This section is inspired by a wondering about how people can write books about subjects that have to do with people without "giving of oneself", ie without providing the autobiographical information that would help the reader understand how the author has come to the ideas being presented.
The Myth of Objectivity
This is probably an idea that used to be very popular quite a long time ago: that there is something called "objectivity" and that somebody, for example a journalist, a psychologist, etc., who writes or communicates on a particular topic, has a "professional" duty to address the issue with a certain distance, and under no circumstances must let transpire who they are.
In psychology, it is very evident. We all know the image of the psychoanalyst who listens to the patient from behind the couch as if s/he almost was not present, disembodied. Freud insisted that the therapist was not to be involved in the process.
In more recent times, we have therapists like Irvin Yalom, who say just the opposite, that it is important to show who one is because this can actually create more trust in the process in the "patient".
After all, we each have our own personal history, and this personal history is what has brought us to where we are now! It is therefore important to understand how what we express makes sense.
Therefore, you can read here about my story, at least the part of it that has to do with sexuality...
There is much reading here. It is inevitable when it comes to a person's life, at least someone who has had, like me, an exciting life! It may be that it becomes too much for you to read it all, and yet, I think it is how we can come to understand what another person expresses: by seeing how their life have evolved. Otherwise, what they write ends up being, at best, pretty intellectual.
In this way. I am convinced that the numerous crime novels and social novels—written by French authors such as Simenon and Frederick Dard; and various American writers; and later Danish—I started reading intensively from the 1990's—in the past, I was also full of contempt for "fiction"—have done more for my development as a person and my understanding of other people than any training in psychology would have done.
Where Does One's History Begin?
When it comes to telling one's life story, there is immediately a big question: where shall the telling begin?
The first answer might be: at birth, because that is where our visible life begins.
However, many of the circumstances that are very crucial for our life are already established by our parents, and even by their parents. In this way it can go a long way back, when we take into consideration this process: certain topics will be passed on from generation to generation.
Although I do not have much knowledge of my parents' past, I will start with what I know about anything that has happened before I was born and I will try to highlight what I believe has been crucial for me and my development. Here you can read about my parents' history (and click again to hide)...
My mother was born in 1916 and the last of nine siblings. She was brought up in a strong Catholic Christian faith. Her father was an alcoholic. Because she was the last child, she "got" to care for her siblings' children. In a sense, she was treated as a kind of servant of the family.
My father was five years younger than my mother, and his parents were separated quite early (I still remember what one of my father's greatest wishes about the past was: having had just one meal with both parents at the same time...), and he was mostly brought up by a non-believing mother. He was rather short, and it was stressful for him because he was bullied as a kid. His father was also an alcoholic.
My mother wanted children, lots of children.
My father did not want to have children (can it be that he felt just as I did when I was younger: I had experienced so much pain as a child that I did not want to expose more to the same...).
My mother felt suffocated in the small provincial town of Guérande, and she was very brave to seek a job as a nanny in Tunisia. Although she was a beautiful woman, I do not suppose that her love life as a young woman consisted of so much.
My father had a girlfriend in Paris, where he grew up. It sounded—from what I heard of it in my youth—as if they had a special relationship, something that almost seemed spiritual, even though my father all his life denied everything that had to do with such topics, everything from religion to psychology.
My mother ended so in Africa, where she had a happy period in Sfax, Tunisia, in a lovely, wealthy family whose children she took care of.
My father, who was dumped by his girlfriend and rejected by the French army because of his height, needed to be challenged in a special way. Then he went to Africa (you must know that at this point—we are talking about 1940's—, France was a very active colonial power in Africa).
They met in Marseille, both on the way to or from Africa. He was a handsome guy, she was very attractive. How could they have known that they could never figure it out together, because of their conflicting directions in life, and that they would create 4 people (and more in the following generations), who for the rest of their lives would have to suffer the side effects of various events... Well let us not run ahead of ourselves...
My parents' lives in Africa could be a description from an adventure film. In fact, some of the stories I have heard about their time in Africa would almost seem incredible if they would figure in a movie.
In the jungle, my father got built a "boucarou" (a traditional round building made of hard materials with a sloping thatched roof, which is found mainly in northern Cameroon) which he had made drawings for.
My father, who "only" had received training as a mechanic (he was very good at producing precision metal parts), tried various jobs during their stay in Africa, which lasted from about 1948 to 1957.
(You may notice, as I do myself, that not so much gets written about my mother as it does about my father—which is very relevant in our context—because even more then than now, the role of a woman was systematically reduced to be of a less important character than that of a man.)
My father worked for an import-export company that also managed some gold mines. It was part of his work to take rounds of the mines and bring the gold back to the main office. As a hobby, he was big-game hunter—as a hobby and "therapy", although the term was not so popular at that time... By putting himself in dangerous circumstances—and Africa in the 1940s was a dangerous place—he could show himself that he was not the pitiful, pathetic wimp, the others had bullied back in Paris...
My mother. Well, she was "just" a housewife, because yes, despite my father's opposition, she began to have children. It was not easy to have children in the jungles of Africa. For instance, the legs of our cribs had to be put into cans full of petrol, so that if a colony of ants should transit through our house during the night, they would not be able to climb into bed and leave only well-cleaned skeletons...
It is likely at this time that my parents' story merged with mine, that it is where I initially can clearly trace the events that have influenced my (sexual) development.
As I said, shortly after my parents met, my mom gave clear indication that she wanted to have children, many children. My father—blinded as he probably was, like many people are when they are "in love"—ignored this small, but quite important information...
So began jungle hell, jungle hell, jungle hell all the way...
One of the stories I have heard most about during my childhood is that my father forced my mother to get abortions.
It is hard enough to force a woman who has been brought up in a blind Christian faith to have an abortion. When it on top of that takes place in a boucarou in the African jungle, and furthermore when the doctor who "performs" is half-drunk (people drank a lot in Africa), so I can understand that a woman who was already mentally challenged begins to feel really, really bad...
Another story was that child 2 (I have two older sisters and a "little" sister) was born in spite of a failed abortion attempt earlier during the gestation.
I never heard enough detail about my mother's life in Africa, especially in terms of the offers, she certainly got to have sexual experiences on the side (my father no doubt took advantage of the opportunities that often were/are considered as more "acceptable "at least in a culture where men and their strength, which can turn into violence, set the rules). When they showed us the old Africa pictures, we heard of that man who would have wished to get hold of my mother during a drunken party, without any further details.
I can therefore not know exactly what my mother's reality looked like in the past, in terms of sex. I can only guess that just because of her Christian upbringing, so could sex not really be considered as something desirable, because it would be sinning.
I guess that it was only after we had moved back to France in 1957, that my mother tried to commit suicide for the first time—the first time in a string that stretched over the following years.
A Small Boy Playing with Marbles
My earliest sexual-related memory is from when I was a little boy. It was playtime, and we boys played marbles in the yard (it was done this way: we dug a small hole in the ground, and we should then throw our marbles from a certain distance, and gradually come closer so that we eventually could get the marble to roll down into the hole).
We were several who played together. While I waited for my turn, I caught myself holding my penis in my hand through the pocket of my shorts. I felt embarrassed about it because when I looked around, I could see that none of the others did such thing (they probably did it when I was not looking)...
It was an important ingredient in a disturbed sexuality, which, incidentally, is a pillar of Christianity: guilt and shame!
My mother, who otherwise—when she was not away due to a suicide attempt—was very loving and took care of me when I was ill, etc., tried to raise me as she had been taught it should be done, and this meant to convey to me at all times, and at my expense, that masturbation was a sin, and therefore I should not do it.
Masturbation Enters
For me, from youth, the subject of masturbation was—and I am not alone, as I learned later!—a very stressful topic. It must be the topic that has eaten most of my sexual energy over time, from very young to approximately 13 years ago!
And, as I will describe later, it has at the same time been one of the most significant contributions to my sexual development in subsequent years.
Without going into too many more unnecessary details, my sexuality was affected from an early age, apparently with my mother as a major player. And, yes It is funny to see how people who— we hope—will us the best, yet end up being those who hurt us most, namely, among others, our parents. This is probably only because they themselves were not able to digest their own issues, which therefore get passed on to the next generation.
It was first later that I became aware of many of the aspects I describe here, unfortunately. It is like how smart we are when we are looking backwards...
A Sexually Highly Motivated Boy
I must have been a very sexually motivated boy because I defied my mother's crusade against masturbation, though it was a great challenge. That is—in spite of her desire to get me to behave properly—she did not managed to get me not to do it, and anyway, she affected me so much that I felt guilty every time I did it. In that way, none of us got anything good out of it.
I was a very shy boy, which probably contributed to the fact that I did not get so many girlfriends (it took me until I was 23 years old to finally meet my first girlfriend in the "biblical" sense, and even that took a three-month "Small Prince and the fox" process to get there).
Caught Between Mom and Dad
Although I do not clearly remember it, I was steeped in my mother's near-hatred of some aspects of sexuality, well, maybe all of it, just because she had suffered under my father's abusive behavior. I heard her often say that he had irreparably hurt her in her body and in her soul, which is understandable considering her religious upbringing.
Without knowing it, I was brought up with the idea that men are real pigs who exploit women for sex (sex was in the first place not something respectable women would care about). And because I was the only boy in the family, so I had at all cost to be prevented from becoming like my father.
On the one hand, I had a father who despised women in general, and my mother and my sisters in particular (I should have been the first child, and preferably the only one); a father who was violent (though thankfully neither he nor my mother followed in the drinking tracks of their respective fathers), and probably expected that my mother should be available to be fucked whenever he felt like it. And on the other hand, I had a mother who despised men in general (remember "Contempt of Archetypal Dimension" from "History"), and me in particular, and because I was after all a small copy of her husband, so I had to pay for his misdeeds.
It was in that kind of environment I grew up and developed myself.
The Battle Between Desire and Guilt
I clearly remember from this period the eternal struggle I was caught in between my sexual drive—that inevitably brought me to masturbate—and the strong feelings of guilt that took me right after the deed was done, again and again. I tried to delay the transgression as much as I could, and yet, desire came again and I had to do it. My pondering about this vicious circle was later in my life the cause of one of the most important revelations I have had about myself. More on that later.
Then came my first sexual relation, finally!
Below, you can find some detailed descriptions of the first four relationships in my life. You can click on the names to see the details and hide them again...
Jenny (Show)
Jenny and I met in September 1977 on the AF Chapman, that beautiful hostel-ship permanently anchored in Stokholm' s harbor. She was from the United States. After some months, about which you may read more details here, we became lovers.
During my engineering studies, I got the opportunity to go to a technology conference in Linköping, Sweden in April 1977. I went to the conference with a friend from engineering school, Ole. Ole will play an important role later on.
We took the train from Copenhagen to Linköping, and in Helsingborg, we ran into a Swedish woman, Ann, with whom I fell in love. My love for Ann—which incidentally was a few years older than us and had absolutely no romantic interest in me—did that when I came back home from the conference, I started learning Swedish, which I intensively practiced in the next few months, instead of taking care of my engineering studies...
This meant that in Septemberthat year, I could speak enough Swedish to travel back to Sweden with Interrail, and the intention to find Ann again. That is how I ended up on the AF Chapman.
When I look back on my life I can see that there are some clear "red threads" (in most cases) that have brought me from place to place, so that I end up where I am today. More on this later...
I find myself on the deck of AF Chapman on a wonderful evening in September 1977 and then comes a woman towards me.
My English was very bad at that time (I had first started to learn it a year earlier), and our first exchange was somewhat sluggish. She asked me: "Do you like yogurt?". I could not understand what she said. She repeated the question several times, in vain. Eventually she waved the cup in front of my nose, and then I understood.
Well, then we fell into a conversation. She had to travel further this evening, and I went with her to the train station.
We agreed that she would visit me in Toulouse—where I studied engineering—the following spring.
She did, in February 1978. The idea was that she would visit me for a little while (we had not agreed on anything specific about the length of her stay) and that she should stay with me.
I can still remember the frightened look on her face when I opened the door to my small dorm room that was just wide enough for a bed and a small passage to the desk at the end, and the toilet was in a common room in the hallway. It suddenly dawned on her that she was trapped in a very small room with a man.
One good thing I can say about my mother is that she raised me to be gallant. I alleviated Jenny's panic right away by saying that I would sleep on the floor and she was welcome to use the bed.
It was during the next two to three months that the "Little Prince and the Fox" process took place: night after night, we talked about various subjects, and little by little, I sat closer and closer to her on the edge of the bed.
Finally, a wonderful evening, it was clear that she and I were to do something other than talk. I was very excited because it was my first time.
At that moment—and it was only much later that it dawned on me what it really meant—when she looked at my naked body, she gave me the first and for a long time the biggest compliment of my life, although it was said in a frightened tone. She said: "It's never gonna fit!"
Oh no, I thought, there must be something wrong with me!
It turned out that no, there was nothing wrong with me, not in that way, anyway, and, as I recall, it did fit well enough...
Well, I was finally a man, as some put it. Something—sex—I had longed so much for for so many years, was finally part of my life.
The joy did not last for so long, however, because it turned out quickly that I to a large extend was a premature ejaculator. It took a little while to realize that it apparently could not get better, no matter how much I tried.
Too Little Experience
Jenny had only had another boyfriend before me. It meant that she was not so experienced either. And she clearly had her own family history that had not made her sexuality into something specially thriving. It took her for example an eternity to reach orgasm when I stimulated her, that is by means other than my cock because it failed repeatedly. So I was became rather good at licking and other ways to satisfy a woman. In that way, my time with Jenny was a big learning process. Think, sometimes I licked her for 45 minutes, and then I heard a little sigh, which I assumed was an orgasm!
Although I over the years have heard a lot about how selfish men are in their sexuality, satisfying my partner has always been a high priority for me.
Because Jenny had so little experience, and because I've always been the kind of person who is willing to take the blame (it was then, now "blame" is no longer a term that I use) for anything, so we agreed that it was all my fault. She even confirmed to me that it was true, my sperm smelled bad (I've never liked the smell of sperm)!
It must also be said—if it not already is a foregone conclusion—that because of my family history, I was not the easiest person to be with.
I was deeply depressed about the fact that sex, which I had looked forward to for such a long time, turned out to be something I was not good at!
Sex Role model
Meanwhile, Ole (he was introduced in the previous "hidden" section) found himself a girlfriend, Sylvia, and had married her. It looked as if their sex life was absolutely fantastic, and I heard about how they explored various situations with other women and men and couples. All this was far beyond my possibilities.
Ole was my best friend in Toulouse (I have not had so many close friends in my life), and we talked about our male subjects. He knew that my sex life with Jennywas miserable, and the reason for it.
Sometimes he and Sylvia invited us to sleep with them, we did not live so far away from each other. At night—with only a rather thin wall between us—after I was done with my poor performance, and Jenny had her sigh-orgasm, we could hear Sylvia scream, during what seemed to be hours. It cut so deeply into me and my self image that I to this day still experiencing a little stab in the heart when I hear other people have sex through the wall (although I am today much more satisfied with my sex life, more on it elsewhere on this page...)
I finished my studies in June 1979, Jenny and I had a plan to move to the USA: She could not speak French, did not seem so motivated to learn it, and the dream of going to America—although I at that time, as any Frenchman with self-respect, despised this "ridiculous country" (thinking of ridiculous, it was only Reagan, who was president, not Donald Duck)—took shape. In addition, it seemed like a good plan to travel to, and conquer the land of opportunities with an electronics engineering diploma in my pocket!
(hide Jenny)
Jenny Is Gone
In June, Jenny flew back to the US, the idea was that she would find us a place to stay and prepare for my arrival (at this point I spoke almost fluent English, thanks to the private lessons: I had been around the clock with Jenny so much that I had been granted an exemption from English at school).
In fact, it ended up that Jenny dumped me right after she had come home. (We had been married the year before, so that she would be allowed to stay in France.)
The last few weeks in June 1979, until then, were the absolute worst period of my life. My depression over not being good enough at sex became deeper, so much that it seemed like my life was over, because what I liked most was apparently not for me.
As the rather intellectual person that I am, I sought refuge in knowledge: I tried to learn as much as possible about women, and especially about their sexuality.
It was in this context that I came across one of the books that have had a huge impact on me, both good and bad, though, as I found out later...
The First Influential Book
The book, "The Nature and Evolution of Female Sexuality", written by Lana Jane Sherfey was the first important book in my life—if we do not take "Love Story" by Eric Segal, that I had been fascinated by as a teenager (so much that I had decided to memorize it; I still remember the first sentence), into consideration!
In the women's liberation movement's spirit took Sherfey distance from Freud's otherwise very popular theory that it is part of a "mature" woman's development to move her pleasure center from the clitoris to the vagina. (See later an idea of how a "mature" man can develop his sexuality...). She felt that this was a way to oppress women: to ensure that their sexuality fit with what men need, namely a place into which they can cram their cock!
This was a good fit with my opinions that women should not be oppressed (I was then quite confused about what it really meant), and gave me also a good reason to believe that intercourse was not as important for a man who respected women and the whole idea was confirmed by the way my mother unconsciously had taught me that it was abusive for a man to want sex from a woman anyway.
I visited Sylvia and Ole quite often during this period and slept at their place sometimes because I was so desperately depressed that they could see that it would do me good to be with someone.
Sound Torture From The Other Side Of The Wall
The price was, however, that I continued to hear them having sex next door, and it cut even deeper in me because I was alone, abandoned; because I had been declared sexually incompetent.
In this period, two important events took place.
The first was fun in a way and showed how practically concrete Ole could be and how he was willing to help if he could.
Semen Quality Control
It was about the smell of my semen. I had told him that Jenny had agreed with me that my semen smelled bad. "Nonsense," he said, "I do not believe it. Semen smells of semen, and that's it. You know what, Sylvia is hospitalized tonight" (Sylvia, after an accident in her childhood, had some skin graft surgery once in a while), "I am going to masturbate. I'll save it and then we can make a smell comparison!"
He was right: Either his smelled just as bad as mine or mine as normal as his. It was a great relief for me. This experiment was an important part of the process that would lead me to the revelation I have mentioned before. More on that later still...
The second event was even more decisive for my life.
An Incomprehensible Offer
The morning after one of the times I slept at their place, Ole came to me from their bedroom and told me that Sylvia wanted to go to bed with me. Often, I had struggled with the way Ole tells some stories, which did that when he spoke about topics that could be either sensitive or could not be confirmed, I would tend to believe that he might be distording reality.
I remarked for him that because Sylvia also knew how miserable a lover I was, so there was no explanation as to why she would want to have sex with me unless she was masochistic!
It became a kind of negotiation. He went back and forth a few times between the living room and the bedroom, and he kept telling me that it was what Sylvia wanted.
I was so hurt after my experience with Jenny that I insisted on saying that it makes no sense; in vain, he/she (?) was saying that it was what was wanted from the other side of the wall!
It Could Not Get Worse
I surprised myself with the following thought, which became an utterance: Fine, it can not get worse, she is warned. So, if she really wants to expose herself to something so pointless, let's get it over with!
Sylvia (Show)
So I went next door, and I lay beside her. What happened next was one of the rare times in my life where I've seen something happen, something good, I would never have thought possible.
As I recall, I came also too soon. What happened after was that I found a way I could tighten my dick (probably related to the very important PC muscle contractions that are an important component of endurance training, more, much more about this topic elsewhere on this site) so I did not lose the erection after I had come.
The result was that I could fuck Sylvia so much and for so long that she was totally surprised. The woman was sexually demanding, I knew it from the other side of the wall. However, being there and being the one who made her cry time after time, was one of the best I had experienced in my life.
Regenerating Triangle
It ended up that I spent the last two to three weeks of my life in France with them. All three of us slept in the same bed. It turned out later that part of the original idea possibly came from Ole because he wanted to explore sex with me, something I could not go for, because at this stage of my life I was both 100% straight and rather homophobic to boot.
Except for that—which Ole and I settled pretty quickly, one day when he expressed his wishes while we lay in bed—that period was something amazing. Ole worked week days, I worked weekends. Sylvia waved goodbye to him every week day, and to me on weekends, and went on to fuck the one that remained in the bed. In the evening, when it was bedtime, she fucked one of us, and after he was done, so she got the other. This was my first encounter with what a (relatively) uninhibited woman's sexuality could offer.
Sylvia Saved My Life
Sylvia saved my life. I remember how I was in this period when I walked on the street: it felt like I was hovering 2 feet above the sidewalk.
Sylvia has been one of the most important women in my life, although some subsequent tragic events came to destroy our opportunities for closeness. They as such had no impact on my sexual development and will therefor not be described here.
(hide Sylvia)
A New Life In a Bigger Frame
I immigrated to the United States on July 19, 1979, although Jenny had tried to prevent me from it because she was afraid that I should go after her to avenge myself. Instead, her best male friend, Steve, accepted to stand for me in relation to the immigration authorities.
My emigration to the United States has probably also indirectly affected all aspects of my life, including my sexuality.
It was a very exciting feeling to land at JFK after my first plane trip ever with an airline I had never heard of before, Maersk! And I was also very excited about my new life.
I had both enthusiasm about moving to so enticing a country, although I still hated the people there; and homesickness about Sylvia, who had shown me that I could be a proper love; and I was sorry that Jenny had dumped me.
I was welcomed by Steve (he committed suicide due to AIDS in 1992, so I can allow myself to use his real name, and yes, the other persons names in this saga were changed as it uses to happen to protect the innocent, although Jane and Anna, my two current girlfriends, have chosen that their real names be used...). As described before, Steve was my sponsor regarding the US immigration authorities , which might already have been just as demanding then as they are now. I had been in contact with Steve for several months before I flew to the United States. Steve was gay and had been in love with me even at that time. For him I was "The Dashing Frenchman". I mentioned earlier that at that time, I was 100% heterosexual, and quite homophobic. My association with Steve—I lived with him and some of his friends in my first months in the US—showed me, that I actually was only 100% hetero, because I had nothing against him because of his sexual orientation. As long as he accepted, which was difficult for him, that I was not interested in men!
The Next Three Relationships
I shall not go into the details of every relationship I've had in my time in the United States. I will just mention some notable episodes that have had a clear impact on my sexual development.
The next three relationships I've had fell under this category, not because these women necessarily ended up figuring on my list of "important women in my life" as such, rather because they contributed to my identity as man, for better or for worse.
Connie (Show)
Connie was probably one of the worst relationships I've had. It was very short-lived. It was bad because I could feel how desperate I was after sex, and so there was a poor wretch of a woman. In the sense that the fact that Connie was a poor black woman, in the United States, had a special meaning as far as social differences are concerned. She took care of a miserable second-hand clothes store in a lousy part of town and slept in the backroom of the store. Although I did not know it at the time, she would have been iconic for "American Pictures", a famous Danish book of pictures about poverty in the US published by Jacob Holdt. There was a woman who wanted me. I could feel that I used her, and I was not happy about it. Even though I had a bad conscience about our relationship, I also feel that I still had some decency back because I did not abuse her sexually, or was it just my imagination that came from my hungry cock...
Our relationship lasted only a few weeks. It was hard for me, ethically.
(hide Connie)
Marnie (Show)
Marnie was Steve's friend and drinking buddy, as he and I visited her quite often. They drank together, sometimes we went out to a disco (I despised nearly all their "social" habits because I was looking for something better, something more noble). Marnie was presented to me as being a lesbian. Therefore she was not part of my "hunting ground" because it was clear to me even then that homosexuality often implied contempt for the opposite sex.
One Sunday night, as happened a few times, the three of us ended up sleeping in Marnie's large round bed. In the morning, without having any particular goal in mind—I was clear about Marnie's choice—I gave her an innocent back massage. At one point she said: "Steve, what you do to me feels so good!" I thought, shit, I am not even aknowledged for what I do. In some way, I tried to make sure that she knew it was me who touched her that way!
Stevehad to go to work this morning (he had inherited/overtaken his mother's kvindetøjsdesign business, "Steede"). Marnie and I remained in bed and it must have to be there, she realized that it was I who touched her so nicely!
To my astonishment, Marnie and I ended up having a sexual relationship. It was strange for me because I had accepted that this woman was not interested in men. There was of course no question of intercourse between us, which gave me a little break from my challenge with premature ejaculation. Instead, I got to practice licking a woman! It was during this process that I got the second biggest compliment about sex, this time not about a physical state, I could not really take credit for, rather around my way of being a man for a woman. Marnie said to me at one point: "It is almost as good to have sex with you as it is with a woman!" I felt very flattered about this comment!
Our relationship lasted a few months.
(hide Marnie)
Donna (Show)
Donna was another of Steve's friends. She was straight and had a mean, nasty, violent boyfriend. When I first came to the United States, we lived all four in the same house in Interlaken, NJ.
Donna, Marnie and Steve formed a close group that went on drinking sprees almost every weekend, while I stared at them at a distance with my bemused contempt for their behavior. Well, I forgot to say that I had been a vegetarian and alcohol-free since my teenage days...
One night when they all had drunk quite a bit, Donna was clearly deeply drunk, which probably was the reason why she made a pass at me. Already back then, I had a "principle" that I would not have anything sexual to do with a woman who was drunk. I responded with all the fun I could, which was not so much. The next day, Donna was totally embarrassed by her own behavior and apologized many times. My response to her was that I actually preferred her the night before because she was an interesting woman, only she could be it without drinking so much.
Until then I had lived in Asbury Park, NJ (South Jersey) with these fine people. In January 1980, I moved to Montclair, North Jersey, because I had gotten my first job as an engineer up there in West Caldwell. I saw them once in a while.
During one of my visits to Asbury Park, during a conversation with Donna—she had finally gotten rid of the nasty boyfriend—we talked again about this evening quite a long time ago. There was obvious mutual attraction between us. Donna was what I call a "Plump Venus", ie a woman who might have a few pounds too many, and yet—or perhaps because of it—has some lovely, round shapes.
We agreed—almost signed a contract about it (it was the only way I could get the shy Donna to act on what she could feel about me)—that the following Saturday, I would bike down to Asbury Park, ca . 60 miles, and then we would drive back home to me in her car, and then we would have sex! Donna "signed" (by that I mean that because I knew it was what she wanted and was just afraid to do it, so I showed her that there was no reason not to do it).
The plan went... according to plan, with some interesting twists, however. The trip down to Asbury Park was beautiful: it was summer and I had a cheeky impression—to this day, I can still have "butterflies in the stomach" when I'm about to meet a new woman when the possibility of sex is present. When I arrived, I could see that Donna wondered how she could have said yes to something so crazy. Several times I asked her if she was still with the plan, and each time I reminded her that she could cancel it all with one single word: "No!" It was important that she was in agreement.
So we packed the bike in the car and drove back to Montclair. I lived in a rented room in a house where I had a view of the WTC towers in the distance—yes, this was long, long before 9/11... The closer we got, the more nervous Donna got. I asked again and again if she wanted this to happen, and the answer was still "Yes." When we got to my room, then reality hit her in the face: "Oh no, what will happen?" At this time, it is almost late afternoon.
Donna began with a clever set of avoidance tactics. However, I was wise enough to see through them, and as long as she did not say no, then I would remind her of what our plan was.
First, she said: "Shall we go down and see the Statue of Liberty?" It was a 16 miles drive, nothing in the United States. Of course we could do it, and so we did it.
We were home again, and the situation had not gone away. Should we buy some beer? Of course we can, as long as you do not drink yourself to oblivion... At this time we sat on the edge of my bed, and the air was getting thicker and thicker. Then, Donna came with the next suggestion: "Should we take a shower?" Great idea, I said. Oops, as I got up to go to the bathroom with her, she said: "Do you mean together?" Yes of course. She hesitated, and could see that it might be ok.
When we were in the shower, and she was about to take the last of her clothes off, she said that we should turn off the lights because she was too fat to look at (and I can promise you that as far as Donna was concerned, the key word in the phrase "Plump Venus" was definitely Venus!). I said wait a minute, picked up some candles, lit them, and turned off the main light. It was fine for her.
Ha, the first moments when the discovery of a new body begins are so fantastic. Donna's body was so nice for me to touch under the warm running water. She felt so embarrassed about it that it almost made me sad (maybe It is me today who says this, maybe I was not mature enough at that time...).
After the shower we went back to my room (I shared bathroom with another tenant, who fortunately was not at home at this point) and laid on the bed. Finally, after many hours of preparations and diversions and avoidance tactics, we were finally where I wanted to be and she still had not said no.
I caressed her, quietly and slowly wandered down her body and licked her. She was like frozen. After quite a long time—I could not help thinking back to my time with Jenny, I could feel a tightening in her abdomen, which I interpreted as an orgasm. I came up to her again and took her in my arms. She motioned to "give back". I told her that it was not necessary. It was so nice to be there with her in my arms.
When I write and read this, I can feel that there are two sides to this story, the side where I am a sweet man who can just give pleasure—which has always been the man I want to be (and for many years I lacked the basis for this dimension, which I however got hold of later, which among other things has given me inspiration to this website)—and the man who also wanted to get pleasure, and was not able to get it, or maybe the circumstances were not the right ones. Maybe I felt that in spite of the fact that Donna had had many opportunities to say no and maybe had not dared to say no, that in that way, because I had been playing cat and mouse with her, so I was guilty of abusing her.
The next day, Donna drove back to Asbury Park and we almost never talked about it again...
(hide Donna)
Time runs on then, while I go on a journey of discovery in this huge, continent-sized country.
There are other relationships in that period, that got exciting beginnings—and at times, fast endings— about which you can read more details below...
Katie (Show)
I knewKatie from my first job as an engineer in the United States. She was secretary. At Thanksgiving 1980, we became lovers, and we lived together for a few months. It was originally planned that she should travel with me after I had saved enough money and bought a VW-Volkswagen van.
The apartment we rented was so miserable that I sometimes chose, especially in summer, to sleep in the van, which had a fine bed. It also gave me a taste of what it would be to travel away and live in it.
Katie was one of the loudest (sexually) women I have known. It was amazing how much she could scream when she got orgasms!
A beautiful summer night we slept in the van, and we had sex as we used to, which meant that Katie screamed, as she used to.
After we were finished and enjoyed lying in each other's arms, I suddenly noticed some flashing lights outside, lights with very well-known colors: red and blue …
Yes, it was the police, and it looked as if they were very close to us. Before I knew it, there was a knock on the sliding door with a simultaneous strong request to open. I hurried to get some clothes on, opened the sliding door and was greeted by a police officer who looked rather worried. He asked us what we were doing there. I explained that we lived just around the corner (the van stood on a small piece of land that belonged to the property). He asked to look inside, although it was beginning to dawn on him what was going on.
He went on to explain to us that the police had received a telephone call about someone being murdered. I pointed to Katie to show him that she was unharmed, and explained with a small grin that she had perhaps been a bit noisy.
The policeman walked away with a request (well, when it comes from a policeman it means an order) that we would not do something like that again...
(hide Katie)
Carry (Show)
Carry has been one of the "important" women in my life. With important women, I mean women who either have clearly contributed something special for me, or/and women with whom I have had a longer relationship than the famous/infamous "one-night-stand". Long-term relationships of a kind that has meant something special.
The way I met Carry was very special. It was in September 1981, I traveled and lived in my white 1972 "VW-van" as a true hippie—although by this time I had not yet tried to take drugs, and you may be disappointed when you read that I only have tried it once. It is in a way my life story: No matter where I've been, I have felt beside the local culture. I express it in a funny way by saying that I was thrown out of France because I neither ate meat nor drank wine!
I was in New Orleans, biking into town. I found the tourist information office, which was surrounded by a white picket fence with an gate in the middle where people could enter the building through the garden.
I locked my bike on the one side of the gate and noticed that there was a second rider—the best kind, a woman—who was locking hers on the other side. We could almost not avoid walking together to the door, and then we started talking. Just like people who take a walk with their dogs find it easy to meet other dog people, cyclists, even more perhaps when they are of different genders, have a tendency to pay attention to each other and start a conversation, first about cycling topics and perhaps, later, about something else...
Carry was a special woman, both very feminin—she had, among others, very long, red hair (it was quite unusual in the 1980s in the United States) nicely put in a fine braid—and yet a bit of manliness in her behavior.
We were clearly very interested in each other. After we had gotten the information that we each wanted, we went out and agreed that I would visit her at her hotel this evening. I do not remember whether we had sex that evening. What we agreed was that she would spend the rest of her vacation with me.
We drove to a great place south of New Orleans, Grand Isle, where we stayed in the van at the beach and bathed in muddy water that was as warm as in a bathtub, and where small shrimps softly bit us. Otherwise, we made love.
(hide Carry)
Beatrix (Show)
February 1984. I was visiting Tempe, Arizona, where I had lived some years before. Therefore I knew the city and I knew where I could find a health food store, "Gentle Strength" (don't go and look for it, it has gone out of business long ago...), which was the place where "my kind" of people met to buy groceries, etc.
It felt strange, being demoted from inhabitant to tourist in one's "own" city!
When I was ready to pay for my purchases, I noticed that the woman at the checkout seemed sweet. I had the time, and she was not too busy—it was late afternoon—so we could afford to speak a little more than if I just payed and on with my life. For me, otherwise very shy, it was easy to speak, because I could tell her that I used to live here, and so on. It was obvious that we liked each other from the start, funny how things happen sometimes...
We talked for quite a while, and because we knew that I drove on to California the next day, so we should consider what we dared to do about the situation.
She was not that shy herself, and we challenged each other with words and suggestions about what we could do. She had to work a few more hours. We ended up agreeing to meet at the top of the "A-Mountain," the little mountain with an uppercase "A" written on it (A for Arizona State, the University of Phoenix), after she had finished. The mountain was just behind the store.
I went on with the day's chores, while I looked forward to this unusual encounter with a woman, a new woman, which repeatedly gives butterflies in the stomach, so many possibilities, as it seems to be.
I climbed up the mountain (at that time they did not have the easy path that now allows better access) and sat up there and looked at the city lights and life, while I tried to see if she was coming up.
It was nice and warm, and we were up there for a while, and talked, and touched each other. We agreed to spend the rest of the night at her place, not far from the store.
Technically, it became one of the above-mentioned "one-night-stands," however, it was out of necessity: I traveled on the next day. I remember this night as one of the most beautiful in my life.
Beatrix was fish, astrologically speaking, and it is said that fish and the scorpion can have very beautiful sex. I could feel it. Our lovemaking was very quiet, very fluid. I remember in particular the hours after "we were finished," where she lay on my shoulder, half sleepy while I looked up to the large ceiling fan that vaguely sent air toward us, and the music—zen flute music—rocked us to sleep.
We never saw each other again, and she is one of the women from the past I would like to see again.
(hide Beatrix)
Elena (Show)
At the end of 1984 (I still lived in the US at that time), I traveled to Europe for about 6 months. While I was there, I got a letter from Elena, who was my best friend Carl's girlfriend and wife actually (I suppose that they were married, so he was allowed to stay in the US). This letter is one of the letters I wished I had saved, so I could check whether the way I interpreted it at the time was real.
From the letter, between the lines, I got a very strong impression that the woman wanted me. It was very overwhelming, so much so that when I came back to the United States—I should visit them anyway—I decided to investigate the issue. Then I asked her if there was anything about my suspicions. And yes, there was, she confirmed!
Oops, there I had a problem: A woman who wanted me, and she unfortunately was married to my best friend! We talked about it and she thought we "just" could do whatever we wanted, and he did not need know about it after a very popular recipe that says: "They can't get hurt by what they don't know!"
Here I must admit, if it is not already obvious, that I am a man who has a hard time saying no to a woman who wants him, especially out of the blue!
I told her that it was not acceptable for me for her to just cheat on him. So I told her that if we were to do something together, he would have to know about it, and it would have be before we did it, not after. She was not so much for it, and she had to accept it because I would not compromise.
I still remember clearly this drive on gravel roads in Arkansas, where he drove the car and she sat next to him while I was in the back seat. Then I came with it, and told him that she and I had decided to have sex together, and that he should be informed about it. I can see that it must have been hard for him to have to receive such a message that made him totally impotent, powerless.
He was so emotionally upset that it became in the first place almost dangerous for us three, considering that he was the one who drove the car. He screamed that if we did it, then he would not be my friend anymore.
I could feel a distinct clarity on the matter: I was ready to accept this threat and did not let it change what I should do. I do not remember whether it was already there or later, I thought, well, if our friendship is worth something, then he will come back, otherwise it was not.
It must also be said (to my defense, perhaps!) that I had known her for a few years, and that I initially could not stand her because she seemed like a talking head, and I could not understand that Carl, who is a very quiet man, could stand being with her!
When it dawned on him that he could not stop us, then he said that it certainly was not going to happen at their place. We went to a nice warm lake nearby, where it was so great to be in the water and have sex!
Whether it was worth it is a different story. I heard nothing from him for about 6 months, which was the time he needed to lick his wounds. Their relationship was over not long after. In a way I felt also that the episode had helped them to get out of it faster, I could almost have considered it as a community service!
So he contacted me again, I was in Alaska at this time, and we resumed our friendship. However, there was from his side something that was never healed again, because we could never talk about it.
This episode has been important for me because it has shown me that I was able to assess by myself which of my actions are acceptable, and not let others decide for me. And not to forget ethics, although some readers will doubt it. Well, It is my life, I write about.
(hide Elena)
Sonia (Show)
In autumn 1984, Leonard and I were on our way to the Grand Canyon Havasupai Reservation (a slightly less well known part of the Grand Canyon, which is under the control of the local Indian population and offers a magnificent specimen of a limestone waterfall, like those found in Plitvice in Croatia). He drove in his van, also a VW, like the one I had myself, just a little older and in little less good condition.
On the way to the place where the path began, we stopped in Flagstaff to shop. It was late in the year, November or so. Just for fun we went in a second-hand store. By coincidence, a woman hold the door for us when we went in and all three of us noticed each other. From the moment we saw the woman, it was a kind of race between Leonard and I to find out who Sonia showed most interest for. Because she was clearly interested in both the two men who came from far away. It must be said that Flagstaff is a small town where there is not a great deal happening. And we two, with our long hair, did not look like many of the local men.
We walked in, looked around a bit, especially at Sonia and when we went out, we exchanged phone numbers with her, which people in the US have a tendency to do very quickly, although it is rarely more than a piece of paper in a pocket that will probably be thrown out later.
Then came the accident...
It was very cold on the Coconino Plateau, north of Flagstaff, as we drove on a dirt road that would take us to the beginning of the path. And it was soon getting dark.
We came to a curve in the road. I sat next to Leonard, his dog was behind us, along with a multitude of tools that lay here and there.
Now, I repeat that I drove the same kind of van, which meant that I had a good idea of what was going on from the passenger seat.
I looked at the approaching curve, and I began to think—it could even be that my body was the first to "think"—as follows: "If he does not slow down, we don't make it through this curve!"
Leonard did not brake... and we did not make it through the bend, at least not in the way we expected. Leonard lost control of the vehicle, which, as in slow motion, rolled one complete turn. Under this after all rather short event, I could hear tool that started flying around the cabin. The strength of the turn got the back door to open, and the dog was hurled out through the opening, and its howling joined the already chaotic accident melody.
Our first big luck that day was that the vehicle landed on its wheels, and still on the road, instead of on the side or the roof and in the ditch! Next, that neither of us had been injured. The dog, however, we could hear wailing 10-15 feet behind where we stopped, and from this point, Leonard, who was very attached to Spirit, got quite busy to see how the dog was doing.
I went in "situation-assesment-mode": I could see that we were in a rather precarious situation—it was cold, almost night, many miles from "civilization" and we had a wounded dog.
Without needing to talk about it, the distribution of tasks was immediate: Leonard was with the dog while I investigated how serious the situation really was.
The first alarm bell was that I could hear a sound undoubtedly indicating that a liquid was evaporating in contact with something hot. Yes, it could only be the battery (which I knew beforehand was loose in the rear compartment when the engine is also to be found). It had obviously been punctured during the accident, and was losing all its precious liquid, a hazardous mixture of water and strong acid.
Luckily, Leonard had plenty of various tape. I got hold of the battery, and gave it a tape patch. It had not lost too much of its life—giving liquid.
Next was that the windshield, that although it was still in one piece, was completely smashed and had hopped out of where it belonged. It could come back into place and be fastened with tape. The top—this vehicle was the version called "Poptop", ie it has a lid that can be raised so someone can sleep up there, a top is made of fiberglass—had gotten loose and could be tied again. The same rope was also used to bind the driver's door shut: it could no longer be closed, because the entire frame of the vehicle had been twisted by the accident. Otherwise everything was fine. Tools—including some pretty dangerous sharps saws, drills and the like—had also been thrown out the back door during the accident, along with virtually everything else that lay there.
The next tense moment came when I tried to restart the engine. This would be crucial for our next few hours, to say the least. The motor did not need to be coaxed so much and started almost at the first attempt.
It must have been at this point—to our surprise—that a pickup truck came along on the dirt road. The driver was informed of what had happened, and when we talked about the dog—she howled so much that it would have been difficult not to notice her presence—the man said, very soberly, that he could see that the dog was too injured to survive, therefore, it did not make sense to let her needlessly suffer any more, and he went to retrieve his gun, which in this area always hung very visible on a rack in the cabin. He wanted to shoot her for us!
Leonard could not tolerate the idea and said a polite no thank you for the offer, though the man insisted. The dog was rescued, and it was good because I heard several months later that although she now limped, she survived the accident well, and went on to live for a few years, even.
At long last we were ready, and it was obvious that the Havasupai trip was canceled for this time. We turned the nose back toward Flagstaff and began to freeze: It was night, it was winter, and the windshield was very leaky!
After so many exciting events we thought it would not be so much fun to have to drive all of the 250 miles back to Phoenix! So we remembered that we had this sweet woman's telephone number in Flagstaff. Well, we just had to call her and see if we could stay with her until the next day where we could better envision the drive back to Phoenix.
Sonia was surprised to hear from us so late at night and we were very apologetic and explained that this was some kind of an emergency. There was a hindrance on her part, however. She lived in a trailer park where pets was absolutely forbidden. It took a lot of sweet talk from Leonard to persuade her that we could very discreetly sneak the poor dog in, and that we would go very early the next morning. She gave in and we were allowed to come in, men and dog.
Sonia lived in a nice little trailer in a nice little park on the outskirts of the city.
We were offered tea and were allowed to sleep in the living room, Leonard with his dog, which still had it really bad.
The next day, Leonard and I got a motel room so that we could relax a bit and find out what we should do. Leonard had to take the dog to a veterinarian, so the worst thing was sorted.
Until then, the weather had been dry, though cold. The next night, it snowed, and I woke up to a beautiful landscape, a white, silent world. I love snow (I grew up in southern France, where snow was a rare occurrence up on Mount Faron that lay behind Toulon).
I was so excited that I went out. Leonard was still asleep. I decided to walk over to where Sonia lived, it was not that long a jaunt, especially in crisp, virgin snow.
When I came near her place I walked around the trailer. I could just as well have resembled a stalker, now that I think of it. I looked up at her bedroom window, wondering whether she was awake. At exactly the same time, I got so frightened because Sonia's face suddenly popped up in the window. She looked at me a little puzzled, and when she recognized me, I was allowed to enter.
I can imagine that it was this visit that began to determine which of Leonard and I was to win our competition for Sonia. Leonard came later, and it was decided that he would drive back to Phoenix alone because Sonia and I had decided that I was to stay with her...
This is maybe as good a place as any to note or highlight—if you have not noticed it—that even though this section is about my sexual history, so it is still not full of erotic—pornographic for some, more about the distinction between eroticism and pornography elsewhere on this page—scenes. It is different because the circumstances that have led me to a relationship have sometimes been as exciting as the raw action that comes out of it. Sex—hopefully—we have all tried. Special encounters is another question.
That being said, there was very good sex with Sonia, both for the better and the worse, in several ways...
Something funny, that has always puzzled me since that time is: was it because Sonia was jew and that I was "gentile", and therefore not circumcised, that Sonia and I never had intercourse, and we never talked about the. My interpretation was that I somehow was not good enough for her to it. I was not "clean" enough.
Something good did come out of it, however: because of my tense relationship with intercourse, sex with her was very liberating. There was much mutual licking, and something else that I have rarely experienced since: sometimes, we scratched each other on the back, so much that we left bloody trails that, after we had finished, hurt. It was so great!
Other circumstances did that our relationship lasted only a few weeks...
(hide Sonia)
Kim (Show)
October 1985. I was on my way from Los Angeles to Boston, and drove a 12-passenger bus with another 12 passenger bus in tow (I was a tour guide, and vehicles had to be returned home after the season). Along the way, I visited my best friend Carlin Hot Springs, Arkansas with his wife Elena.
One afternoon, they took me on a walk in nature, and one of their friends came by, Kim. Kim was scorpion like me, and although I do not take astrology as a religion, life has shown me that there are some aspects of it that are worth taking into consideration, especially about how some characters attract other characters. Maybe it was the reason why Kim and I almost immediately liked each other, without talking so much about it.
I still remember so clearly how on the way back from the trip—Kim and I sat in the back seat of the car—we talked about movies. At one time, said Kim "Have you seen Body Heat?"—which I think is a fantastic erotic film. I do not know if it was already a part of our seduction dance from her side. My reaction was immediate: I strongly grabbed her thigh with my hand, as if I were burying claws into it. That night we were in bed together.
Sex with Kim was very coarse, raw (not with a negative connotation for any of these two words). It was liberating for me to have sex with a woman who clearly liked what reportedly is a hallmark of scorpions: My own brief description is that we have a passion for life, death, and dirt and excrements.
Kim had also, curiously enough, a rather difficult history, and bar many scars from it. Our relationship, in part because I was someone who drove on in a moment, lasted only the time I was there.
(hide Kim)
Laura (Show)
The way I have met my children's mother deserves fortunately to be in this department. More because our meeting was part of the strongest "red threads" I see in my life, when I look in the rearview mirror...
In June 1983 I was back in Phoenix, Arizona, to visit, though without the van, that nicely waited for me in San Francisco. I had to find transportation to get to it.
The US offer a unique way to travel, called "Drive Away". The concept is simple and requires a great country to make sense: Imagine someone who moves from New York to Los Angeles. That person has a car—who does not have one in the United States, particularly among those who can afford to move from coast to coast—and does not want to drive the whole almost 3,000 miles.
The person contacts a drive-away office, which finds someone who happens to want to drive a car from New York to Los Angeles. The conditions are pretty simple: The driver gets a certain number of days to run the trip, a particular route that in theory has to be followed, and usually the first tank of fuel for free. In the '80s, when gasoline was so cheap in the US, it was a very good way to travel. The deadline was reasonable enough—it would not benefit anyone stressing the driver by forcing them to drive too many miles each day—which meant that it was possible to see something of the country (and, if you dared to deviate from the assigned route, as I did, there was much more, you could see!).
So I came into Phoenix's drive-away office. In front of me in the queue was a woman who, I heard, also wanted to get a car to San Francisco. I could also see that the woman was from Denmark. I had after all learned something Swedish some years before (see section about Jenny), and this was a good enough opportunity for me to defy my otherwise pathological shyness towards women. I began to talk to her in my approximate and accent-tinged Swedish and mentioned that we might be able to find a car together. It made it easier to say to her that I lived here, and that I knew many beautiful places on the way that would not be so bad for her to see (when I have a good angle, I can really "sell" myself and what I can offer!).
The woman, Laura, liked the idea, and we got a car to San Francisco. She had just arrived from Boston with another drive-away car, which she had driven with a man and another woman, a French woman. The French woman was to come with us.
I did my best to impress them, especially Laura, actually, because it turned out very quickly that the French woman was so boring that I almost remember nothing about her. Although we drove through some very scenic landscapes, she slept most the time.
It was pretty easy because I was in my element. We drove from Phoenix in the afternoon. I took them on a little detour on the banks of the Colorado River, where I prepared one of my specialties for them: guacamole. It was a big hit.
The trip to San Francisco was—for me—a quite usual visit to several very beautiful places that I was very happy to show them (although the French woman preferred to sleep instead of watching Jashua Tree National Park, for example!)
In San Francisco we finally got rid of the French woman. I had told Laura that I was going to Berkeley—one of California's hippie capitals—to retrieve my vehicle so I could continue towards my ultimate goal, Seattle, Washington. I offered her to go on with me because she also wanted to go that way. So we did. We did not miss the French woman.
I was a little excited, because now I was alone on a long road trip with a foreign woman.
We were the most odd couple I could imagine: I was the wild hippy Frenchman who lived in his van and had tried a little of all (except substances, must it be said, until that point, anyway...), and she was—besides being a few years younger than me—quite ignorant about the big world. She was, as far as I understood, in a kind of sect, or at least in a strange context, which made for her, classical music was the only kind of music worth listening to. I could quickly see that she had many prejudices, most of them about topics she did not know so much about in the first place.
As a result, the more miles we drove, the more I did my best to provoke her and her strikingly narrow view of the world. Whatever we talked about, we disagree, and her thoughts seemed always to go back to the rules she had learned to live by in her "sect". She hated that name, I used to talk about her philosophy called anthroposophy.
I remember one day when we were on the Oregon Coast and we had stopped to look at the Pacific Ocean. There was a wall along the road, shoulder-heigh. I found an old key on the asphalt, and put it on the wall while I said to her: Well, I consider this as art. She did not like it so much.
Our interaction in the next week was more and more tense, because of our huge differences in outlook and yet we experienced some interesting situations. North of San Francisco, we went to the beach around Point Reyes and swam among seals. I remember one of our many walks on the beach where we were so angry with each other that we went separately, and the beach was not big enough for both of us.
And all the while, I was attracted to her and probably she to me. We traveled the whole of two weeks, before anything happened between us, even though we slept at night next to each other in the van, where I always did my best not to touch her by mistake.
It first happened one night when we had reached the Olympic National Park Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center, on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. It was clearly colder up there than when we had been on the coast. That must have been why I suddenly felt a foot, hers, getting close to mine in my sleeping bag, and touching it. I would never have taken the initiative for such a thing, so conditioned and scared I was from my upbringing about showing a woman, whose opinion on the matter I did not know yet, that I had a sexual interest in her. And then I was also afraid of being rejected.
Then we started having sex. Two weeks into the trip, with about a week to go, well done! Not to say that it made our relationship easier. We remained equally of different opinions about just everything.
We traveled a little more together, including to the north of Vancouver, Whistler, where we had the opportunity to spend a night in a very special house built by a quite famous architect. Shortly after she had to return home to Denmark. Unlike some of the other relationships that were limited by similar circumstances, for instance that I had to move on, our paths crossed again later, so much that she became the mother of my children (well, I have to write my last two children...)
(hide Laura)
Bonnie (Show)
Seattle, Wa is the city where I have lived longest in the US, and It is my favorite city in North America, just after Vancouver in British Columbia, Canada.
I was there in the middle of the 80's. At that time, I lived on Queen Ann Hill, with a man I had met when I was a tour guide.
Just down the street from the house was a cultural center where I joined a Tai Chi course, Wu Style.
We were maybe 6 students, and one of my fellow students, Bonnie, was a cute blond woman with short hair. It turned out very quickly that we two liked each other and practicing "Push Hands" with her did not make it worse. It already almost felt as good as sex.
It was not long before we became more for each other. The first time we went to bed together, I crawled into her bedroom through the rear window (she lived on the first floor). She had a sweet cat, who thought that this kind of behavior perhaps was a bit steep. However, I was forgiven by Greta after a while.
(hide Bonnie)
From relationship to relationship, there was something that did not get better: I was still a premature ejaculator. Most women were very sweet and accepting, which did not help, because no matter the fine utterances—"It is fine, we can do something else!"; or, even worse: "I do not always have to have an orgasm, it should not be a race!" etc.,—no matter what they said, I knew there was something I could not, and that it was they, who suffered from it. The belief that sexual intercourse was part of the oppression of women could not really be used for so much: I could see that it could not address my desire to be able to make love with a woman properly!
A Good Book Gathers Dust
Here is a small detail that many years later proved to be very important: at some point in the 80's, I read a book on Taoism, where it was written that a man can control his ejaculations. When I first read it, I thought that there was hope. And yet, no matter how much I tried, I could not do it because I could feel that there was an invincible force that came from inside of me, and who took over any attempt to postpone the inevitable. I was therefore more and more convinced that my premature ejaculations was something I had to live with for the rest of my life.
Another very interesting "detail" appeared in the same period: The revelation I have mentioned a few times before on this page...
It is funny to see how we can suddenly become aware of something we until then did not know, and yet seems so self-evident when we look in the rearview mirror with its smartness!
A Great Revelation
After way too many years, without any special circumstances that I can remember, it dawned on me that there was an obvious reason for my not liking the smell of semen! It was about no less than conditioning. The conditioning that has been associated with the name "Pavlov", and his dogs.
Pavlov, at the beginning of the 1900's, got dogs to salivate when they heard a bell, and only heard the bell, after having associated the sound of the bell with the presence of food.
I understood that it was the same, the repeated times I masturbated as a boy. There was namely two things that always happened at the same time after I had finished the abominable act: guilt and shame at having defied my mother's prohibition against masturbation fell over me, and the smell of the semen that had just come out of me filled the room. I transferred the negativity caused by guilt and shame to the smell of semen!
Later on I am going to describe how the story did not stop there, and how I could turn a rather bad situation into something very beneficial.
The fact that I became so much more aware about such an intimate detail of my sex life did not help me in bed, though, because I for one still could not stand the smell of semen (and still do not really like it so much today... ), and for another because I still came too soon. It would require other kinds of revelations to lead me to a place where my sex life could significantly improve.
A New Beginning Is Preparing Itself
Then came one of the most important turning points in my life for 13-14 years ago. A French female friend who I had known for many years, and who became my girlfriend a few years before (our relationship was anything but easy, and on top of that we did not see each other very often as she lived in France and I lived in Denmark) visited me. It was summer, and we could borrow a cottage in Vejby, in Northern Sealand, where we spent a weekend together.
I must have been ready to try something else because I decided that I should not have any ejaculations all weekend, which almost meant that for safety, we most probably should not have intercourse...
See my present, where the story continues...
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