For the past year my hormones have been absolutely out of control. For many of my friends their hormones are out of balance and having a negative impact on their sex drive and mood. For me, it’s the complete opposite. I’m as horny as a 16-year-old boy. Finally, I understand what drives boys and men to have this insatiable desire for sex. Testosterone seems to be pumping through my body. This American Life recently aired a 2002 episode called “Testosterone” in which a transgender man (who used to be a woman) explains the eye opening experience of testosterone injections and the overwhelming desire to fuck every single person in sight. And if not a desire to fuck them, curiosity about what they look like naked. This. Is. Me. But I haven’t had testosterone injections, I don’t have facial hair and I’m not developing a deep voice. In fact, quite the opposite, I’m pretty sure that several would agree that I’m oozing feminine sexuality. My desires don’t discriminate, man or woman. If something about you sparks something in me, then I’m probably imagining you naked. Thankfully my body gives me a break sometimes and it isn’t 24/7 day in and day out. (How maddening and exhausting that would be!) It’s cyclical and some weeks are more overwhelming than others. This week happens to be a “horny week.”
“Horny week” prompted me to share this next blog post. If you’re trying to follow along chronologically with the events of my life, it won’t work. And looking at me linearly would just make me look clinically insane. So just enjoy each piece.
Back in the spring I was visiting friends in the Southeastern part of the US. We visited a Sunday Market that had many different art, craft, clothing and food vendors. One of the first booths I came upon had these beautiful linocut prints of various old homes and buildings around the city as well as cyanotypes or “sun prints” as they’re commonly called. I was immediately drawn to the cyanotypes using natural objects: leaves and flowers. Living here in the Pacific Northwest I’ve become especially fond of ferns. There was a large, 18×20″ cyanotype in blue of various ferns scattered. I loved not only the ferns, but the large amounts of negative space filled with the indigo dye. The artist himself was working the booth and very friendly. I was immediately drawn to him. He had a big warm smile and endearing eyes behind smart rectangular frames that somehow evoked tenderness. He was tall, thin, cocoa colored skin, short dread locks and a calm gentleness that made him feel approachable. I told him I needed to look around a bit, but that I’d probably be back.
I returned an hour later to buy the large fern sun print as well as a simple linocut of a wildflower bouquet. As I was checking out I said something about living in the Pacific Northwest. He said, “I’ve always wanted to live in a cabin in the woods in Oregon.” I laughed and playfully said, “Me too! Let’s do it together!” He smiled and glanced up at me. We said our thank yous and I went on my way. A month later I emailed him to see if he had an Instagram account. I was going to take a photo of my framed print and tag him in it. He does and so we connected via Instagram.
In early summer I was back in the Southeast traveling around and visiting friends. The Artist was now following me on Instagram and he noticed that some of my photos were taken in a relatively close-by city. He private messaged me and asked how long I’d be in the area. I said I’d actually be back in his city the next week and staying for several days. He said he’d really like to see me. And wondered if I was seeing anyone? Hmmm…it’s complicated, I say. So I told him the truth. I said I am married, unhappily. I’ve asked for a separation, but my husband does not want one and I don’t feel financially able to just move out on my own. I’m back in the Southeast not only to see friends, but because I have two lovers who live in his same city. One of the lovers is someone I should just cast away, but the other is special and when I’m with him it feels like love. At this point I decide I should probably find out The Artist’s name! Are you ready for this? Okay, this is not his real name, but I have to come up with something that sounds as if he was named by older white parents who had him late in life (which I don’t think he was, that’s just the image his name evokes). Sherman Frederick. And he’s 27.
Sherman takes it all in and says, that’s okay. He’s in a long-term open relationship with a 46-year-old woman. He tells me how gorgeous he thinks I am. How he loves my eyes, my smile, my neck. I ask him to send a photo because it’s been 3 months or more since I’ve seen him and I just want to be sure I’m remembering him correctly. Yep, those same tender eyes and nice full lips. And then he sends a full body shot. Whoa! Totally not expecting that. First, I didn’t expect his nicely chiseled physique. And second, I couldn’t have guessed that between his legs hung the most gorgeous cock. It looked to be a really good size. I was actually a little worried what it would be like hard since it looked so big hanging there. We fall into conversation about what we’d like to do to each other. How much he wants to taste me and how much i want to ride on that cock. I’m soaked by the end of the conversation. And excited. So excited for the following week!
Yes, in my life I’ve had quite a few exceptional sexual encounters. But meeting up with Sherman was like no other experience I’d ever had. Prior to this, my most memorable sexual escapades often happened late at night, sometimes after drinking and smoking pot, usually with someone I knew at least a little bit and always with someone my own age or older than me. Sherman was different. I knew nothing about him except his art (even after Google-sleuthing!) He is 14 years younger than me! He made the first move (I’m nearly always the seeker.) And we made a plan to meet up early in the day at his studio/apartment for one specific reason: to fuck each others brains out. I let a friend know where I would be *just in case.* I really had no worries about Sherman. His vibe and energy was positive, sensual, open and honest.
So there I was, 11am on a Thursday at the door of his carriage house apartment. I felt confident, clean and ready to be devoured. And that is exactly what happened. Sherman opened the door shirtless and invited me in. We went up the stairs to the open studio apartment. An unmade queen-size bed flanked one side of the room. A jar of coconut oil sat on the side table next to it, readily available if we needed any lubricant. The kitchen and a dining table, clearly used for Sherman’s work-space were off to the left across the room. The space was bright. Art work hung on the walls. And there were lots of books everywhere. We stood in front of each other next to the bed and he said how amazing I looked. He liked my tight-fitting brightly colored mandala print skirt. We took each others faces and began to kiss. He lifted my shirt and pulled it off over my head. I slid my skirt down. I had no hesitations, no reservations about my body in this brightly lit apartment. I pulled down his sweat pants. I reached down and touched his smooth, hard cock while we kissed. It looked so good. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took him into my mouth as far as I could go to the back of my throat. Slowly, slowly I pulled my head back and let it gently glide out of my mouth. His cock is perfect. It’s long, but not too wide.
He asked me to turn around and kneel on the bed. He wanted to see my ass. I obliged. I stood back up and pulled off my bra and hot pink panties. He wanted me to to lay back on the bed and spread my legs wide so he could fully see my pussy. Sherman looked at and examined it and talked about how beautiful it is and how perfect it looked. He ran his finger around my lips and clit and reached in to feel how wet it was and then devoured it with his mouth. He said over and over that I tasted so good, that my pussy was so fucking beautiful. We were up and down and around and around each other. Tongues, lips, hands. Bodies entwined and groping. I was so fucking excited to have his cock inside of me. It felt amazing. I think my favorite part was him thrusting and fucking me and then watching his overwhelming desire to pull out and taste me again with his mouth. I loved tasting myself on his lips. He remembered that I had said in a message that I love to be on my stomach. I rolled over onto my tummy and he felt my wetness with his finger and then entered me from behind. He pulled me up onto my knees and got a finger full of coconut oil and gently caressed my asshole. He entered my pussy and then fingered my ass while we fucked and I rubbed my clit. The intensity was explosive! We fucked in every position. Took a break and then fucked some more. All the while he told me how sexy, beautiful and gorgeous I am. Sherman literally worshipped my body and I his. Not a bad way to spend a summer afternoon.
After we dressed he showed me his art process and some of the latest linocuts he was working on. We chatted for a bit in the beautiful courtyard between his carriage house and the big old home to which it belongs. Knowing my love of plants and flowers, he wanted to show me some of the flowers his girlfriend had planted. We kissed goodbye and I went back to my lover’s house to wait for him to come home from work. An affair within an affair. After weeks of processing my time with Sherman, I came away with this:
It is incredibly freeing and awesome to
- Feel an attraction to someone.
- Mutually recognize it.
- Act on it.
- Know that there doesn’t have to be anything more.
There is only respect for each other. Affinity for that person. And appreciation for the attraction.
Never in my life have I experienced something like this. Not before and not since. I thought I could take this insight and apply it to other people, but, so far, I can’t. Sherman, himself, helped me understand why that is. It’s probably the same thing you’re thinking, too. It’s because I don’t know him. I don’t have an attachment to him. And I don’t have any proximity to him. We don’t share friends. I don’t know his routine or habits. He is far removed from my daily life and I did not get wrapped up in his story. I allowed him into my story, but he is capable of appreciating me without wanting to save me or be part of my daily life. There is no infatuation. No longing. No unmet expectations. No one feeling let down by the other. And no side wishing or wanting more. How often are humans actually satisfied with the end-result of an intimate experience? We are such deeply complicated creatures who feel so much. But guess what? NO REGRETS! Hands down Sherman was one of the best sexual experiences of my life and I do not, and will never, regret it. How many women in their forties, how many mothers in their forties, get to be worshipped by a gorgeous man? (Motherhood and sexuality will be a whole other blog post! Mothers want sex, too!) And not in a sleazy, creepy way. In a sensual, but hungry, way. I don’t know if Sherman and I could ever recreate it. Thank you, Sherman. I needed that.