Watching God Spin CloudsPremière partie

by Greg Silva · Published June 19, 2018 · Updated March 16, 2019

A Dancer Dancer

I once dated a young party girl. This is an important right of passage for any middle-aged man, not to be skipped.

She was a dancer. No, not THAT kind of dancer. A dancer dancer. Watching her perform was like watching God spin clouds; not only because of the breathless impact her body made on me as it moved to music, but also because I got to peel off her leotard and rub myself against that luminescent young girl flesh.

My editor just told me that last sentence sounded creepy. And I say, “You try being a middle-aged guy, controlling yourself around that kind of young girl flesh! Besides, the dancing queen wasn’t THAT young. She was in her late 20s and I was in my early 40s.”

The Butthole Thing

If that was creepy, then I can assure you she was as creepy as I. Creepier! Her greatest sexual fantasy — and she had a lot of them [Not that there’s anything wrong with sexual fantasies. I have plenty of them; indulge most of them; and write about all of them.] — she very much wanted to do me with a strap-on. She got all quivery just talking about it.

Turns out, she’d already done two guys I knew. And so from then on, every time I ran into those guys — both, type As: one, a cokehead try-sexual philosophy teacher at Northwestern; the other, the guy that yells “Cheeseburger, cheeseburger!” at Billy Goat Tavern — I wondered if they knew that I knew; or if they cared. Maybe I was behind the times (sorry for the pun) and everybody was doing it.

But you see, I had already done the butthole thing. I dated a nurse many years ago. One night I told her, “Hey, let’s do the butthole thing.”

JUMP CUT TO FANTASY:

INT. NIGHTCLUB DANCE FLOOR — 4AM

DJ spinning. EVERYBODY dancing. EDM SONG lyric:

Everybody
Everybody
Everybody
Do da butthole thing!
Do da butthole thing!

JUMP CUT BACK TO REALITY:

And so the nurse put on a surgical glove and lubed up her finger, and I raised my legs like a woman, and she stuck her finger, past the knuckle, into my manhole, and molested my peach pit while I jacked off. Or tried to; because I remained as flaccid as a cat teaser. And ya know why? Because it felt like there was a finger up my butt. That’s all. It didn’t turn me on.

Chicago Swirl

Let’s call the dancer Natasha. She had Russian blood in her; along with the usual Chicago swirl: Polish; Irish; and German. A curvy dishwater blonde, with a flawless olive complexion and the most perfect natural C-cup breasts that I’ve ever seen outside of a 1960s Playboy magazine.

She liked to get naked, and she loved to be photographed; a potent combination for a voyeur like me. Once, I shot three dozen photographs of her in a bunch of old-style cheesecake poses, with my Canon A-1; and when I went to rewind, I realized there was no film in the camera.

She burst out laughing. I turned red. I still got embarrassed in those days; not anymore. But God, she radiated love and sensuality, kneeling naked on my bed, covering her laugh with one hand; the other hand resting on a bare thigh!

Here’s another typical Natasha story. She went home with a couple o’ guys once. She didn’t drink or do drugs; but they did. Though I must say, these guys didn’t need chemical courage to get Natasha to take off her clothes. All they had to do was ask. It took no time at all for them to find out that she worked as a nude model for the Art Institute and Columbia College and blah blah blah around town. Someone made a joke about her modeling for them. Well, guess what. That’s right! And not only did she take off her clothes post haste, she insisted that the guys do the same. And guess what. They didn’t! Two young men too shy to share a hot chick. That’s the midwest for ya.

So Loved and So Lost

Natasha liked to laugh as much as she like to get naked. She was the perfect audience for my natural storytelling proclivities. After sex, I’d stand at the foot of the bed in my pajama bottoms acting out one of my drunk-as-shit stories.

[su_pullquote]
How could a loving God allow me to drown in passion for someone who made me feel so loved and so lost?
[/su_pullquote]

She’d remain under the covers up to her chin with a bare leg poking out and flopping around like a cat’s tail; then practicing her pointe work with that leg and me grabbing the leg because she was distracting both of us from MY performance. There was such adoration in her eyes when I talked. She made me feel like the most important person in the world. She GOT me.

I fell in love with Natasha and decided she was the one. Then I got the wind knocked outta me when she said that she didn’t want to get married. And not only that, she wanted an open relationship.

What? Goddammit, I’M supposed to be the unfaithful man; YOU’RE supposed to be the devoted woman! The biggest irony here, mind you, was not that the female of the relationship wanted multiple sex partners. It was that I had always wanted a harem. That is, until I fell in love with Natasha. And then I only had urges for her.

I had never experienced that before. Desire for one woman only. I was horrified and furious. How could a loving God allow me to drown in passion for someone who made me feel so loved and so lost?

Intercourse School

To complicate the matter, Natasha had only recently begun having intercourse. Not sure why she waited so long. To my knowledge, there was no history of sexual abuse. No religious taboo. No physical problem; the plumbing worked.

So, I put her through intercourse school. Everybody goes through intercourse school, right? The first time you do it, you don’t know what you’re doing.

And you’re lucky if you can date a mentor; which is why I’m a big fan of older-younger relationships. Both ways — older men, younger women; older women, younger men. The boys need to learn how to please women. [Who’s gonna teach them? Their mothers?] And the girls with older men get to learn what it’s like to be treated like a lady. Because young guys don’t know how to do all that — opening doors; picking up the tab; buying unexpected gifts; and, above all, not taking their bodies for granted. Once a young woman dates a real man, she never goes back.

[su_pullquote]

Once a young woman dates a real man, she never goes back.

[/su_pullquote]

The first time I went through intercourse school, it was with a girl who had only done it once before. And it had been so long since the first time, apparently, that she had completely forgotten how to do it. She presented me with the most beautiful auburn bush I’d ever seen. Actually it was the only bush of any color that I’d ever seen. But I marveled at that perfect triangle of hair. Thick silky fur. A Patch Of Hair. [Not a bad name for an after school special.]

To my horror, bush went away in the 1990s.

[I wrote a song about my lament; you can check it out right here on this SoundCloud embed.]

Young women took to presenting their lovers with bald cooters. But not Natasha. Hot woman; hairy cooter. And no body hair anywhere else. I mean, she wasn’t one of those hirsute freaks. Perfect patch of hair. Bare skin everywhere else. And boobs. And laughter. And spinning clouds.

Intercourse school with Natasha was definitely maybe probably undoubtedly the best sex I’ve ever had. I rolled her dancer’s body — with all of its perfection and pain — into pretzels and pastries, and modern sculptures and freak show deformities. She took to whimpering and sucking her thumb (or a corner of a sheet) as I plied her from every which-a-way. And barking. Yes, barking like a dog. And growling. (She missed her beloved beagle.) I’d smack her ass, and she’d yap yap yap over her shoulder. And I’d smack her ass, and she’d yap yap yap over her shoulder. And so forth. Until she’d tap out to laugh and catch her breath.

And we laughed a LOT! It was one of the things we bonded over. We laughed and cuddled and yammered and listened to the CD mix — mostly classical; some of which she recognized because of her upbringing (more on that later) — and played with the cats chasing our feet under the covers.

In Part Two

Will I become Natasha’s sex slave? Will she transform her harem into a boy band? Will she turn her yapping beagle orgasm into a dance craze?

Stay tuned!