Slippery Sexuality, by Gillian

Sex itself is of course physically slippery, as designed by nature. Metaphysically, metaphorically, sexuality can be every bit as slippery.

It took me about forty years to get a good grip on mine.

In my early years, I would catch tantalizing glimpses of it, slithering sneakily about, just under the surface, but before I could even reach for it, it plunged back down into the murky deep; out of sight but never quite out of mind. Certainly, never completely absent from other body parts. I felt its presence but could not, or would not, identify it.

In my thirties, it began making itself more visible; more identifiable. Like a dolphin beside a boat it now skimmed alongside me, only occasionally disappearing beneath the surface waves, and more often leaping into the air in full view. It taunted me, it beckoned me, this beautiful slippery temptation. It called to me, come on, come on, come out and play! Sometimes it led, sometimes it followed, but it never fell behind. Occasionally it forged ahead, leading the way with its blissful athletic leaps. This way, this way! For the most part it stayed by my side. Sometimes the joyous frolicking threatened to capsize my boat. Only with great effort did I keep it afloat.

It was a mirage, I knew. This was no reality. Not my reality. No reality I wanted any part of. I blinked and shook my head, and sure enough it was gone. The glorious creature disappeared, no longer leaping before my hesitant self to show me the way. I was left adrift on a sunless sea, once more becalmed and rudderless. It would return to beckon me again and again, each time looming a little larger, but although I occasionally reached a tentative hand in its direction, more rarely even touched it, still it slithered away. I could never quite grasp it. The leviathan returned to the deep.

Approaching forty - a little early for a mid-life crisis, surely? - that seductive dolphin somehow grew, matured, became huge, became that whale, that very leviathan which I had somehow always sensed it to be. And I became that legendary mermaid. Despite my slithery tail, I was suddenly on its back, hanging on to the slippery creature with all my strength as we crashed together into the waves. Then we were no longer two entities but one. I had embraced it fearlessly, wholeheartedly, and become one with it. I was a part of it and it was a part of me. I swam against the tide: against the waves, against the currents. They were powerless to stop me, powerless to redirect my journey. I knew exactly where I was going and I had the strength to get there.

Now I lie in the sun on a beautiful beach. I snuggle into the caress of the warm white sand, just as I cuddle into the warm caress of the wonderful woman I love; my partner of almost thirty years, my spouse, my wife, the love of my life.

I am home.

© 16 Apr 2016 

About the Author 

 I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years. We have been married since 2013.

Body Parts, by Ricky

        Here I sit in a room full of senior gay citizens who perhaps metaphorically are drooling over the potential erotic stories that today’s topic “body parts” could inspire me and others to write.  Well as much as I hate to fall into the obvious nature of this topic I will share at least one body-part story not previously related.

One day when I was about 5 ½ years old, my Aunt and Uncle Phillips along with my 5-year old cousin, Timmy, visited my family.  It was decided that they would be spending the night with us, so Timmy and I ended up sharing my bed.  This was the first time I recall anyone sharing my bed with me so there was some adjustment to be made to the falling asleep routine.  He and I began talking quietly about whatever came to our minds.  By this age I had been traumatically fixated on my small body part and very curious about other’s equivalent parts.  As a result, I eventually suggested that we play a game where we would take turns naming body parts.  Timmy agreed to play.  So we began with all the standard parts: head, shoulders, knees, and toes; each taking turns naming one part at a time.  It soon became rather funny so we would laugh together after naming each part.

Upon exhausting all the possibilities except one small part; it was Timmy’s turn to name the last small part.  He didn’t want to name it so he would say there aren’t any more parts; and we’d laughed.  I told him yes there was; and we’d laugh.  We ended up laughing ourselves to sleep and never did name that part.

The next morning at the breakfast table, my Aunt Marion told everyone that we had been doing a lot of laughing in my room last night.  She then asked what we were laughing about.  I hadn’t learned about lying my way out of difficult situations yet so I told her that we had just been naming body parts and it was funny.  Nothing further was said about it by anyone.

The largest body part I ever wrestled with was tubular, weighed about 15 pounds, and was at least 7-feet long from beginning to the rear orifice.  Of course I’m speaking of the exhaust pipe and muffler I had to attach to the body of my 1952 jeep wagon.

When the hood latch broke off, I went out and obtained the spring loaded hood clamps that were used on the jeeps of WW2.  Installing them was easy.  The purchase and installation of the muffler, tail pipe, and hood clamps I did all myself; and without adult supervision.  At one point I even had to change the universal joint on the drive shaft.

Another body part I was involved with was rather personal and fun.  A few high school girls and boys also liked it, but most preferred their own.  This body part was about 5’ 10-½“ and weighed about 150 pounds.  In reality there were two body parts.  The first was the body part of “Grandpa Kwimper” in the high school play of “Pioneer Go Home”.  (The movie “Follow that Dream” starring Elvis Presley is the same story.)  The second body part was the body of “Tom Jones” of the high school play of the same name based on Henry Fielding’s famous novel with the same title.  Other than the occasional Boy Scout skit, these two plays represent my only venture into the world of entertainment.

During my life I have used my body parts in several endeavors:  deputy sheriff; baby sitter; Air Force NCO and Officer; Sunday School teacher; substitute teacher; dutiful son; mischievous son; husband; father; emergency funds supplier; friend to many; and at the moment—storyteller.  While my life continues from here, this story does not.

© 27 March 2011 

About the Author 

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.