The Facebook Series - Chapter 2 - Sex!

SEX!

It is 13 years this month since I have had sex. I am saying it out loud. My last impassioned evening was in a LAX motel room – with crunchy sheets and a stained comforter. Talk about hot sex. Yikes. I was 25 years old and out in LA for my Grandma Yetta’s funeral. I had been out there a year earlier to say goodbye to her. My Dad gave me a choice – “You can either see your Grandmother now, while she is still alive or you can come to her funeral, but you can’t do both – I can’t afford it”. The doctors gave my ailing Grandmother only a few weeks to live. I chose to see her alive. My father hated his mother. Grandma Yetta was a manic-depressive – otherwise known as Bipolar. Lucky me – the gene has traveled through the generations and has landed right into my brain. Ugh. Yetta spent most of my Father’s childhood in and out of mental institutions getting electric shock therapy and was quite difficult even in her not-so-golden years. My Dad spent many years living with either his equally as crazy Russian grandmother or living in a cramped apartment in Coney Island with several cousins. My father could afford to travel me back and forth to LA several times if he chose to (I didn’t have my own money at the time – I had just gotten my own apartment and was working at the GAP), he just didn’t know how to handle saying goodbye to his mother. He was angry at her for a life filled with pain and for being a financial burden. My Dad had been taking care of my Grandmother and my Bipolar Aunts since the 70’s.

So, off we went to LA – to say goodbye to Grandma. I barely remember the goodbye…I hadn’t been close with her for several years – the Jewish guilt and yelling at me for not calling was a lot to take. The upside to the trip was seeing Jim. Jim was a high school boyfriend. We had dated for only a few weeks when I was 16 years old – but it was boarding school – so a few weeks in boarding school life was more like a few months at a "normal" school. I was a prude when I was 16 years old. Jim and I would make-out, but nothing further. He never pressured me. I wore his preppy XL sweater almost everyday and loved the smell of his Polo cologne. Jim was heavy and made me feel small. He had the same build as his Dad who was a pro football player…his face was warm and handsome. By mid fall Jim and I were ready for a dramatic break-up. I wanted to dump him, but he was a fragile guy. He had told me once that he always got dumped….so I was waiting for him to make that move. Finally he did. We were standing in front of my white colonial New England dorm. I could hear the girls chatting just up the stairs. He said it was over and I exhaled with relief. I told him I was proud of him and kissed him on the cheek. My first boarding school romance was complete. As I headed up the stairs to my room I could feel the stares from the girls with the preppy blunt bobs. I didn’t understand what they were looking at…was it me…was it all that dramatic….then I turned around and saw it…it wasn’t me they were staring at…it was Jim at the bottom of the stairs making-out with one of my dorm mates. “We didn’t want to tell you, but ummmm – we heard she gave him a blowjob down by the docks”. This was it…the big teen moment that can either make or break your popularity. I had to react perfectly…make a scene, but be in control. Deep down I didn’t even care…but my performance was stellar. “How could you! And with that slut!” I ran past Jim (I couldn’t muster up the tears…but I was good at the furious part). I could feel him chasing me…and just before I would have been out of view of the gathering crowd I turned, bent down, picked up the loose gravel at my feet and threw it at him. “I will never speak to you again, and to think that I was waiting for you to break-up with me! You are a weak loser. I wanted to dump you weeks ago. Grow a pair!” – With that...I gave the gravel one last kick in his direction and walked away.

The next morning the school was a buzz…and I was the feature story. As I walked into the grand halls of our beloved Academic Center I could see crowds around the bulletin boards. As I got closer and leaned in I could see that it was a letter from Jim…to me! Plastered all over the place. He never said my name or his…but the letter started with “Can you please forgive me – don’t believe all of the rumors…” and ended with “Tonight I contemplate suicide”. As I read the last line for a second time my mind slowly started to process what Jim was saying....the hand of Mr. Weeks (as if in slow motion) – reached in front of me and tore the letter from the board. “Wait! That letter is to me!” I didn’t know if I was in trouble - but I did end up in Mr. Weeks’ office sharing the whole story – sans the blowjob detail. Jim was fine and given detention for his overly dramatic stunt. I spent the rest of the year single and proudly not speaking to him…I needed to drag out the drama for the remainder of our Junior year.

Senior year started with a bang. I was hanging out in the butt lounge smoking with the other cool kids. The butt lounge was a desired spot. Back in 1987 you were aloud to smoke on campus in a designated location IF you had a letter from your parents. I had manipulated my parents into signing a release form while they were busy arguing about some stupid crap. Many girls came up to me asking if it was true – did I date Jim last year? I didn’t understand why every girl on campus suddenly cared about chubby Jim…then I saw him…holy crap…he was HOT! Jim spent his summer finding his passion for cycling. His California tan, cut off shorts and flips flops had every girl wagging. I loved the attention and decided I would take control of the situation by picking the perfect girl for Jim…this was fun. I had narrowed it down to 3 – then walked up to Jim and broke our nearly 8 month silence. He was so happy to have me back in his life – he didn’t care what it was about. It went right over his head that he was now a hotty. I finally talked him into to asking out Pam. She was a cute, down-to-earth, cubby PG (Post Graduate) with the most amazing blue eyes. PGs are students that have already graduated from another High School – but need one more year to get their grades up so they can attend a better university. Pam and Jim dated the entire year and even part way through their first 2 years of college! I was a good Yenta.

During their college break-up Jim reached out to me through letters. (This was before email…damn…I’m old!). The letters started off friendly…and soon turned to passion. As the letters heated up – the mix-tapes started to arrive. Jim poured his heart out through words, drawings and music. He went onto to reveal that he wished it was me that he took to the prom – not Pam. The letters were even hilarious at times. The only reason Jim did not pressure me into sex was because I was Jewish! He thought that Jewish girls didn’t have sex – he didn’t get that I was a prude and it had nothing to do with religion…more to do with the fat around my stomach! We started to talk on the phone – by then I had my sexual sea-legs and was ready to call him to the challenge. “Hey Jim, maybe one day we’ll see each other and I’ll fuck your brains out.” We were horny and on opposite coasts. I loved getting letters from him…they made me feel sexy and desired. Suddenly the challenge was upon us…my Grandmother was sick and I was in LA.

Jim and I met in the lobby of the Four Seasons where I was staying with my parents. We headed off in his dirty pick-up truck. Jim was still living at home at the time…so we had nowhere private to go. We parked the blue dented truck on the Pacific Coast Highway and went at it. First the kissing, then the bra, then the rubbing…then…then…the cops. Flashing lights behind us and a speaker “There’s no parking on the PCH”. Oh my GOD! This was out of a movie…I quickly closed my shirt and snapped back into the moment…my Grandmother was dying and I was making out in a nasty pick-up truck with a guy I haven’t seen in 6 years. Yikes. We zipped, snapped, hooked, buttoned and called it a night. I wished him well – and headed up to bed.

My Grandmother lived much longer then the doctor’s expected…a year. By then she was not the only sick one in the family. I had cancer. I had completed chemotherapy and was about to start radiation. Jim and I did not speak much that year…once I got sick…he checked out – as many people did in my life that couldn’t deal. I wanted to attend my Grandmother’s funeral. My father quickly softened and not only flew me out to Cali, but also my brother. I stayed at my Aunt’s apartment and tried to provide her some comfort – even in her deeply depressed state (she was on a Bipolar down swing). My father suggested I stay in California with my Aunt for at least a week. She needed the company and in his words “You deserve a break from being sick”. I took him up on the offer. I also knew this meant I would have a chance to see Jim – and finally make good on our sexual promises.

On my last night in LA Jim picked me up at my Aunt’s assisted living apartment and took me out to dinner. Thai food – his favorite. We had it all planned out this time. We booked a room near the airport so I could catch my early morning flight with no complications. Jim brought all of the romantic accessories - candles, lotion, condoms and massage oil. We took a shower together first…to wash the Thai stink off of us and to calm our nerves. This was the first time we were seeing each other naked. My hair was starting to grow back from Chemo – but it was fuzzy and it was hard for me to feel sexy. I was starting radiation in a few days and it was difficult to focus on the task at hand…getting laid. Jim did everything possible to please me…but with all of the chemo in my system, plus anti-depressants – it was like I was numb down there. It was a long steamy night with little satisfaction for me, but I loved being next to him. I still found him very cute.

Once I arrived back in NY – my treatments started up again – radiation started on Halloween of 1995. The letters from Jim returned to their weekly flow – he no longer feared I was going to die – now that he had seen me – he was able to cope. More mix-tapes…this time his message was clear. He was in love with me. He hoped to marry me someday. I found myself taken back. As much as I cared for Jim…sadly I did not love him. On New Years Eve Jim called to tell me he loved me over the phone…I could not lie…and I told him the truth – “Jim, I’m sorry – I wish I could love you, but I don’t”. Jim was devastated. I was relieved. He stopped calling and the letters stopped as well. We lost touch.

I have dated less then a handful of guys since cancer – 13 years ago. At first I was self conscious about my scars and my weight. I gained a lot of weight during chemo (not everyone becomes a sickly rail – my luck - I added 30 pounds and was topping 200 lbs). I started to fear the idea of being touched. The antidepressants in my life killed my libido – and eventually I didn’t care anymore. Masturbation was also a rarity.

At one point in my life I wanted kids…but now I am glad that I don’t have any. I used to say it would be nice to be in the game so I at least had the option of having children…or at least falling in love. Now – no matter what – don’t want them. It is time to stop passing the Bipolar gene in my family. Battling mental illness for the past 5 years – like my Aunts and Grandmother before me has been hell. I do hope to care enough to have sex again someday. At this moment it is about baby steps. I first need to start socializing with my friends again…and maybe it is time to buy a new vibrator. (smirk)

As for Jim – we reconnected on Facebook a few months ago. He was in a long-term relationship with a very controlling and abusive older woman. Pam gave me the details via email. Today is his 39th birthday. He is living with his parents and works as a fair grounds security guard. A few nights a week he is a Reggae DJ – which is his passion. We could not be more different. He sends me cyber hugs and pokes on Facebook almost weekly and I can feel him longing for me…he is lonely. I have no interest…I am embarrassed of my current mental state and can’t imagine myself with a security guard who smokes pot daily. He is warm and wounded – and I am shallow, single and bitter. I still have every letter Jim ever sent me – tied up in a bow in a box on a shelf…just like my sex life - maybe to be taken down someday and touched…