The Naked Run

Men brag about their sexual exploits. Both real and imagined. My boss Manny has no patience for macho bravado. He is a ladies man even at the age of 80, but he's also very quick to cut anyone's claim to Casanova status by boasting, "No one in this diamond exchange has had more pussy than this man here."

"That's not true anymore." I'm faithful to my wives in Thailand. One figuratively and the other in reality. "I haven't touched another woman other than Mem for more than 3 years."

"You could never fuck again and you'd still have the title of most fucks on 47th street."

For some reason Manny is very proud of my exploits. I don't talk about, but occasionally dream about these women chasing me to ground. A rake runs fast from the past, especially since way the Catholic Church and other derivatives of the Judeo-Christian faith feel about monogamy.

Priests, rabbis, mullahs, and reverends teach monogamy as the true state of man and woman. The birds and bees worshipped God in holy union. My parents explained the arrival of each new brother or sister as the gift of a stork. Big birds at hospitals made no sense to me, but my parents remained faithful to each other till death like mating pigeons.

On the other hand I have been a wanderer. I can't count the number of my paramours on one hand or all my digits either. I've never made a list. Somehow that seemed a little too gauche. While I don't remember all their names I do recollect their faces, smiles, and smell. Strangely very little of the sex. Woman pride themselves on their memories. They can quote you twenty years after the utterance left your lips. I thought that females would be the same about the act of love.

Not all of them.

Several years back I ran into Valda at a studio opening in Manhattan. I had been out of town for a half-year in Asia. We sat on a window sill and spoke of our lives. Past and present. Two younger people came up to us and asked if we were a couple.

"You seemed so comfortable together." The male beamed with the promise of two hearts beating as one. He held his girlfriend's hand with tenderness. They had a lot to learn, but I wasn't giving them any harsh lessons, so I said, "No, we're not a couple, but we once were lovers."

"No, we weren't." Valda's answer was quick and harsh.

"We weren't? I was certain we had slept together on my futon. Sweat slickening our bodies on a hot August night.

"Not at all." She was adamant.

"Are you sure?" Her kiss had been long.

"100%."

Those encounters couldn't have been a phantasm of my fantasies. She had scratched my back to shreds. A fury dwelt in her eyes. The young couple were aghast. I admitted surrender. "Sorry, guess I was thinking about someone else."

I had slept with two of her best friends; Mary Beth and Lucille.

They would know if I was right, but those two had vanished from New York at least a decade earlier. Valda walked away angry. She glared at me the rest of the night. I hadn't thought I was so bad in bed, but you never are as reality no longer matches up with your memory.