General Joseph Hooker, Sex and The Real World

The world seems to be loaded with over-sexed middle aged guys and under-sexed middle aged women. The men think with their little heads, the women think with their big heads (the only one they have or need). The

General Joseph Hooker

little head actually thinks with its eyes. The big head thinks with its ears.

And so it was with me. Divorced and single for 17 years, I lived a sex life with emphasis on hookers. Wham, bam, slam, goodbye Ma’am. For $100-$200 I could ’fall in love' for 30 minutes at a time, I didn't have to make any conversation, the burden of proof was never on me and when it was over she was gone. I could take a whiz without having to cuddle first.

From time to time I would find a straight gal and date her until the inevitable happened. My doing or saying something 'wrong', a lot, always happened and it was bye, bye Bernie. Even saying, ‘I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.’, a married man's mantra, didn't work.

A straight woman being around this old Jew didn't think that she was spending a day at the beach. (Another advantage of consorting with hookers was that we weren't around one another long enough for the hooker to get pissed off at me.)

Women have called me everything from asshole, to a no good son of a bitch and worse. Lots of door slamming by my ex-best friends on their way out. And it's certain that whether the Princess is looking up at the grass from hell or looking down from heaven (I'll go either way.) she would have a hard time saying anything nice about me. But in a very fucking self righteous way. But then it takes one to know one.

These days my sex life consists of memories and fantasies. Instead of dreaming of raw sex my time is spent thinking of fitness, incontinence and regular bowel movements. I also try to avoid people who think and tell me that I am stupid. That pretty well restricts my still alive friendships to non Jews. I don't worry, at all, about the opinions of my dead friends.

Taking care of fitness is easier than taking care of incontinence which is a drip, drip, drip problem. I consider myself very lucky that I can sometimes 'sleep' for 3 hours in a row without having to drag my ass to the loo.

My utility bill is out the roof with having to 'keep the light on' (and I’m not living in Motel 6). Better a light on and an elevated utility bill than stumbling in the fucking dark and going down on my ass, which I did recently, in raw daylight, walking to my car. I now walk as though I'm marching with hut, two, three, four ringing in my head. Pick 'em up and lay 'em down. No Back Bay Shuffle for me even if it was an Artie Shaw tune.

Snail mail today snapped me to attention with an envelope from the Mass. General Hospital playing to my biggest fear with the headline in fucking blue 'What's your risk of developing dementia?’ Worse, inside there was a piece advertising a report, 'Forgetfulness vs. Memory Loss.'

I sent in for the report. After all we live in a world where every university has a hospital which peddles life saving reports designed to scare the shit out of you to get you to subscribe. I subscribe to at least 8 of them. They make my every kvetch have some meaning.

Fallen Doves was used to describe hookers before General Joseph Hooker popularized the term. He supplied his soldiers, during the Civil War, with prostitutes.