Dirty Talking Man

I walked into the party like I was walking onto a yacht, but I was not so vain and didn’t wear an apricot scarf (adieu to Carly Simon, 1972). It was me unsteady at first because I didn’t know anyone there, not a single soul. I worked my way through a crowded house towards the kitchen to deposit the beers I brought to drink and share. The living room was jam packed with people sitting and standing asses to elbows. I missed a discussion on purpose because I totally misunderstood what the topic was going to be. Wish I had read the group’s messages more closely because the things I heard when they were wrapping up were quite interesting.

It was the part of the night where people introduced themselves. I have never gone public before because I was married and wouldn’t dare do anything to embarrass her, but my life has changed. I’ve moved a thousand miles away from my ex and have the freedom to be out there.

"Anyone else new?" came a voice from somewhere in the middle of the body mass. I edged into the periphery of the room. A very tall, slim, attractive Nordic looking woman introduced herself and her sub. Her spouse demurely wore a teddy and red silk shorts. And she, being one of those who sense the right thing to do for others graciously moved out from the edge of the crowd into the kitchen so that some of us squeezed into the back could come forward to introduce ourselves.

I described myself as an occasional player for I was in the midst of many people deeply vested in the lifestyle, a group that welcomes new ‘voyagers’ into the ‘kink’ lifestyle. When I haven’t scripted out what to say in front of a group, sometimes I get stuck with an inability to articulate, then I overcompensate by saying too much and diluting my message and meaning. Into it and not sure where it's going, I tried to describe what’s it like to be a 'has been of erotic writing', having lost my inspiration to write a few years back, trying to overcome the writer’s block by recycling, rewriting work I had done before. After all, Richard Russo rewrote his Pulitzer Prize wining book 17 times. What am I thinking? There are no Pulitzers for my kind of writing and I'm no Richard Russo (adieu to Senator Lloyd Bentson for scolding Vice-presidential candidate Senator Dan Quayle during the 1988 VP debate). You see, how can I ever be clear about anything when such trivia ricochets around in my head.

The point was to convey that part of my purpose in being there was to regain the fire that sparks the creative process. Of course, I stumbled in speaking to this crowd (speaking not having my handy backspace and much used delete keys) by saying I hoped to learn from them. Duh! Huh? Whew, it was over and the generous and kindly hostess was most friendly to let me ramble and not cut me off. I felt I fulfilled my obligatory intro and could move back into my more comfortable role, that of a mild mannered observer instead of an active participant.

To be continued if I don't get sidetracked.