In All Fairness

In all fairness, perhaps the reason men don't make a move on me is not because there is something wrong with them, but because I somehow fall short of what they're looking for in a mate or even in a casual lover. Not sure what that something is, but it's certainly not fair to blame them if they aren't interested in me.

After all, the plumber (see previous entry) was sleeping with someone else during the times we weren't going out. And a man who started off our first date about a year ago by saying he wanted a platonic relationship with me has been thinking of marriage with someone else. And one man who couldn't do anything in bed went on to find a wife with whom he honeymooned in Paris, while another of the same ilk found the love of his life and the wildest throes of passion he's ever known.

And in all fairness, it's been four years since I've had that delicious feeling of a steel band being pulled tight across my chest. So the truth is that though these men haven't been interested in me, I haven't been interested in them either.

Four years ago, at my friends Rachel and Matt's wedding in Sedona, I had a few hours of giddiness and a few wonderful kisses in a golden-leafed woods and then a few more in a hidden corner of the Flagstaff airport. I came across photos that Heather took of Charlie and me during that afternoon. The glow in our faces is unmistakable. What an incredibly beautiful feeling that was. Ah! If only Charlie hadn't been married.

I remember him telling me of a woman he met while traveling in Alaska as a young man. He had been alone for some time, and this stranger made room for him in her bed one night. One of those magical, fleeting moments. He said that she told him that maybe the experience that they had together would open him up to other relationships, other women. And that is exactly what happened. Love started to stream into his life.

I remember, four years ago, how Charlie said that he wished that for me too, that our kisses would be a catalyst, propelling me into someone else's arms. Well, Charlie, it's been a rather slow trajectory because I have yet to make contact. But a lovely thought and a kind wish nonetheless.

Obama Gives Me Hope--For the Bedroom

Obama is giving a lot of people hope. Hope for change. Hope for improved foreign relations. Hope for an end to this insane war. Hope for the middle class. To so much hope, I would like to add my own: the hope that not all middle-aged men are afraid of or uninterested in sex.

At 47, Barack sure seems to put some zing into his kisses for Michelle. I get a true sense that they have "something going on," that it isn't just a marriage of show but that Barack is excited about Michelle and that she's got a thing for him. This is so good to see!

For the past nine years, I have not dated one middle-aged man who was interested in sex and who could show his stuff in the bedroom. For example, for the past eight months or so, I've dated, on an off, a man who strikes me as being physical. He's a master plumber, a man who has been a Formula One race car mechanic, the kind of guy who could build a house from the ground up, someone who definitely knows how to work with his hands. He is down-to-earth and earthy. What one might call a masculine man. One would think that he would be hot to trot, but no. So often I have encouraged him to sit close to me. I have put my hand on his knee or on his thigh. I even gave him an hour massage. All to no avail. He has done nothing more than give me a few closed-mouthed pecks, sort of like what you might give your auntie.

Unfortunately, this man is the rule, rather than the exception. Actually, I have not had an exception in these past nine years. Not sure what's up. I've even consulted with my son, and he concludes that this must be a middle-aged guy thing because it's certainly not the norm for his age.

So when I see Barack kiss Michelle or make goo-goo eyes at her, I think, Maybe not all middle-aged men are uninterested. Maybe there's an Obama out there for me somewhere.

There must be at least one middle-aged guy in America who is interested in a tall, slender, good-looking, intelligent, playful blond. And not just interested in my wit and my masterful conversation skills. God, let's hope so!