I've already confessed to my wife, so now I'm confessing to you.
On Thursday, I experienced the touch of another woman. For the first time since I've been married, another woman had her hands all over me. She led me to a room and had me take off my clothes. When we began, I wore nothing but a piece of paper. Ok, it was a pretty big piece.
She started at the bottom and worked her way up, her soft hands stroking the tops of my feet, and running up my legs. I didn't stop her.
Along the way, she said things to me that no one else has ever said:
"You're pink," she said, "There isn't a thing yellow about you."
"Looks like you're ready for Halloween," she said.
"Skin remembers everything," she said.
"We could take care of that now," she said, "Or we could do it another time."
She asked about my past as she rubbed her hands on my back. I was honest with her. I told her about every encounter I could remember. It seemed to satisfy her. For the longest time, she looked at me, at my face, put her hands on both sides of my neck, ran her fingers through my hair, over my ears.
"Oh, you're a pink boy, all right," she said.
Were there any issues in my groin area I wanted her to look at? Well, no. It stopped there. I got dressed. Of course, my wife had known for some time. She had set me up with this woman. She wanted us to get together, and so she scheduled it.
After all, I'm in my 50's; it was time to see a dermatologist.
And so, having had my fun playing with implications, now I get to switch to the Public Service Announcement aspect of this blog post. My new dermatologist says that it is in the 5th and 6th decades that skin cancer starts to present itself, but we know exceptions to that rule, earlier occurences, especially among those of us who are pink boys and pink girls.
I have been irresponsible in the sun. Many of you are far more careless than I am. I don't seek the sun; I just don't seek the sunscreen enough. I don't think about lathering up to go cut the grass. Many of you, one of you in particular, still go through periods where you think that a healthy dose of the sun is a good thing, where a nice red burn is somehow excused by the justification that you took your kids to the pool all day. Others of you, especially women, for some reason, seek a tan. I guess that means you're more yellow than pink, and that somehow makes you impervious to longterm exposure.
Well, I can't do anything about that, but I can suggest that it's time to go to the dermatologist and see if she sees the beginnings of anything, something that can be nipped in the bud. Maybe it isn't even something you did, but something that happened to you when you were a child and there wasn't even any sunscreen.
On Thursday, I experienced the touch of another woman. For the first time since I've been married, another woman had her hands all over me. She led me to a room and had me take off my clothes. When we began, I wore nothing but a piece of paper. Ok, it was a pretty big piece.
She started at the bottom and worked her way up, her soft hands stroking the tops of my feet, and running up my legs. I didn't stop her.
Along the way, she said things to me that no one else has ever said:
"You're pink," she said, "There isn't a thing yellow about you."
"Looks like you're ready for Halloween," she said.
"Skin remembers everything," she said.
"We could take care of that now," she said, "Or we could do it another time."
She asked about my past as she rubbed her hands on my back. I was honest with her. I told her about every encounter I could remember. It seemed to satisfy her. For the longest time, she looked at me, at my face, put her hands on both sides of my neck, ran her fingers through my hair, over my ears."Oh, you're a pink boy, all right," she said.
Were there any issues in my groin area I wanted her to look at? Well, no. It stopped there. I got dressed. Of course, my wife had known for some time. She had set me up with this woman. She wanted us to get together, and so she scheduled it.
After all, I'm in my 50's; it was time to see a dermatologist.
And so, having had my fun playing with implications, now I get to switch to the Public Service Announcement aspect of this blog post. My new dermatologist says that it is in the 5th and 6th decades that skin cancer starts to present itself, but we know exceptions to that rule, earlier occurences, especially among those of us who are pink boys and pink girls.
I have been irresponsible in the sun. Many of you are far more careless than I am. I don't seek the sun; I just don't seek the sunscreen enough. I don't think about lathering up to go cut the grass. Many of you, one of you in particular, still go through periods where you think that a healthy dose of the sun is a good thing, where a nice red burn is somehow excused by the justification that you took your kids to the pool all day. Others of you, especially women, for some reason, seek a tan. I guess that means you're more yellow than pink, and that somehow makes you impervious to longterm exposure.Well, I can't do anything about that, but I can suggest that it's time to go to the dermatologist and see if she sees the beginnings of anything, something that can be nipped in the bud. Maybe it isn't even something you did, but something that happened to you when you were a child and there wasn't even any sunscreen.
One thing I've learned this week: skin remembers everything.
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