Thinking back over my long life, my memories seem to cluster in groups of like categories. The memories of fishing excursions with my brothers and father are grouped chronologically. Memories of the various cars I’ve had throughout my car-fan life are grouped as well. I need not go on; I’m sure, about doctors, dentists, buddies and so on. The main thing is that opportunities for love-making that were passed up cause me some of the few regrets I have about my life.
One thing that bothers me most about those missed opportunities is what the women might think of me for having not responded to their invitations. What an ass I must appear to be and I hate making an ass of myself. But I did it, so I must accept the shame.
To make the situations a little more understandable, I will tell you a bit about myself. For one thing, I was not an athlete. The only sports in which I participated successfully were sports car racing and water skiing. Both sports had engines providing the power. On the other hand, I have a gift of conversation and imagination. I’m a good listener and an interesting story teller. Women have found me physically attractive. That’s just luck, of course. My parents’ genes did well for all three of us brothers.
There are all kinds of situations, from running into a girl you knew in high school to a stranger on a train. Any situation can become an invitation to love-making, and that’s wonderful because I have dedicated myself to becoming a sincere, sensitive and satisfying lover. That might be why I have sometimes not responded to the lure of lust. The variety of moments that I regret for not making love when offered is tumbling in on me as I set out to write this. I feel like I’m revealing it to myself by revealing it to you.
In my early teens I was friendly with a neighbourhood girl, Gloria. She was nice in manner and appearance. She was very big busted for her age and had long legs. We never ‘necked’ or anything. We just sat on her front steps and chatted on summer days.
About twenty-five years later I saw her in a little strip mall. She looked quite the same, with the same sadness that always seemed to be in her. I now think she had probably been molested by her stepfather. She wanted to spend time with me, and I brushed it off and went on with my chore. I should have done something for her.
Another time I recall I was going to a screening in my old Triumph TR3. I pulled into the parking lot of the building and as I stepped out of the car, a young, pretty woman in a light sun dress and little else approached me. She stood close to assure that the scoop neck of the dress could be seen over. She went on about being new in town and not knowing anyone. She pointed to a nearby apartment building and said she just moved in there and was eager to learn the city. I told her I couldn’t help her and went into the screening room. Sitting there in the dark I suddenly realized what the girl really wanted. I felt like a total ass.
Another time, I was pursuing an older woman from the office where I worked. Several times I was invited to her apartment to talk and listen to music. I tried gently to seduce her but was easily put aside. Finally, one evening I decided that I would give it up and just be a friend as she appeared to desire. I didn’t say or do anything different from my other visits except the gentle hints at seduction. When it was time to go, as I approached the door she came up behind me and put her arms around me and held her breasts against my back. Somehow, for me, the moment had passed and it was time to go, so I went. It was too late. Now I regret not turning around and kissing her.
Another one was almost the same in result. She was a Russian masseuse and was helping me with some physical therapy. She had a wonderful figure, was an avid tennis player and a very good physiotherapist. I invited her to become my lover every time I was with her. It was once a week for ten weeks. In the end, the moment had passed. As I left her place for the last time, she sort of posed against a door frame and seemed to be inviting me to hold her. At the same time she was saying that I could come back for a single treatment any time. It didn’t have to be the ten week commitment. Again, for me, the moment had passed. Now, years later, I regret not becoming lover to these women. Nothing can be done now, and I hope they don’t think too badly of me. I don’t live in the same city where the women live, and I’m sure I’ll never see any of them again.
I don’t want to recall any more of them. It makes me feel like an idiot.