FEAST OF MEN

by Ayn Dillard

  “I am and if don’t find it. I’ll remain alone. Friends have told me I remind them of the woman in the movie, ‘Out of Africa’. She finds her true love only to have him die, then writes a story about it.”

  “Not alone, Natalie—never! You’ve way too much sex appeal, energy and zest for life. You probably remind your friends of the woman in, ‘Out of Africa’, because of your strength of conviction, determination of character and how you care so much. You’re intensely passionate and I envy that.”

  “Thanks, sometimes, you say such nice things, then at others...”

  “You’ll find him but what you need is a real man, darling—like the captain with his leather-gloved hands on your ass and the sword.” He chuckles mischievously.

  Embarrassed, “Yes, okay, I admit the image of those gloved hands holding my butt while making love and the sword did turn me on.” I blush, “Interesting, how reading something so out of character can do that to you. Although in real life, I don’t think so. Fantasies are fun, but your sexual exploits freak me out. Except, it’s good thing that people can’t read my mind full of wild sexual thoughts.”

  He continues, “Only a book, baby—a book created to turn people on. And are you so sure that some people can’t read your sexual thoughts?”

  “If you could, you’d not be able to function because of a constant erection.”

  “Umm, really?”

  “I enjoyed the ‘Captain story’ but the rest was way too out there and brutal. My favorite part was the couple in ‘true love’.”

  “Of course, you would like that—‘beauty and the prince’. That one was my least favorite—couldn’t get into the ‘man on man’ parts either—skipped right over ‘em. The ‘pussycat story’ was my personal favorite. I do agree the pain and torture did become a bit much.”

  I state, “A person would be mutilated and I am not into pain. But it’s fun to play and fantasize. What is sex but the stimulation of muscles, nerves and organs into a climax? More important is the spirit, soul connection—the love, emotion and yes, the chemistry that gives it value and meaning. Love unites a man and woman because it joins them by what’s deepest in themselves and their souls. Sex is the natural physical expression of love. It’s communication in the physical, no matter how wild and crazy it may get or where it goes—that is between the individuals involved.”

  “Shit, it’s only a book, Natalie, a bit of erotica. I don’t need a sermon from Billy Graham. It’s a fantasy only created to tantalize. Granted, much of it is way too bizarre, but some of it is great for the imagination. And if you keep talking about organs and stimulation like that—I’ll get turned on.”

  “Oh please, David. You sent me that book only to shock and were pretty darn surprised, when it didn’t?”

  “Anyone who can talk with me on the phone for hours, I knew wouldn’t be surprised and could handle talking about most anything.”

  Sarcastically, “Oh sure, because you’re so sexually wild and shocking. I can talk about it, but doesn’t mean I’ll ever do it.”

  “I’ll tell you something great ass, I bet you could teach me a thing or two if you wanted to.”

  Laughing, “Um well, perhaps, but only if I loved you.” The more David talks about sex, the more bored and disgusted, I’m becoming. While I am getting the distinct suspicion that he’s all talk.

  He continues, “So, you’re looking for a God damned prince charming, who’s a wild man in bed and ‘traditional’ everywhere else. Well, I hope that if he exists, you find him, and God will have blessed that man. If not call me, I’ll lay you any day. You’ve got a standing offer.”

  We continue harassing each other all the way back to Manhattan Beach. I change into a long white tee shirt and socks then snuggle in beside David on the sofa to watch movies. My tummy’s a bit upset and it feels as if I’m going to start my period. Up until tonight, I’ve felt great. I nab a banana from the fruit bowl as David teases. “Aren’t you going to eat all those damn grapes, I put in the freezer?”

  “I’ve been munching on them, but no way, I can eat them all, besides my tummy hurts. A banana is what I need.” He had everything he knew I liked—part of his grand seduction plan or just being sweet—then he squawks at opening a door—what a jerk.

  “Come here, baby let me rub your tummy. I have a banana for you and you know where I’d like to put it.”

  “You’re disgusting, David. It’s that Pink’s place that did me in.”

  “Hey, you can criticize anything about everything, but not my favorite hot dogs or my real dog either. Hey, Kuma come on over here. I love you, Kuma, baby.”

  “You and that damn dog. Hey, Kuma, go away!” His emotions are put on a dog instead of a woman because a dog is safe and under his control.

  “Shush, you’re confusing my dog. Be quiet and relax.”

  Cuddling on the sofa, David rubs my legs and tummy. Men give such attentive massages when trying for sex. Hot tubs, massages, wine and talking about all they have in the material plane and have succeeded in business. Most all, use the same ploys. I’ve certainly had an abundance of massages. After watching several movies, I’m pretty much bored and really, really ready to go home tomorrow.

  At one-thirty, we climb the stairs to his bedroom. I’ll be getting up in three hours to board a plane and am exhausted, but we still chat a bit while lying in bed.

  He asks, “Do you want me to rub your back until you fall asleep?”

  “That’d be wonderful, if you don’t touch anywhere else.” Here we go with another massage—but why not just enjoy it? So, I do.

  Under his breath he says, ‘chicken’ then he rubs my back. It feels nice to be falling asleep with a man. Until this trip, it’s been years since I have. But I can’t seem to fall asleep. The dog roams back and forth while I reflect about what we talked about earlier. Perhaps, we’re sharing something significant, some message or awareness meant to be communicated. The breeze from the ocean blows through the windows, rustling the blinds and soft music plays. The sounds fill me with peace. The clock says three o’clock. David’s asleep. I think, I finally fall asleep for a bit.

  Abruptly the alarm screeches. I open my eyes, but the room’s still dark, except for a dim light coming from David’s office across the stairwell. Looking over the headboard, I spy him through the adjoining glass partition.

  “Get up sleeping beauty. You’d better not make me late for my appointment.”

  “Are you a vampire or what? Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “No, not much, grumpy—hop in the shower—you’ll wake up and feel better.”

  Stretching and yawning, “I can’t believe, you’ve forced me to get up this early?”

  He comes to the bed and kisses me on the cheek then laughs. “I love torturing you, because you’re so fun to torture.”

  “Jerk.”

  Downstairs, I get dressed, finish packing as I continually hear the clicking of ‘Cujo’s’ paws on the slate floors as he follows me around. Living out of the guest bedroom and the two downstairs baths—my things are scattered. I think I might miss this dog.

  It’s surprising that with as little sleep as I’ve had, after showering, I feel fine. Except my hair is filthy after blowing in the salt air for three days, I usually wash my hair every other day, but didn’t want to take the time on this trip. My hair is long and thick and takes an hour or so to dry. Besides, I really didn’t care much what I looked like while being here—which is totally unlike me. I am getting a hormonal pimple on my nose. So, thank God, I’ll be home soon. Then I can wash my hair and really get a good night’s sleep. Except even with all this, I still feel good and am strangely filled with anticipation. The air here is invigorating and I’m going to miss ‘Cujo following me around.

  I come out of the bathroom to see David sitting on the sofa drinking coffee. He appears sadly pensive.

  Noticing me, he comments, “There you are—looking great in that robe again.”

  “Um, yeah, right.” I feel sorry f
or him. So, I smack a big kiss on his cheek which he immediately wipes off. “I had a great time because you’re a wonderful host. I hope you’ll come see me in Dallas.”

  “Of course, I’ll be bidding a project in Dallas in December and will call you.”

  “Are there projects in Dallas big enough for you?”

  “No, not many. I am trying to help a friend who’s about to go under.”

  “I’d think a pool builder would do well in Dallas?”

  He chuckles arrogantly, “No, most pool builders barely survive because they have a continual struggle with contractors and getting paid. That’s why I rarely take a project under half a million. Not worth the headaches to do anything smaller because I’m in this foremost for the money. I want to work a little, make a lot, spend the rest of the time fishing in Alaska then as you well know—fucking beautiful women.”

  I feel melancholy observing David. He seems so all alone sitting in his architecturally perfect beach house talking egotistically about his money. The very thing he thinks all women are after. Closing my bag, I throw my camera into my purse.

  I say goodbye to Kuma, ‘Cujo’ as David carries my luggage out. His jeep is filled with sketches and samples of rock that he uses in his designs. I carefully move his sketches over, so he can put my luggage on the backseat. It’s dark and cold outside—a big contrast from yesterday’s warmth and I shiver.

  I am eager to get back to begin my book project, but I do feel a bit sad about leaving. Interesting spending this time with David—it’s been a kind of turning point in my exploration of men and myself because it’s out of my character and awfully adventuresome to have even taken this trip. Doing the book collaboration with Jim Tanner is going to be a blast. Yep, there’s much to do and I’m ready to begin my career and get my life back on track. Even though this trip didn’t turn out as we’d hoped—wild sex for David, and true love for me. It was fun and I enjoyed getting to know him without romance or sex involved. He may not have liked it, but I do.

  In David’s jeep cocoon, we ride in the dark as we make our way to the airport, while the rest of the world is asleep. David’s sips his coffee, while I enjoy what I can see of the scenery.

  “Okay Natalie, describe your special magic man. Have you really thought it all out to know exactly what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, but I leave it flexible because there’s a certain amount of the unknown. He’ll have certain components then I, or rather we’ll both just know. I want romance, love, sex, intelligence, similar standards and values, sense of humor and enough money to have fun, fast cars and fast living then simple living, too. Like we did this weekend—glamorous parties to hot dogs. I want our relationship to be based and anchored in a solid commitment with a secure trust and bond between us. That’s all.”

  He laughs sarcastically, “That’s all! And do you really think you’ll know immediately?”

  “Pretty much, then it’ll grow. Don’t you think the chemistry is either there or not? If it isn’t, you can’t make it happen.”

  “Yeah, probably—maybe...”

  I look past David and out the window towards the darkness of the ocean as it reflects my feelings of aloneness in this moment. The lights of a ship far off in the distance represent my glimmer of hope. Aching inside, I silently question the universe. Where’s my love? Where’s the man who’ll complement me and me him, and I’ll feel safe in his love without all this ridiculous questioning? Where’s the man, I’ll recognize and he’ll know me, too? I am so tired of talking with this man who’s so full of sarcasm and sexual obsession. Surely, it won’t take long to get to the airport.

  I take a deep breath then bring my thoughts back into the car. “What’s all this questioning about anyway? Is this relationship 101? Didn’t we already talk about all this yesterday?”

  “I just want to get clear about what you’re looking for to see how much you’ve actually thought about it. Maybe, you really don’t want what you think you do and you need something else?”

  “I’ve thought about it and I know exactly what I want and need. Of course, there’s flexibility. This is a human man, not some ordered up robot.”

  “Okay, tell me more. What would you want the guy to look like?”

  I flash him a dirty look, “It’s men who care so much about a woman’s appearance. To me, a sense of humor, intelligence, character, style and spontaneity—a sense of fun, adventure and values are more important than looks. The most important of all is the chemistry between us and the way he treats himself which will reflect in the way he values me. The way I feel around him is key and it’s only important that he’s physically attractive to me. Sex drive is important, too. I want a man who has a strong interest in closeness on all levels.”

  “You don’t want much,” chuckle, snicker, snicker, snort, “but go on.”

  “That he’s able to see himself with awareness—be secure enough to be close to another person—be vulnerable and be able to let me really know him. Intimacy takes a lot of self-confidence, self-awareness and a real secure grown-up kind of a fellow. Not just a guy who wants to.” I state with more emphasis, “Score with women, but a man who wants to love and be loved. A mature man, who knows who he is and what he wants—is what’s sexy to me. My next significant relationship or marriage will be the one I’m in for the rest of my life. The ‘death till you part’ will have real meaning because we’re so old.” Chuckle, “A love commitment at my age is, perhaps going to be the absolute greatest because we’ll both have been through enough in our lives to hopefully know how important and meaningful, we are to one another.”

  He laughs sarcastically, “Yeah right, sounds impossible but go on.”

  I think to myself—I so want to be out of this car and away from this sad, lonely and lost man. As I gaze past David towards the darkness of the ocean, I continue rambling about a man/woman relationship. Apparently, David wants to hear this. Why? I don’t know or care.

  I continue, “I want him to be monogamous—totally loyal to me. Anything less is grounds for vivisection.”

  “Do you really think a man like you’re talking about exists?”

  “Sure, I do if he’s my mirror reflection. I’m not some total expert here but I’ve been through so much that yes I believe, I’ll bring a man to me that is pretty much all this.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I do and it really only matters what I believe. Why are you asking me these questions over and over? Last night, you said I’d probably be one of the lucky ones.”

  “Well, I hope you are because you want it so badly. I am just curious.”

  As I ponder—it’s more like he wants to bust my hope because he is hopeless, but I continue. “Also, I want to feel that the man has the ability to look past my exterior and see into my heart. I’ll probably get the nips and tucks to stay looking good because I’m vain. Only, if I gain a few pounds, am sick or look awful, I want to feel he still finds me attractive and that I feel loved. To love myself, so that I can feel loved—is a big part of it.”

  “Whatever—or yeah, guess so.”

  “I don’t want some superficial kind of a love, except I’ll always know how to dress up and blow his mind.”

  “You can certainly do that. The way you looked at that party the other night blew my mind. You turn heads, baby—even in Hollywood. So, you might have a few good years left.”

  “I didn’t think you even noticed?”

  “Every damn man at the party was asking who you were? Got sick of it—several thought you were the ex-wife of some studio exec who recently got a divorce. Don’t know who she is, but apparently you resemble her. One of the phone calls yesterday morning was an actor wanting your number.”

  “Ah, the call when you were being evasive. I thought it might be from one of your many girlfriends or your sex slave, Randi?” I reflect, she must be a psychological mess because according to David she likes to dress up in a school girl’s uniform and pretend she’s being raped. Obviously and un
fortunately, she was molested as a child and hasn’t released or dealt with the trauma. This is the kind of woman David feels comfortable with sexually, while he talks disrespectfully and laughs about her. It’s all so twisted and telling.

  “I wouldn’t talk to another woman, while you were visiting and certainly not Randi.”

  “Umm right, because you’re such a gentleman.”

  “Not a gentleman, just not rude.”

  “Why wouldn’t this actor ask me himself at the party?”

  “He wanted to see where we stood first. A major actor—Hollywood royalty and you had him mesmerized. He told me he followed you around the whole night—was afraid you would think he was stalking you.”

  Surprised, “Him—he’s married—maybe separated, but still married? I liked him when he was on some weekly TV cop show when I was in high school. He’s much shorter and less impressive in person, but still a good actor. We were talking about the lagoon and its effect on the landscape. He was very complimentary concerning your work.”

  “He’s in the process of divorcing and inquired if you’d be interested in going to dinner. That’s if you and I weren’t an item. I told him, you’re a good friend, a writer and some sort of self-help counselor visiting from Dallas. Which is the truth, right? So that’s why he called to check things out before asking for your number. He’s a real gentleman. He knew by what I said to him that we weren’t fucking.”

  I inquire, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you because you’re already so difficult to be around. So, I am telling you now.”

  “If I remember correctly one of your requirements is for a woman, you’re with to turn heads? So, you must be pleased.”

  “Well, heads were turning and you’re pretty damn old to turn heads out here.”

  Anger wells up. “So, what does that mean? Being older, I’m not desirable and if I don’t turn heads I’m not good for anything? Men get old, too. There’s nothing worse than an old man with no joy in his spirit. You men who are so focused on the physical are so phony. You’re sure not ‘perfect’ in your physical appearance. You’re way overweight and years older than me. So why do you think a young ‘perfect’ bodied woman would be interested in you? Oh, I know because you have money. You think the woman you’re with must be young and beautiful. Because since you have money, you think this makes up for other things a woman will overlook—like no matter how out of shape you are or how inconsiderate. A woman has to look ‘perfect’ and you don’t, because you have money. Everything you’re saying just sets you up for a woman wanting you for your money because you’re only interested in her physical appearance and sex.”