One Hand on the Wheel

So, you know how people my age often talk about rejoining the dating game with the tired euphemism of getting back on the bike? Well, for me, I had to learn how to ride the fuckin’ thing from scratch - sans training wheels, sissy bars or ring ring bells. And, for that matter, I had to figure out where my trike was careening as up till then I had been cruising on automatic down the serial monogomy bike path.

As fortune would have it things took an interesting turn when I bid on four sessions with Mariah, a flaky new age life coach, in a silent auction to benefit a local community center. I never intended to be the winning bidder… but fate had other things in mind for me. Mariah had me lay out my five long term life goals - which were to thrive, and to have passion, family, home, and adventure in my life – and then convinced me to place a personal ad on-line, something I never thought in a million years I would do.

I quickly learned that the majority of people out there are idiots and imbeciles. In other words, your average American. A typical response went something like this (I would be on-line and I would get an IM):

"hi. I’m Dave. 46. white. retail sales. got a picture?"
"Hi Dave. Nice to meet you. No, I'm afraid I don't have any pictures other than the one you must have seen in my profile. I tried to put another one up but they kicked me off because it was too arty and not boring or bland enough for the tastes of Match.com. Isn't that pathetic?"
"do you have web cam?"
"No Dave. I don't have a webcam. I like to use words to get a picture of someone. They are really more revealing. And frankly, much more sexy. Don't you agree?"
"can I call you?"
"Listen Dave. If webcams and pictures are what you are looking for I suspect we are made from different cloth. Best of luck to you though. I hope you find what you are looking for."

---silence----

(of course, the actual IM transcript had many more typos, which I can't bring myself to even fake)

Finally, the first reply remotely worth responding to went like this "Hi. I read your post. You seem nice. Wanna chat?" That was it. I responded on a hunch and ended up in a six month relationship with a sweet and simple man. A computer programmer named Rob. It didn't take me long to figure out that Rob was both an alcoholic and a man with Aspergers, a form of mild autism. There were a lot of challenges in our relationship but right from our second date we had fabulous sex.

Have you ever seen an autistic kid get sucked into the world of spinning a plate or be entranced by his own flapping hands? Well, when we fucked it was like I was his plate. He would be so focused and unselfconscious, just licking or sucking or humping or whatever until he would eventually just fall asleep holding me, spent and exhausted.

So, the thing about Rob and me and sex was this: because of the way he was in the world - using language quite concretely and literally, methodical and responsive to direction, emotionally distant and unshakable, completely nonjudgmental and unselfconscious - sex with him was extremely liberating. After 38 years he was the first lover to ever make me cum. Which, for better or for worse, takes a lot of dedication.

But the other thing about sex with Rob was this inkling I began to have as to my pussy's previously heretofore unknown desires. I was always trying to get him to be more adventurous sexually, which simultaneously intrigued him and completely overwhelmed him. In general he completely lacked any sense of creativity or adventurousness where sex was concerned. Autistics like repetition, sameness and predictability.

But there was this: he loved to fuck me from behind and when he did he would take his hands and guide my hips in this way that sent me through the clouds, and then he would take the flat of his palm and lay it in the small of my back and sort of guide my body like he was steering a car with just one hand on the wheel... and that little tiny thing triggered something large and too long latent.

So, when I met my next lover the seeds of curiosity had already begun germinating. Little did I know then that my sweet little pussy would soon die her first death and be reborn… a curious pussy.