Reacting Mature

While trying to assess the sexual differences between the ‘younger me’ and the ‘older me,’ it occurred to me that, logically, the older I get, the more open I should be to these explorations, and the less embarrassed I should be about pursuing them. With my self-esteem generally better and my relationship entirely secure, I should feel greater confidence in broadening my sexual horizons… and, in fact, I would say these things are ultimately true. That may seem like a lie in light of some previous posts, and my usual behavior, but I definitely feel less embarrassed, more open, and more confident than I used to… but I still find myself reacting to novel situations with resistance.

I think it’s possible my negative reactions when faced with novel opportunities might have something to do with an “over-mature” approach to the world.

A good example of what I’m referring to was our visit to the swingers club. I blogged about this briefly in the past – that on it’s face, a visit like that should have been right in line with what my interests (the possibility of a threesome, voyeurism, etc.)... and yet I didn’t enjoy the experience. The evening (and the club) can be divided into two distinct parts. Downstairs, where there was socializing, dinner, drinks, and the like. There, we met some good people… interesting, fun to talk to, engaging. Upstairs was all about the sex. And, upstairs, I found myself thinking ‘why would I want to hang around these people?’

My reaction was similar to the way I’d feel if I’d met a guy in a bar, a stranger met by chance. We chat about sports, share a few jokes, have a few laughs, and I begin to think I wouldn’t mind sharing a beer or two with this guy every now and then. Then the drinks hit him; in a heartbeat he turns drunk and starts acting stereotypically soused. He staggers through the room, slightly belligerent, and obnoxiously fires cheesy (and somewhat offensive) pick-up lines at every woman in view, leaving me at the bar, disappointed, shaking my head and thinking (sadly, not angrily), “I can’t believe this schmuck… maybe someday the idiot will grow up, and we can actually be friends.”

Keeping with the example… it’s not that I’m not open to the idea of getting a little buzzed… it’s just that, when I’m not in the mood for it, I’m really not in the mood for it, and I react to those who are pretty much the way my father would react to them.

I find that upsetting; I have no interest in embracing my father’s limited life. But there it is.

In the club, downstairs, it was great conversation. Upstairs, in a way, I felt this same sadness and disappointment, like I was too grown up to be interested in such shenanigans. I felt the way I’d feel if I were in a room with a bunch of buzzed 20-year-olds exchanging fart jokes… an eye roll and a sarcastic “oh, great… this is going to be fun!”

At the same time, It didn’t seem erotic at all… it just seemed… juvenile. It was a group of people older than I am trying to mimic the partying teens they’d seen on Dateline last week. It was a live version of low-budget 1970’s porn. I felt the way a woman might feel if she were on a date with a man… she has a great time… invites him up for a drink… and even before she slips off her jacket and turns on the lights, he strips naked in the middle of the living room and says (in a semi-bored voice) “So… you wanna do it on the sofa, or the floor?”

Downstairs, it was a great date. Upstairs… not even a HINT of romance. And therein lies the difference: when I was younger, I probably would have been fine with that, but now… I need a little romance. A little convincing. A touch more class in the ambiance. Otherwise, I just feel old.

Every now and then, I revisit the notion that we ought to give the swingers club a second try (we still have a gift certificate for dinner for two)… and I’m tempted by the idea, then decide I’m not interested.

With strip clubs, there’s been two types… the really classy places, and those “others.” I’ve always known ahead of time which I was going to, and had my expectations set accordingly. I don’t know what a stereotypical swingers club is like, but I might have felt differently if the one we’d gone to had been a little more… um… upscale is the word that comes to mind, or if I’d had a better understanding of what I should expect, and settled into the proper mindset for it. It’s possible I set myself to expect that the swingers club would be classier, and less “other” (it was nice, just not… elegant).

But part of me also wonders if I really am just too old.