?  MDA or acid or
some damn thing -- great stuff outfuckingstanding sex.  Even the bowel
movements were cosmic shits.

   I discovered reflections on every surface.  I could see the history of
containers in the palm of my hand, cupped.  I got lost in the typographic
symbol for capital "A", I mean you could just go absolutely in to the
alphabet.  And sex, my fucking christ I thought my brain would explode.  I
think the expression now used is "sweet".

   Damn I loved that woman, it was the drugs of course, but still.....  She
had a brass bed.  Bob Dylan, Lay Lady Lay.  You'd a had to of been there.

   Somewhere in the middle there I fucked another social worker or two. 
One was married to a fireman who worked long hours on and off.  I drove out
to their farm, had a sixpack, started making out.  She had a shaved
pussy--the first I'd encountered, whoaaaaa.....

   All of a sudden I got spooked, paranoid, shaved pussy, husband. 
Premature ejaculation, apologies, I'm outta there.  What the fuck, I'm
thinking I can always go back.  Never did.  Avoided her.

   But Tess, that was a lingering affair.  Later, she visited me on the
west coast for a couple of weeks, brought drugs, but it would have
been....great even without the drugs.  I think.

   What did I learn from married women about marriage?  Ahhhh, how easy it
is to deceive the husband and significant others.

   But other than that, not much I didn't learn from single women.  (Except
with Tess, of course)

   And my father patiently explained to me when I asked him what those
strange almost microscopic insects were crawling in my itchy crotch:
"Crabs. You don't get them from a dirty toilet seat."
   hludens true in its way