Last night I met a sexy beast of a friend of mine for bourbon.
“Did you get new glasses? New look?” He said, as he stood up to give me a hug.
I was confused. My glasses are over a year old, and well, I’ve been rockin’ the same look since I refused to wear leotards to grade-school. In other words, I was a bit concerned about his perception of time. Hadn’t it just been a few months since we’d last met to discuss writing over a few shots of bourbon?
No. In fact, it had been almost two years. Two. Yeeeeaaaars.
Time flies darlings. Faster than you know, and much faster when you’re having trouble keeping your head above sea level.
So, we sat and chatted as we always do about life, writing, and bourbon.
Neither of us are aficionados, but could be if we put our minds to it. Bourbon has just been an excuse to get together every once in a while.
I also have a confession. I’ve thought this guy was hot since the day I met him and my existence barely registered on his mid-40’s radar.
I met this gentleman about 14 years ago in his backyard. He was rushing off to play tennis, and I was the third wheel in a conversation with his then wife. I’m not sure if she was his first wife, or second wife, but one thing was clear even to my somewhat naïve and cynical divorced-at-25 eye; the marriage was not best described as blissful.
Fast forward to last night. He’s divorced and I’m a champion at remaining single. We have never, ever, not-even-once known what I’m sure would be the mutual delight in one-another’s flesh.
After a beer a few glasses of good-for-what-ails you, he confessed that he was in a sexless relationship.
“We don’t’ have sex, we don’t share a bed. What is that?”
“Fucked up,” I said, swallowing the last delicious caramel nosed swig of my Woodford.
We talked about his age, his relationship (great companionship other than the sex – which, if you didn’t know, is called friendship). Don’t get me wrong, friendship is amazing, but let’s face it, relationships come down to one more thing than friendship; heart-stopping, sweaty, messy, endorphin-releasing, sex.
Being able to drink alcohol, walk around naked in my own place, and thoroughly enjoy a long, luxurious boink are a few things that I appreciate about being an adult. No matter how my finances are, my perspective, or my schedule, I always make time for each of those things.
So, to hear this man confess his lack of sexual engagement was heart-breaking for me. Heart breaking as in; I, more than most, know how fleeting and precious life is.
But I didn’t…because he’s clearly a lovely man who doesn’t want to hurt the woman whom he is remaining in this friendship with.
Gentlemen, it doesn’t matter if you’re 26 or 76. Life is what you make it. If you are still a nostril-flaring stallion at 65, get it on and praise the universe that you still have it. Because you do. And we still want it. Every, single delicious drop of it.
Don’t sell yourself short with a glass of bourbon and a fantasy.