Saturday, May 7, 2011

I Finally Figured Out What's Wrong

Odd, unpredictable things happen to women my age, things that feel like some sort of special torture designed for those of us cursed with belonging to the "fairer" sex (as if the previous 30+ years of monthly anguish we've already had to undergo hasn't been sufficient). In a flash today, while writing to one of my newest Craigslist Berlin prospects, it all came to me. First you have to listen to this episode of This American Life (starting at about 15:20) from nearly ten years ago.

Just as the woman-to-man points out, my own experience as a woman had previously been that the narrative of sexuality is largely verbal (ranging from him whispering sweet nothings in my ear to enjoying literotica). In contrast, I've always known men's is visual, and in the interest of my extensive social research into the penile-bearing, I've sampled a wide range of porn. Why the difference? Well, it's testosterone, my darlings. I'm very fond of quoting the line from this interview where the W2M describes how testosterone injections changed everyday life into a series of vivid streaming pornographic images. It's fun to ask lovers to describe them every now and then.

For the last two or three years, I've experienced a notable increase in said images: triple-X flashes that suddenly and unpredictably seem to suffuse my entire brain. But Tuesday was special because an ordinary weekly occurrence suddenly exploded into something completely orthogonal to my normal sexual sensibility. I was showering at the pool when across the shower room I spotted the most perfect female ass I have ever seen, or so it seemed at the time, and I'm no stranger to women's locker rooms! She was taking her own sweet time applying shampoo to her long wavy dark hair and slowly and sensually sudsing it, moving her hands through it, working the suds around. It seemed suddenly like I was jolted into a time warp of sheer lust without beginning or end. I had the clearest vision of spreading those perfect half moons apart and (ahem)... [the rest of this image, being completely incompatible with the non-pornographic nature of my writing, is left to your imagination].

She turned around to rinse out the soap and I was brought up short by the lamentably all-too-common pubic landing strip she sported. But then she rotated once again and there were those perfect lobes and a wave of lust crashed through me and I thought I would just die if I couldn't drop to my knees under the water flowing over her and [remainder strictly censored]...

In a moment of clear-headed analysis, I googled testosterone and pre-menopause and found, unsurprisingly, that testosterone levels can become unpredictable or even rise in some women. Although for over three years I've ascribed my heightened sexuality to the fact that I have so much less opportunity here than I did back in the good old New World, in truth I can't say this whole thing wouldn't have happened anyway, courtesy of testosterone.

So, my dears, this week, I found out with perfect certainty what it is to be male. . . And my guess is that that changes everything.


Debra said...

Hi darling. Yes, that's it - but now that you know what's wrong...what are you going to do about it? xoxod

Katchita said...

Thanks for the confirmation, D. -- you know I greatly value your experience. As far as what to do, stay tuned for coming attractions because my next post will continue in the same theme. What to do about it is entirely unclear to me. As many thinking women in their 40s do, I could just withdraw from the whole game and wait for the hormones to die out, which will happen soon enough. Or I could explore possibilities with women, which I think would be challenging but not impossible. But maybe I could look for some sort of maintenance uncomplicated strictly-(hetero)sex situation, another common solution, I think, for the mature woman. Any suggestions?!