Whither to Dunk

There is a place in our brains that remembers what our bodies used to be capable of.  Then there is reality.  For guys, this usually hits home on the fields and courts of our kids.  You go to serve and volley and you are not even close to the net when the ball comes back.  You try again and pull a muscle.  Match over.

I have a seminal moment in my recent recollection when I was absolutely floored to learn I could no longer dunk a basketball.  Truth be told, I never was very good at it, but as a skinny white guy barely over 6’ 1, I was proud of that athletic accomplishment.  I was 26 and went to jam and I couldn’t even sniff the rim! These days I struggle to grab the bottom of the net.  My point is that past prowess is still in our minds when bodies might be letting us down.

Sex and the middle aged man comes down to these four things…

  • Getting it
  • Keeping it
  • Skill
  • Size

Prior to my decade of down and out (figuratively), I never had a problem with the blood flow.  When it was on, I was Donkey Kong.  I also had stamina to burn.  There were often times where I knew she was done and I either faked it or closed my eyes and dreamed of Toni Braxton and/or Christina Applegate (or a combination of the two) to get me there.  Skill is a hard thing to measure…whereas size is easy.  Skill really comes down to knowing what your partner likes and knowing what she loves.  Doing them both well and focusing on her pleasure first is usually a game changer.  For women, sex is like a snowstorm.  You never know how long it will last or how many inches you will get.  If you focus on her first, all those others who came before you (you like how I did that?) will not be able to measure up(now that’s just being silly).

So now that I am back in the game, I have to wonder whether the skills I had have either diminished significantly or gone away entirely.  So the overflowing confidence of my youth is going to be challenged in the intercourse arena.  So far, I have passed the test with one notable exception.  The tickle man, who I once owned like the Patriots own the Jets, has won the last couple rounds.  I will have to work on that.  Thirty minutes just does not cut it.  Alas, I cannot blame it on backed up Willy anymore.  I am getting my share.  I just hope Mister “At Least an Hour” has not gone the same route as the dunk. 

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