Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the modern doings of one school's Tri-Hi-Y Club. Hey, don't shoot the messenger on this one. I just like to provide a ‘relevant’ link with my posts
Peter Paul Markin, North Adamsville Class of 1964, comment:
Today I have my investigative reporter's hat on. An unusual occurrence for me because my usual course is to just grab a thought, bear down on it, blast away and see what falls out, and then merrily walk away. Who, in the modern age, meaning here the age of the Internet and ‘instant’ thoughts, has the time, or wherewithal, to painstakingly separate fact, half-fact, quarter fact, mere whim, and simple caprice from fictions, lies, half-lies and your average off-hand utter duplicity. Just posing the question makes me dizzy, and provides the correct answer as well.
Of course, as we live in a litigious society, a society moreover still peopled with obsessively thin-skinned old time North Adamsville corner boys, their honeys, their wanna-be honeys, and assorted other characters best described in Runyonesque terms ready to pounce on every misspoken word, every ill-formed characterization, every far from pristine sentence, and, frankly, any published but perhaps only vaguely remembered episode then thorough investigation would seem warranted. And the beginning of wisdom.
I am still smarting, smarting more than somewhat, from the grilling, no, the raking over the coals, I got from Frankie Riley, the king hell king of the North Adamsville corner boy night in front of Salducci’s Pizza Parlor up in Norfolk Downs, now big-time Boston lawyer Francis X. Riley for those three people in the universe who have not seen one of his silly ads touting how he, or really some lowly subaltern in his office, will get you some justice in this wicked old world if you just call (or text)his law office. Of course, you may get your day in court, although always corner boy Frankie will take a big cut of the dough for you.
But forget the now Frankie because that is not what he was hot under the collar about. Frankie was upset, litigiously upset if I hadn’t been quick thinking and undercut him, because in one of my tales, tall tales if you like, I mentioned that he was not always tried and true to his high school sweetheart (really from junior high school), Joanna Moriarty. In other words he was a lady-killer, a ladies’ man. Now most guys fifty, yes, fifty years later, would take that as a compliment and a characterization that he was a fast ball hitter, or at least just let it pass. Not Frankie, in his now quasi-paranoiac state about offending anyone under any circumstances who might be a potential client he challenged me, me, The Scribe (and no one else better use that old-timey nickname, I warn you), on my statement. Fortunately one Professor Joanna Moriarty, now teaching at one of the local universities, read the post, and confirmed my accusation in great detail, adding in a couple of ‘misunderstandings' that even I was not aware of and I thought that I had heard them all. We, the three of us, had dueling e-mails over it for a couple of days. Then Joanna lowered the boom with a definitive blow, a blow that need not detain us here, and Frankie crumbled. In the end Frankie Riley, oops, Attorney Francis X. Riley, sheepishly walked away like a beaten cur.
Now this post is intended to be a light-hearted look at an old school organization, Tri-Hi-Y, if you remember that so-called service organization. I went to great lengths to give the big-time lawyer Frankie Riley example as a cautionary tale for those who still have some thin-skinned notions that you are exempt from my pen (well, keyboard). I have still not unraveled all the details about this club but that has not stopped me from pushing on. The facts, frankly, seem to get in the way on this one. But just in case I have a lawyer in the wings. Frankie Riley? Hell no, one of those subaltern lawyers who do all the real work in his office anyway.
****
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. That was good, if unheeded, advice a few thousand years ago. Apparently it is advice that we should have also heeded back in our school days. Those half-formed, take everything as gospel unless otherwise told, or else, North Adamsville High school days hid all sorts of things that, perhaps, couldn’t bear the light of day. Or those involved, or who knew what was really going on, were too frightened to “spill the beans.” Or were in so far in that public acknowledgement would have ruined them, their reputations, and even their lives. Sure, today there are plenty of brave whistle-blowers, from those working inside the government and corporations to military guys like Iraq whistle-blower, Private Bradley Manning, and Vietnam whistle-blower, Daniel Ellsberg. But back then just wimps, yes, let’s just say wimps and leave at that although I could bring up stronger language than that.
The subject today is the mysterious, seemingly nefarious, doings of Tri Kappa Phi, colloquially known as Tri-Hi-Y. I have, as yet, been unable to untangle the relationship between these two names but I suspect the latter is merely a classic front name. For those who do not know what a front group is I will give an example that might shed a little light on this mix and match name thing. The American Communist Party, Uncle Joe’s boys and girls, in their heyday didn’t always want to show their colors openly (or wanted to hide how few adherents they had when the deal went down). So, say they wanted to do something with nuclear disarmament or war, instead of saying sponsored by the Communist Party they would think up a name like- Citizen For A Peaceful World. And then get everybody and their brother (or sister) to sign up because who doesn’t want a peaceful world. Neat trick, right? I have a gut instinct that is what was going on here.
Ostensibly this was a girls' club devoted to public service. Innocent enough, no question. Hell, even a good idea if nothing else for your resume, if you were a girl, and as it turns out a certain kind of girl, and if you were going to college or maybe looking for some kind of governmental job where such service might be a boost to your chances. Yes, if I were a girl back then (or now, if you can believe that this group is still going strong as the link that I have provided in the headline indicates) and didn’t know the ‘truth' I would have given the organizations serious consideration. But see that is the hellish thing about front groups. There is a yawning gap between what they say they stand for and what they do really stand for. The old shell game that we should have been wise to since about second grade, or whenever it was we were taken for our dough at some hokey carnival chance game. A glance at page 17 of the 1964 (or, maybe, any year if that was not the reader’s graduation year) Magnet, the North Adamsville High School yearbook belies that story.
According to their own words as etched for all eternity on page 17, and I gladly, gleefully quote from that source, this organization was committed to furthering "pure thoughts, pure words, and pure actions" among the members. And we all know what the three pures they are referring to related to in 1960s America, hell in 1860s America, or double-hell in 2000s America. Sex. This, my friends, reads, to these old eyes at least, more like the program for the vestal virgins in the temples of pagan Greece than a program for a society then on the edge of a sexual revolution. That should have been the tip-off. I sincerely wish that I had paid more attention then, I really do. Now we live in a more skeptical age and would have had our antennae out when confronted with such shameless hyperbole. Then, naive as we were, we bought the story hook, line and sinker.
Look, I am a fair person, or try to be. In order to get a hook into this unfolding scandalous story and learn more about the group I, innocently, e-mailed the president of the organization in 1964, Millie Callahan. (There was not mystery, or “magic” to my getting that e-mail address, not in the hard-boiled information-heavy Internet age. I had previously been in touch with the savagely relentless head of our class committee who sent it along posthaste although she is not responsible for any uses that I might put the information to. Unless I need a “fall girl.”)
Now I knew Millie Callahan back in the day. Not the way I wanted to know her of course but I used to sit a couple of rows in back of her at 8:00 AM Mass at Sacred Heart Church in ninth grade and stare at her ass. Yes, she was a fox then, and probably still is now. That’s not the end of my knowing her though. She was also, long story short, the girlfriend all through high school, damn, of “Foul-Mouth” Phil Larkin, one of my Salducci’s Pizza Parlor corner boys. And Phil, foul-mouthed or not, was not squiring around any three pures girls, no way. They were “doing it,” just like two high school kids were suppose to, if that is what they wanted to do. Enough of that though because on the e-mail front I got nothing. Nada, a resounding no reply.
I then pursued another avenue that I thought might be more fruitful. I e-mailed the woman, Lucy Platt, who was the chaplain of the group in her junior and senior year. (said e-mail address also delivered from my previously mentioned “confidential” source). I will not now even get into why a so-called girls’ service organization needed a chaplain, an un-ordained chaplain, I assume, if all they were doing was selling candy door to door or having bake sales and stuff like that but it does give one pause. Might she not have been a conduit for other matters? Certainly another avenue for investigation, maybe on the licensing question. (Don’t chaplains, men and women of the clothe, those who, as my saintly Irish grandmother used to say, “have the calling,” have to have licenses, or certification or something to show they are authorized, in this case, to “take confessions” from wayward girls. Non-observant three pures girls.) An additional reason I wanted to get her take on these allegations was that she was not just any fellow classmate but was then currently the secretary to the headmaster at North Adamsville High. Dear readers, she had access to the records! (If she hadn’t carelessly, or carefully, ‘disposed’ of them long ago).
I, good-heartedly, offered this ex-chaplain, (or maybe she still is, if she hasn’t been defrocked by now) the opportunity to place our correspondence under a confidential attorney-client blanket. (No, one thousand times no, not Frankie Riley, but a real lawyer, a hungry young lawyer in his office. Besides, Frankie probably has a “conflict of interest” problem here since, if I recall, Lucy Platt was one of his paramours when he was being tried and true to Joanna. I’ll have to ask her, Joanna that is.) I further suggested that she might fall under the priest- penitent immunity provisions concerning her testimony. Result - Stonewalled, no reply. Apparently, this is one secretary that went to the Rosemary Woods Secretarial School. Moreover, another closer look at the Magnet told the tale. The winsome smile and twinkle in her eye of her class picture on page 137, obviously a posed put-up job, did not jibe with her Cotton Mather-like visage on page 17 when she was doing her so-called chaplain thing. I then determined that I needed to investigate this matter all-out.
Right now, I admit, there are more questions than answers. Little did this pair, Minnie and Lucy, and their accomplices know that some forty -plus years later an intrepid, truth-seeking, justice-pursuing alumnus with some time on his hands was going to fall onto their little threadbare operation. Maybe even in the school administration after all the thing was a school activity so somebody in there had to know what was going on. Maybe it went higher up. Who knows? Isn’t it so very convenient though that Lucy wound up as school secretary right next to the records that any future investigator would, of necessity, need to have access to. I will continue to try to unravel this tangled story to the bitter end.
Here are some questions that I have right now though that you, my friends, can help me with. Why did a so-called "public service" group in a democratic, secular institution need a chaplain? What deep, dark secrets were being kept from us when those probably naively innocent girls confessed, well confessed what was just normal teen sexual activity, to the chaplain? Who knows, maybe blackmail, and maybe some of them, the real naïve ones, are still paying out.
Moreover, apparently, from the lack of response to my inquiries, members are sworn to secrecy unto the grave. Some kind of awful blood oath with horrendous consequences I am sure. Why? And here is another little tidbit to feast on. Why was the turnover rate in the organization so high, especially in senior year? (Here I did, painfully, record how many years each member participated. There were plenty of 1s and 2s (sophomore and junior years)in the activities section under their yearbook photos, and then a dramatic drop-off of 3s senior year. Was it impossible to keep to the public "three purities" slogan mentioned above with a straight face or did a number of members fall afoul of the cabal at the top when they threatened to go public? I suspect some cult operation but such things are tricky to pin down as we know from later experience. Are there any whistle-blowers out there? More, later. Tri-Hi-Y, indeed!
Showing posts with label sexual revolution. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual revolution. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
On Intergenerational Sex-“…And Keep Me Young As I Grow Old”- With A Tip Of The Stetson To The “Belfast Cowboy,” Van Morrison
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Van Morrison performing The Beauty Of The Days Gone By which has the "... and keep me young as I grow old" line in it.
Markin comment:
This space, fundamentally, is devoted to political struggles, the big picture communist future political struggles that reflect the hard fact, as noted by Leon Trotsky's definitive biographer, Isaac Deutscher, that we communists have in the past, and continue now, to devote the bulk of our energies to the most immediately pressing of the three great tragedies of life, the struggle against hunger. The other two, sex and death, have gotten short shrift other than to be dealt with in broad brush stokes, basically arguing that in our communist future those two acknowledged mysterious passages will be dealt with more thoughtfully, less traumatically, and with deeper insight.
That said, where does that leave my old North Adamsville High School Class of 1964 corner boy class mate, Johnny Silver, and his twin sex and death dilemmas-growing old and still having a yearning for sexual adventure, sexual adventure with younger, much younger women. Other than calling him, rightly I think, a “ dirty old man” for even thinking about having sex with a young, curvaceous, nubile woman, to speak nothing of what it might do to his physical condition, we have no immediate communist program to alleviate his problem. Sorry Johnny. No question though under such a now seemingly utopian regime inter-generational sex will be no more the subject of scandalous gossip that various other homo and heterosexual variations of sexual activity that are the norm now.
Now, if one has been attentive, I have, with the exception of Leon Trotsky’s brief fling with Mexican painter Frida Kahlo in the late 1930s during his Mexican exile, not spent much time on the personal sex lives of our revolutionary forbears. That has been in keeping with the traditional reticence of revolutionaries to discuss their personal sexual lives. And with my own preferences in the uses of this space. I, however, feel that Johnny Silver’s case can be instructive for those of us who are going into our “golden years” and are still as randy as middle schoolers. Therefore I have posted Johnny Silver’s story, non-communist, non-political, Johnny Silver’s story, here for your perusal. The weak of heart, those under a doctor’s care, and assorted outraged moral philistines should avoid reading this for the good of your lives and/or souls. Note, and note carefully that other than a little editorial work this is strictly Johnny’s responsibility although I will admit my temperature and pulse were vicariously rising somewhat while performing this onerous task.
Johnny Silver’s comment:
I always liked younger girls when I was just a kid and I never got out of that habit, that sweet young thing habit. I used to take a lot guff from Frankie Riley, Peter Paul, and the other corner boys “up the Downs” at our hang-out, Salducci’s Pizza Parlor, when at sixteen I dated up twelve-year old “Luscious” Linda Lorraine (but “hot,” hot way beyond her years as I found out, have mercy, when she practically “raped” me, raped me if you can believe that, on our first date down at the North Adamsville Beach one summer night. I won’t say more because Peter Paul, who is editing this thing, might take a heart attack when he reads this since he never got to first base with her, and he tried, at least that is what she said, they all tried). They would yell “jail bait,” “baby-snatcher,” “cradle-robber,” and all that stuff that has been said by people, guys especially, since about the time Adam tried to date up Eve (who was a lot younger than he was and must have been pretty “hot” herself to get Adam off the straight and narrow) but she was fine, some sweet soap-smelling fine, and just getting some nice curves and stuff. Maybe that is where I go the habit. [Markin: All we ever said was “watch out” Johnny. Linda, who lived the next street over from me then, was nothing but a “man trap,” a serious man-trap and Johnny was only one of several who enjoyed her “favors” in those days. Despite Johnny’s obvious lapse of memory I never tried to get to first base, or any base with her. As for the others, the corner boy others, I would not be surprised if on some “horny” girl friend-less nights they didn’t take a shot at it. It wasn’t hard. Last we heard of Linda she had had several kids by her early twenties and died of a heroin overdose in her mid-thirties so it wasn’t the age thing at all about Linda whatever Johnny might say now.]
And it's always pretty much was that way going forward. My first wife, Laurie, whom I met and who Peter Paul knows, was nothing but a fox when I was in graduate school and she was in high school and whom I met when I came back for a North Adamsville –Adamsville high school Thanksgiving Day football game. She was captain of the Red Raider cheer-leaders and I took dead aim at her [Markin: I agree Laurie was a fox, no question, but again we told Johnny to “watch out” on her as well because she was nothing but a man-eater as he found out a few kids, and a lot of alimony payments, later. I admit I took a “run” at her myself when they split up but I am still grinding my teeth over the way she treated me during our short “affair,” if that’s what you could call it.] When I met my second wife, Alicia, she was just in graduate school and I was in my late thirties. [Markin: Johnny and I started drifting apart then, mainly different parts of the country, so I don’t know about Alicia’s qualities but Johnny says that she treated him “good,” which to Johnny always meant good at giving him oral sex and stuff like that. Okay, get used to it we are adults and more explicit sexual details will be coming up so be forewarned. And take your heart medicine for god’s sake.] My third wife, Becky, was barely out of college and I was in my forties when we met but she was “good.”
After that I stopped marrying them and just settled into a steady diet of “dating” seemingly ever younger women that I met through my work contacts or other social situations. [Markin: Johnny was, and is, a very good construction site consulting engineer.] And then, after Carrie left to pursue her screen-writing “dream” in California things dried up, dried up hard for this older man [Markin: Carrie was Johnny’s last serious live-in girlfriend, emphasis on the girl part, barely legal]. Well, first, damn the computer age for one thing, since it meant I could do more of my consulting work from home. And get more work done (and charge more as well). But it meant that the social situations also dried up. And no 50-something guy, no 50-something guy in his right mind, is going to the “meat market” singles bars around town trying to pick up the young ones when they have plenty of young guys around to moon over and get worked up about. [Markin: I am trying to be gentle with Brother Silver here but he “forgot” to mention getting laughed at, ridiculed and told to go “back to the nursing home” by those self-same younger women. He also “forgot” to mention that he was not a 50-something guy but a 60-something guy when the “heat” came on him.]. And second, damn, whatever that Adam “spreading his seed” thing was because even if things dried up socially this old man wasn’t dried up, if you get my meaning. [Markin: Translation; he was still as randy as a middle- schooler] So I did whatever any “on the information super-highway” guy would do, I went online looking for sex sites, younger women-centered sex sites. [Markin: Johnny didn’t have to work up a sweat finding them they practically come at you from the homepage onward.]
Of course “dating” services have been going on since just after Adam and Eve got it on. (Eve, by the way, a younger woman, a much younger woman and probably pretty “hot,” with a firm, curvaceous, naked body hot from what I heard, if I didn’t mention it before). Nowadays though (thank god, and thank god I took my medicine beforehand) the sexually explicit stuff women are putting online for your perusal is “over the top,” especially the younger ones, thank god. So naturally I filled out my “profile” page, paid my dough (via credit card but be careful), and “joined” all the other guys, horny guys waiting, wanting to “get laid” tonight.
Well things were kind of slow for a while since I blocked off returning messages to any women over thirty, and rightly so as they started looking kind of sad sack by then (although there were plenty of them around, around with kid baggage, if that is where your tastes run go see). I though at first it might be because there was a prejudice against 50-something guys in this hellish youth-drive universe. [Markin: See note above on the age question, the Johnny Silver age question.] And then Tracy, sweet eighteen-year old Tracy, answered my plea.
Now Tracy was not your average young woman (girl really but let’s leave it at that). She was eighteen, bright, intelligent, ambitious, resourceful, and looking for a “sugar daddy,” whatever that might mean. Yes dear, Johnny Silver is just your meat. [Markin: After some research this old-fashioned term “sugar daddy” could mean, like in the old days, someone, some man, who paid the freight to today’s “hook-up” or “friends-with benefits," or something entirely innocuous.] But here is where the problem came in. We sent many message back and forth and we were making some headway. She stated clearly that she was not into “mere boys,” but older men who had been around, and knew a thing or two (or three). Yes Tracy, Johnny is very, very just your meat.
Eventually she agreed to meet me in a public place to discuss, discuss our “the exact meaning of sugar daddy" business, and the like. But here is where the wheels started to come off, almost. She wanted some pictures of me, presumably recently up-loaded digital camera-produced photos, before we met. Her idea, innocent enough, and actually reasonable enough, was to make sure I was not some three-headed monster or, perhaps, someone recently released from parole for any number of charges from sexual offenses to murder and mayhem [Markin: Smart girl. As for any possible sexual offenses, as far as I know, they were all consensual and not in the least bit criminal although a few irate fathers might differ. The murder and mayhem I would advise that Johnny plead the Fifth on that one.]
And that was the first stumbling block. See, old guys like Peter Paul and me, were not suckled on computer technology practically from birth like today’s kids. We survive on the “information super-highway” but juts barely and while I know, as Markin does, enough to get by let’s just call us “primitives.” In short, I confess, bitterly confess, any pictures I had were not digital, and even if they were I did not know how to up-load them onto any site, sex site or not. Truth. However Tracy did not believe me, and it made sense in her iPhone, iPad, texting, Facebook world that everybody knew how to do such an eight year old simple task. I only avoided total defeat by producing some older photos and reading every manual for up-loading that came with the printer. But it was a near thing.
I won’t bore the reader with the details of our first meeting, or our later meetings but she was certain fetching in person and wiser in age than some of the older young women that I have been with through the years. But the big thing was that she was wonderful in bed. And this is where the faint-hearted, or just plain perverted, can get off and find your own sex site. Well let’s start off as always with the firm, soft, wrinkle-free skin, breast, buttock, thighs, that has driven me wild since old-time Linda Lorraine (hell, I can still smell her Palmolive soap, or perfume or whatever she used to drive the boys wild even now). Then of course the school-girlish strip tease that always gets me going. And then placing her mouth, well, placing her mouth where it did some good. Hell though everybody who reads this knows what’s what. I don' t have to draw a diagram, do I? Yes, we did it did several times (not all in one day, Viagra is good but no that good). She was very inventive with positions and of course, I knew a thing or two (or three) that got her going (read: moaning and groaning for her sugar daddy and not the old –fashioned meaning of the word either whatever Markin’s research said it meant in the old days). She still smiles about those two (or three things when I bring it up).
But the point is really about “… and keep me young while getting old” as the line from the Van Morrison song, The Beauty Of The Days Gone By. Some guys get it by pumping iron or other maniac strenuous exercising, and some by endless youth-enhancing operations. And some, like Markin, by writing endlessly about the old days like they were coming back, or could do anybody any good. [Markin: Watch it, Johnny, watch it brother.] Me, no, I want a young thing, a young firm thing, a young sex-crazed thing, a firm young thing that wants a lesson in those two (or three) things I could teach her (and have her sweaty-smiling a couple of days later over) right next to me right up until, and maybe past, judgment day. Can you blame me?
Markin postscript comment:
We had better get to that communist future in a hurry, a real hurry. In the meantime I’ll go off and take a shower, a very cold shower. Oh yes, Johnny, by the way (BTW for the cyber-slang crowd) what is Tracy’s cell phone number? Or does she have a geezer-craving girlfriend? Whatever you do, Johnny- “don’t watch out, not now.”
Markin comment:
This space, fundamentally, is devoted to political struggles, the big picture communist future political struggles that reflect the hard fact, as noted by Leon Trotsky's definitive biographer, Isaac Deutscher, that we communists have in the past, and continue now, to devote the bulk of our energies to the most immediately pressing of the three great tragedies of life, the struggle against hunger. The other two, sex and death, have gotten short shrift other than to be dealt with in broad brush stokes, basically arguing that in our communist future those two acknowledged mysterious passages will be dealt with more thoughtfully, less traumatically, and with deeper insight.
That said, where does that leave my old North Adamsville High School Class of 1964 corner boy class mate, Johnny Silver, and his twin sex and death dilemmas-growing old and still having a yearning for sexual adventure, sexual adventure with younger, much younger women. Other than calling him, rightly I think, a “ dirty old man” for even thinking about having sex with a young, curvaceous, nubile woman, to speak nothing of what it might do to his physical condition, we have no immediate communist program to alleviate his problem. Sorry Johnny. No question though under such a now seemingly utopian regime inter-generational sex will be no more the subject of scandalous gossip that various other homo and heterosexual variations of sexual activity that are the norm now.
Now, if one has been attentive, I have, with the exception of Leon Trotsky’s brief fling with Mexican painter Frida Kahlo in the late 1930s during his Mexican exile, not spent much time on the personal sex lives of our revolutionary forbears. That has been in keeping with the traditional reticence of revolutionaries to discuss their personal sexual lives. And with my own preferences in the uses of this space. I, however, feel that Johnny Silver’s case can be instructive for those of us who are going into our “golden years” and are still as randy as middle schoolers. Therefore I have posted Johnny Silver’s story, non-communist, non-political, Johnny Silver’s story, here for your perusal. The weak of heart, those under a doctor’s care, and assorted outraged moral philistines should avoid reading this for the good of your lives and/or souls. Note, and note carefully that other than a little editorial work this is strictly Johnny’s responsibility although I will admit my temperature and pulse were vicariously rising somewhat while performing this onerous task.
Johnny Silver’s comment:
I always liked younger girls when I was just a kid and I never got out of that habit, that sweet young thing habit. I used to take a lot guff from Frankie Riley, Peter Paul, and the other corner boys “up the Downs” at our hang-out, Salducci’s Pizza Parlor, when at sixteen I dated up twelve-year old “Luscious” Linda Lorraine (but “hot,” hot way beyond her years as I found out, have mercy, when she practically “raped” me, raped me if you can believe that, on our first date down at the North Adamsville Beach one summer night. I won’t say more because Peter Paul, who is editing this thing, might take a heart attack when he reads this since he never got to first base with her, and he tried, at least that is what she said, they all tried). They would yell “jail bait,” “baby-snatcher,” “cradle-robber,” and all that stuff that has been said by people, guys especially, since about the time Adam tried to date up Eve (who was a lot younger than he was and must have been pretty “hot” herself to get Adam off the straight and narrow) but she was fine, some sweet soap-smelling fine, and just getting some nice curves and stuff. Maybe that is where I go the habit. [Markin: All we ever said was “watch out” Johnny. Linda, who lived the next street over from me then, was nothing but a “man trap,” a serious man-trap and Johnny was only one of several who enjoyed her “favors” in those days. Despite Johnny’s obvious lapse of memory I never tried to get to first base, or any base with her. As for the others, the corner boy others, I would not be surprised if on some “horny” girl friend-less nights they didn’t take a shot at it. It wasn’t hard. Last we heard of Linda she had had several kids by her early twenties and died of a heroin overdose in her mid-thirties so it wasn’t the age thing at all about Linda whatever Johnny might say now.]
And it's always pretty much was that way going forward. My first wife, Laurie, whom I met and who Peter Paul knows, was nothing but a fox when I was in graduate school and she was in high school and whom I met when I came back for a North Adamsville –Adamsville high school Thanksgiving Day football game. She was captain of the Red Raider cheer-leaders and I took dead aim at her [Markin: I agree Laurie was a fox, no question, but again we told Johnny to “watch out” on her as well because she was nothing but a man-eater as he found out a few kids, and a lot of alimony payments, later. I admit I took a “run” at her myself when they split up but I am still grinding my teeth over the way she treated me during our short “affair,” if that’s what you could call it.] When I met my second wife, Alicia, she was just in graduate school and I was in my late thirties. [Markin: Johnny and I started drifting apart then, mainly different parts of the country, so I don’t know about Alicia’s qualities but Johnny says that she treated him “good,” which to Johnny always meant good at giving him oral sex and stuff like that. Okay, get used to it we are adults and more explicit sexual details will be coming up so be forewarned. And take your heart medicine for god’s sake.] My third wife, Becky, was barely out of college and I was in my forties when we met but she was “good.”
After that I stopped marrying them and just settled into a steady diet of “dating” seemingly ever younger women that I met through my work contacts or other social situations. [Markin: Johnny was, and is, a very good construction site consulting engineer.] And then, after Carrie left to pursue her screen-writing “dream” in California things dried up, dried up hard for this older man [Markin: Carrie was Johnny’s last serious live-in girlfriend, emphasis on the girl part, barely legal]. Well, first, damn the computer age for one thing, since it meant I could do more of my consulting work from home. And get more work done (and charge more as well). But it meant that the social situations also dried up. And no 50-something guy, no 50-something guy in his right mind, is going to the “meat market” singles bars around town trying to pick up the young ones when they have plenty of young guys around to moon over and get worked up about. [Markin: I am trying to be gentle with Brother Silver here but he “forgot” to mention getting laughed at, ridiculed and told to go “back to the nursing home” by those self-same younger women. He also “forgot” to mention that he was not a 50-something guy but a 60-something guy when the “heat” came on him.]. And second, damn, whatever that Adam “spreading his seed” thing was because even if things dried up socially this old man wasn’t dried up, if you get my meaning. [Markin: Translation; he was still as randy as a middle- schooler] So I did whatever any “on the information super-highway” guy would do, I went online looking for sex sites, younger women-centered sex sites. [Markin: Johnny didn’t have to work up a sweat finding them they practically come at you from the homepage onward.]
Of course “dating” services have been going on since just after Adam and Eve got it on. (Eve, by the way, a younger woman, a much younger woman and probably pretty “hot,” with a firm, curvaceous, naked body hot from what I heard, if I didn’t mention it before). Nowadays though (thank god, and thank god I took my medicine beforehand) the sexually explicit stuff women are putting online for your perusal is “over the top,” especially the younger ones, thank god. So naturally I filled out my “profile” page, paid my dough (via credit card but be careful), and “joined” all the other guys, horny guys waiting, wanting to “get laid” tonight.
Well things were kind of slow for a while since I blocked off returning messages to any women over thirty, and rightly so as they started looking kind of sad sack by then (although there were plenty of them around, around with kid baggage, if that is where your tastes run go see). I though at first it might be because there was a prejudice against 50-something guys in this hellish youth-drive universe. [Markin: See note above on the age question, the Johnny Silver age question.] And then Tracy, sweet eighteen-year old Tracy, answered my plea.
Now Tracy was not your average young woman (girl really but let’s leave it at that). She was eighteen, bright, intelligent, ambitious, resourceful, and looking for a “sugar daddy,” whatever that might mean. Yes dear, Johnny Silver is just your meat. [Markin: After some research this old-fashioned term “sugar daddy” could mean, like in the old days, someone, some man, who paid the freight to today’s “hook-up” or “friends-with benefits," or something entirely innocuous.] But here is where the problem came in. We sent many message back and forth and we were making some headway. She stated clearly that she was not into “mere boys,” but older men who had been around, and knew a thing or two (or three). Yes Tracy, Johnny is very, very just your meat.
Eventually she agreed to meet me in a public place to discuss, discuss our “the exact meaning of sugar daddy" business, and the like. But here is where the wheels started to come off, almost. She wanted some pictures of me, presumably recently up-loaded digital camera-produced photos, before we met. Her idea, innocent enough, and actually reasonable enough, was to make sure I was not some three-headed monster or, perhaps, someone recently released from parole for any number of charges from sexual offenses to murder and mayhem [Markin: Smart girl. As for any possible sexual offenses, as far as I know, they were all consensual and not in the least bit criminal although a few irate fathers might differ. The murder and mayhem I would advise that Johnny plead the Fifth on that one.]
And that was the first stumbling block. See, old guys like Peter Paul and me, were not suckled on computer technology practically from birth like today’s kids. We survive on the “information super-highway” but juts barely and while I know, as Markin does, enough to get by let’s just call us “primitives.” In short, I confess, bitterly confess, any pictures I had were not digital, and even if they were I did not know how to up-load them onto any site, sex site or not. Truth. However Tracy did not believe me, and it made sense in her iPhone, iPad, texting, Facebook world that everybody knew how to do such an eight year old simple task. I only avoided total defeat by producing some older photos and reading every manual for up-loading that came with the printer. But it was a near thing.
I won’t bore the reader with the details of our first meeting, or our later meetings but she was certain fetching in person and wiser in age than some of the older young women that I have been with through the years. But the big thing was that she was wonderful in bed. And this is where the faint-hearted, or just plain perverted, can get off and find your own sex site. Well let’s start off as always with the firm, soft, wrinkle-free skin, breast, buttock, thighs, that has driven me wild since old-time Linda Lorraine (hell, I can still smell her Palmolive soap, or perfume or whatever she used to drive the boys wild even now). Then of course the school-girlish strip tease that always gets me going. And then placing her mouth, well, placing her mouth where it did some good. Hell though everybody who reads this knows what’s what. I don' t have to draw a diagram, do I? Yes, we did it did several times (not all in one day, Viagra is good but no that good). She was very inventive with positions and of course, I knew a thing or two (or three) that got her going (read: moaning and groaning for her sugar daddy and not the old –fashioned meaning of the word either whatever Markin’s research said it meant in the old days). She still smiles about those two (or three things when I bring it up).
But the point is really about “… and keep me young while getting old” as the line from the Van Morrison song, The Beauty Of The Days Gone By. Some guys get it by pumping iron or other maniac strenuous exercising, and some by endless youth-enhancing operations. And some, like Markin, by writing endlessly about the old days like they were coming back, or could do anybody any good. [Markin: Watch it, Johnny, watch it brother.] Me, no, I want a young thing, a young firm thing, a young sex-crazed thing, a firm young thing that wants a lesson in those two (or three) things I could teach her (and have her sweaty-smiling a couple of days later over) right next to me right up until, and maybe past, judgment day. Can you blame me?
Markin postscript comment:
We had better get to that communist future in a hurry, a real hurry. In the meantime I’ll go off and take a shower, a very cold shower. Oh yes, Johnny, by the way (BTW for the cyber-slang crowd) what is Tracy’s cell phone number? Or does she have a geezer-craving girlfriend? Whatever you do, Johnny- “don’t watch out, not now.”
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