Not Dead But Not So As You’d Notice
May 13, 2013 § 139 Comments
On the whole, I tend to steer clear of the subject of sex. Well, here, anyway for fear of being bombarded by fucking weirdo trolls. And even though I completely agree with James Salter – America’s neglected genius, according to the big profile of the writer in yesterday’s Observer – that the sexual life is “the real game of the grownup world”. In Saturday’s Guardian review of his new novel, All That Is, it said that “the cycle of meeting, flirting and fucking forms the book’s basic dramatic unit.”
Well, certainly it forms MY basic dramatic unit, and everybody else’s, even if some don’t see it quite that way, or aren’t so quick to admit it.
Times in my life there have been longish periods without sex, but of course during those periods it never occurs to one that anyone else on the planet is experiencing or has ever experienced a fallow period. You see the world as a place where everyone else is at it like dogs. Then it suddenly happens again, and you think, phew! Back in the land of (grownup) living. You feel part of the adult human race again, where you rightly belong. Not in some throwback virginal space that infantilises you, somehow, so that whenever you go to a fucking movie or read a sex scene in a novel or see some couple eating each other’s faces on the pavement, you feel like a child again, cut off from the mysterious world of grown-ups. And as for when one of your own offspring is having sex and you’re doing the laundry of a dreary Tuesday morning and the damp clothes spill out of the washing-machine with an avalanche of unopened Durex packets from the jeans’ pockets, you think, what’s the fucking point, why don’t I just head directly for Shady Oaks this minute, and not even pass Go? Well and truly knocked off the perch of meeting, flirting and fucking. Not even a substitute in “the real game of the grownup world” but resoundingly shown one’s red flag.
Thought I’d got to that point once SYT beat his retreat before Christmas. We never stopped seeing each other, but the grown-up gaming had popped its clogs. Of course, I didn’t stop nursing some daft hope, especially when my other beautiful young friend (whom I have called Dave and Tom in this blog, I think, to the confusion of all, just because I forgot my pseudonym for him – let’s kill off Dave and stick with Tom – and whom I am not sleeping with, but we like to flirt) bet me a tenner that SYT would come good again.
Well, Tom was right (always is). Took longer than he predicted. The wager stated that SYT would have come good by 8 April, and it wasn’t till a month or so later, so Tom was a bit out. So he’ll have to make do with a fiver.
But that’s cheap at the price , I say, for being back in the land of the (grownup) living.
I’m walking around today, ten feet tall.