The New Eroticism
I awoke from what could have been an erotic dream. It had the main ingredient — me lying with a woman, hand cupping her pert buttocks, squeezing rhythmically. She was not touching me in any sort of reciprocal fashion. Rather, her head lay on my chest, with her right arm across my stomach. We were talking quietly, almost philosophically, about the pose we were in. The fact that we were having such an academic conversation speaks volumes about my current state of mind.
It was enjoyable in a way I can relate to now but would not have in my youth, when such an embrace would have been for naught if it didn’t culminate in coitus. A delicious moment in its own sake, it was. I was expressing my feelings for her, though at the same time confessing that those very feelings were not exclusive to her. Her reaction was one of feigned surprise, as if such a notion coming from a man was totally uncommon.
Then, as dreams often do, the scene morphed and the presence of another person suddenly became evident. A former coworker of mine and a devout Jehovah’s Witness — are there any other kind? — was suddenly sitting next to us. She murmured something to the woman about what the Bible says about premarital sex. I said to her, just as I had many times before, that if someone doesn’t believe in the bible, referencing it is of non-effect. She immediately agreed, saying, ‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’
I remember hearing the old civil rights firebrand, the Rev. Al Sharpton — I used to think he should have been called Al ‘Charlatan’ — give a talk at one of the power Baptists churches in Dallas. I was the editor of an African American monthly publication at the time covering the event. The Rev. Al was buttery smooth in his discourse, honed over decades of delivering firebrand rhetoric during the halcyon days of the civil rights movement. His skill in manipulating the emotions of an audience was evident; he held everyone in the palm of his hand that evening, myself included.
His best line of the night was when he said ruefully, ‘A lot of y’all say you don’t do the things you used to do. That’s because you can’t do the things you used to do!’ The congregation broke into raucous laughter.
My dream about the young lady — the mention of her ‘pert buttocks’ surely should have been a clue — indicated to me how satisfying it can be to merely enjoy the attributes of a female without always striving for the ultimate — physical intimacy. One could say that the good reverend’s assessment had much to do with the evolution into my current state of being. All living things adapt — to their surroundings and to their physical limitations and strengths. It is a law of nature that ensures survival.
In the case of human beings, part of that survival is emotional as well as physical. Age brings about an inherent realization — albeit grudging — that we eventually become incapable of performing certain functions— both voluntary and involuntary — that were taken for granted in our youth. This concession is gradual, almost imperceptible at first. In my case, surely as with most men moving through the middle years, it is in the arena of sexual reaction and performance that this mainly occurs.
Physical intimacy with a woman has now taken on a new turn. One that was inevitable, but also one that has its own reward. That is, if you don’t fight it but, rather, embrace it. It reflects the balance of nature. What is lost on one hand is replaced by something else on the other. My point is, the dream of me lying naked next to a woman with my hand on her bare bottom did not produce the raging ‘state of affairs’— either in the dream or upon wakening — that it would have back in my salad days. Now don’t get me wrong. The sensation of rip-roaring nether region tumescence is one of the highlights of masculinity and it would be disingenuous to say it is not missed. But the dream was pleasant nonetheless. Natural selection at its best.
I think I’ve always had the capacity to enjoy womanhood for its own sake, separate from the end game of getting sex. (I should add the caveat that being in a long-term relationship brings an entirely different dynamic to what I just stated and warrants its own separate treatise.) Nothing in all of life matches the development of a mutually satisfying encounter with a woman. The talking. The ostensibly benign touching. The laughing. The teasing banter. The experience of exploring a new personality. And in the absence of erstwhile cutting-edge sexual potency, other aspects of courting become heightened. And savored.
If necessity is the mother of invention, it is also the mother of emotional evolution.
