GG Writes

So, I’m going to take a shortcut and combine the last two posts.  Because time and again Lust is what has brought me to Yes.

Girls:  Beware.  Your mama is going to tell a few tales here. Might be TMI.

So sure, I was a teenager and suffered the usual throes of uncontrolled craving.  And sometimes these led me into situations I can’t remember without cringing. Like Tim, the super cool summertime boyfriend, who bought a used police car at a June auction, and discovered a secret button hidden on the driver’s side that could make the car accelerate 0 to 60 in an impossibly short time. That car was his prized possession, and when he wasn’t with me, he spent all his time on River Road, racing with other testosterone driven guys. I knew he did this, but always refused to go with him.  On the cusp of both our summer and our romance, he finally convinced me to go. I was in pretty deep by then, and actually remember myself saying, “If you die Tim, I want to die, too”.  Or some such pap.  But I couldn’t go through with it. I started screaming for him to stop the minute he stomped on the accelerator, and the back of my head smashed into the back of the seat. Disgusted, he deposited me beside the road, and continued to roar back and forth for a half hour while I cooled my heels in the marshy weeds beside the river. No matter. He was sexy, and I lusted for him.  But not enough to say yes to that! September arrived, we both left for college, and lust trickled away.  We tried to relight the flame in December, but it was fully extinguished. I didn’t even have to say No.

College brought freedom from parental oversight, freedom to pursue any little lust that might crop up. It was the late 60’s and casual sex was de riguer.  Women were free free free to do what they wanted.  And I did.  Amazing that nothing truly awful happened – no pregnancy, venereal disease, bodily harm..  The worst thing was the diminution of self-respect I felt when sex was casual. One time I was ditched by the soulful poet-scientist boyfriend, and then invited for the weekend by one of his fraternity brothers.  Out of spite, I said yes.  Bad yes.  I arrived to find that instead of arranging a room for me in the girls’ dorm, the boy, for boy he was, had booked us a room in the local motel. I barely knew him, but was still on the Spite Train, so I allowed him to carry in my bag and followed resolutely along behind. The rug was dark green shag, the walls were dark panelled, and the air was decidedly musty.  Beside the huge king-sized bed, the first I’d ever seen, was an ice bucket holding a bottle of Cold Duck (!), and two glasses.  “OK, I can do this”, I thought. Excusing myself, I went in to the bathroom, and discovered a toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink.  “Can I do this?”  I thought.  Coming out of the bathroom, there stood the boy, resplendent in maroon velveteen smoking jacket – I swear – but he’d taken off his pants, and his skinny legs were sticking out the bottom.  Turn-Off Extreme.  Nope.  Can’t do this.  No no no.  Yes, put your pants back on. Yes, take me to the girls dorm where everyone else is.  Yes, there will be no action for you buddy boy! But here’s the really bad part.  He looked so crestfallen, and begged so earnestly, that I agreed to stay the night with him as long as he stayed on his side of the bed.  Which he didn’t.  Egad and end of story.  Spite and pity and champagne – really bad combination.  That was another gg for sure.

There were, of course, other situations that my lust, fed by the times, led me into. My friends and I were all floundering in freedom without responsibility. But then I met John; handsome, smart, funny John who thought I was special, which felt like a miracle. And who saw the me of me.  No secrets, no bullshit, no pretending. Oh boy, I fell hard. Lust positively took over my life.  I spent hours reading Kahlil Gibran, listening to Johnny Mathis, and weeping softly because I was so overcome by it all. I lusted after him sexually of course, because he was a very sexy man with his fluid, athletic walk and straight, strong body, his big grin, twinkly blue eyes, and bright red hair.  But more than the sex, I lusted to have him. And his future children.  And a life together.  So, when the subject of marriage came up, I said YES. Actually, in the interest of honesty, I have to tell you that I was the one who brought the subject up. My lust was just too powerful. I wanted him!

We spent those first years figuring out how to be married to one another, how to harness the passion and use it to build a real relationship.  I lusted after small things like shoes and books and living room furniture, but under it all, or maybe on top, I was seriously lusting for a child.  John was in Law School, and we both agreed we should wait until he graduated.  Best laid plans. A switch in birth control methods provided an apparent gap in coverage and – voila! – I was pregnant. And that was it.  We both said a resounding, amazed YES.  And along came Jennifer, with her big blue eyes and sweet smile; our little miracle girl who talked in full sentences at 12 months (any surprise there?), and was always so determined to be independent. “I know howta” became her mantra.

After a while, I started to lust for school myself.  I had dropped out after my junior year due to Lust Number 1 – John – but I became fixated on finishing. I needed something beside home and hearth to occupy my mind.  So, despite daily responsibility for Jennifer and Alex, my friend’s baby, I threw myself lustily into school, taking classes at night and doing my work during naptime. It was great.  It was hard.  But I said yes to it every day, and somehow got through.

I graduated, John graduated, my mother graduated from nursing school, and life continued until – zing – another glitch in the birth control system.  The timing was still rotten, but what the heck?!  Yes yes yes to Justin, that sweet, easygoing baby boy with the infectious giggle, and crazy lust for wheels and speed seemingly from Day One. Our family was now perfect. A girl and a boy. Done.

Life in the suburbs, me home with two kids, John working 12 hours a day, and still there’s time for some old fashioned bedroom lust.  And, I’m telling you truly, I screw up the birth control a third time!  Only this time I don’t want to be pregnant.  I have trouble saying yes.  I feel fat, and nauseous, and I liked my life the way it was.  For eight months I vomit, and kvetch, and drag my big belly around the house. And then, one night I’m lying on my back on the couch, popping Tums and watching some mindless tv program, when that baby inside me starts to do gymnastics. One minute she’s lying on my right side all quiet and calm, and the next she does some crazy half-gainer with a twist and lands on the left. And then she does it again! It looks so weird, and feels even weirder. And I begin to laugh.  And love her.  And there’s the Yes again.  Yes!  Hello Sarah, one of a kind, straight-shooting, opened wide-open Sarah who still astonishes me, and makes me laugh.

When Sarah was 7, and Jen 11, I returned to work.  And I loved my job.  I was lustful about it: ardent and enthusiastic and zestful. All of that. Yes. But, I was too immersed in it.  My lust took over. And it wasn’t such a good thing this time. Distance grew between us all as I lost myself in this other lust, and let my family fend for itself without me as its rudder.  It’s so hard to say that, but it’s the truth.  My marriage wasn’t as lusty, my children were pulling away, and work was the thing that gave me satisfaction and pleasure and self-worth. Our family stumbled along for awhile, and then John died. Suddenly. Shockingly. Ripped away with out warning. And all lust was gone. I didn’t feel like saying Yes ever again. Or even No.  Life was one, long flat nothing. No pleasure, no passion, no enthusiasm. Nothing. I went through the motions of living; of being mother, daughter, teacher, friend – but I was no longer a wife.

One year later, along came Dick, the biggest surprise of all. A man whose passions mirror mine in so many ways, with whom I am always comfortable, and from whom flows a constant stream of support and love. Libidinous lust rose from the ashes, the happy brain took over, and Yes jumped to my lips.  Life regained its zest, We traveled, and read, and watched birds, and gardened, and socialized, talked up a storm together, and watched my children say their own yeses and have their own children.. My world expanded to become one big YES. Oh yes, those grandchildren. They are my !!!

I am but a small cog in the wheel of the world.  My name won’t be written in any history books, and few will remember me after I’m gone. But I don’t really care. My legacy rests in the yeses I have said to the lusts I have had. It rests in my family, grown up and grown close again. What more can a woman ask for?

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