THERE. The one song I remember from the one secular album my mother allowed me to buy, sung by the Lettermen.
I don’t remember the lyrics until I look online. I find more than one song with that title. I know it has to be the one sung in 1964. Yet, the 2009 version describes more so how my life’s journey has evolved.
“I don’t have time for dancin'” is what my mother would say – as religion of the ‘born again’ kind ruled our roost – to the point of dancin’ being outlawed as a worldly temptation. Sexuality being the unspoken one. At 16, I didn’t know what masturbation was although warmth exuded between my legs like a summery mesmerizing campfire.
I married the first time as a virgin.
I married the second time as a hypocrite; dancing during the week; arriving at church on Sundays. (I’d given up Wednesday’s midweek prayer meeting by then.)
I married the third time after living with Alain for a year, no longer religious, yet spiritual.
I married the fourth time after becoming a Marriage and Family therapist in private practice and raising two beautiful daughters. (By this time I’d been sexual with 60-70 men. I’d kept a list of their names, not wanting to slight their significance while developing love of my self.)
“Almost there; we’re almost there
How wonderful, wonderful love will be
For you, for me.”….Love has waited such a long time.
….Our paradise, paradise so rare,
Close your eyes for we’re ALMOST THERE.”
Gloria Shayne, Jack Keller, November 1964
As of 2016, I’ve been single, living alone for 18 years with the exception of living with my then boyfriend for the year 2004-2005; he being 22 years younger than me. I loved his inner boy, his soul; but the anger I could not control, or be around.
Five days before I celebrated my 70th birthday, while attending the International Primal Convention, I met David. In the evening during social time, I placed a sweet potato snack between my lips, gesturing to David to bite off the other half, which he did without hesitation. His blue eyes sparkled. My gray-blue eyes dazzled back. Yet, my imagination could never have compared to what happened next.
He motioned me to come outside, where he took my hand in his, walking us across the grass, stopping under a tree. His broad hands then press my cheeks as he smoothes his lips into mine. Are we really making out?
That same warm sizzling feeling from when I was 16 is back radiating between my legs. How can this be at 70? and he’s a handsome 39! I’m greatfull too that he is not french kissing me – yet is passionate as if we could be in love. But we’ve known each other less than 24 hours.
Again, he takes my hand, leading me farther from the buildings and artificial lights – to lie down in the grass, looking upward to the sparkling stars cradling a near full moon. We talk, we kiss; soon he parts my dress and is sucking on my nipples which tingle my clitoris; joining the heavenly stardom.
How long we carried on like this is an unknown – before I am walked to my room where I self-loved into an exquisite diamond-like orgasm.
The next morning at breakfast, I whisper to David, “I can’t believe how juicy I was last evening even before my dynamo orgasm.” We share more of our lives as love spins in our eyes.
After lunch, I go to my room to write in my journal. Soon, I hear a knock on my door – I’m surprised that it’s David. Lovingly and longingly, he pushes me onto my single bed. He kisses and caresses me as if no fear exists. (I do have a roommate.) Our clothes disappear as if nothing else matters. Yes, I’m a bit concerned about my sagging skin although I am in excellent shape. It’s daytime – there’s no hiding – he says, “You’re a sexy woman.” It took some trying for me to accommodate his large penis….almost there.