by Ernest Olson
Chapter 4
If you can turn back the sexual clock with Viagra, what's wrong with
turning back the calendar with a nip and tuck?
Now men can have raging erections for hours, all thanks to a whiff of Viagra from an inhaler. Think about it for a moment, doesn't it seem ironic that a person who looks like a cadaver can have the erectile capabilities of an 18 year-old. What's wrong with that picture? Stop, save yourself. Don't even think of that picture. But there is a point here: Freud was probably right: everything has something to do with sex. The car you drive, the clothes you wear, the places you go, the food you eat all have something to do with sex. Getting a facelift has something to do with sex--it’s sort of a social Viagra.
I was standing in line at Starbucks, pondering whether I really wanted to undertake writing a novel, when a woman entered the shop. She stood momentarily in the doorway, the light from the street projecting her silhouette. As she came toward the line in which I was standing, I was startled by her beauty. She was exotic, elegant and sexy. Her features were Persian, dark eyes, raven hair, full-lips. We spoke for a few minutes, her accent was European, and her conversation sprinkled with laughter. I was attracted to her, but realistic enough to know that unless she suffered from some older-man-syndrome, the attraction would not be mutual. She invited herself to my table and a most pleasant dialogue ensued. She was indeed Persian and had been in the country for only 8 years. She had spent a lot of time in Europe and wanted to be a writer. We laughed and had wonderful time, and for awhile I forgot that I was old enough to be her father. I was feeling pretty good when I went to the restroom. I caught my reflection in the mirror, but it was stranger that looked back. It felt entirely wrong to see this middle aged person staring incredulously back at me. My God I was looking at Clint Eastwood. My natural high naturally fell, and I went back to the table subdued. God getting old sucks.
Some psychologists say the fundamental motivation of humanity is a common desire to be happy. Freud suggests that underlying our desire to be happy is the even more fundamental desire to get laid. Unfortunately, the period in our lives were we are best suited for getting laid doesn't last very long. We spend the first years of our life looking forward to young adulthood when our chances of sex are greatest, and then we spend the last years of our life trying to figure a way to get back to that brief period in time when we looked our best, were most virile, and certainly the sexiest. Eventually some of us give up and allow the aging process to have its way with us. That's probably what's happening to Clint.
Motorcycles have something to do with sex. When I bought my first motorcycle, a Honda 375 I was living in San Diego in a district known as Normal Heights. It didn't take me long to realize that there were better places in San Diego to live. My first clue came when I learned that the locals called the area "Abnormal Highs." So, I set out to find a new apartment--near the ocean.
I perused the paper and found an ad for a room in a house in Ocean Beach. It was another disgustingly beautiful day in San Diego when I pulled the motorcycle into the driveway of the house listed in the ad. I was little nervous when I knocked on the frame of the screen door. You never know what you are getting into when you knock on a stranger's door. I wasn't quite prepared for what happened next. The door popped open almost immediately and there standing behind the screen was this California dream woman--totally naked. "I heard your motorcycle, what I can do for you?" I stood there like the proverbial George W. Bush in the headlights wondering if she really meant what she had just said.
She smiled brightly, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that I don't have any clothes on, just a minute."
"No, that's uh, uh perfectly all right, no need to put clothes on for me, nope I'm fine with that...probably easier if I just took my clothes off."
She slipped into a pair of cutoff jeans and a tank top, "Are you here about the ad in the paper?" Marketing, the old sex sells theory--this must be a ploy to encourage renters, this place probably costs a fortune--such were my thoughts.
“Yes, I am looking for a room.”
"I'm sorry--the room's gone. Rented it two days ago. But, I'm available--for a ride on your bike."
Motorcycles are magnets to some women and she was one of them. So Miss Suzuki straddled my Honda, wrapped her arms around me and off we went to roam the seaside community of Ocean Beach. We eventually came to Sunset Beach, a place where she told me she often sunbathed in the buff. She was an organic girl and her fragrance was mostly lavender with a hint of garlic. Her hair was sun blond and her skin was sun bronzed. Across her cheeks she had a sprinkling of freckles. Her lips were full and naturally dark. What a woman! What a town!
I didn't ever rent the room, but I did get the girl, at least to some extent. There was the out-of-town doctor and the musician of course, but they were rarely around and so I became her local squeeze. It was the 70's after all and people were doing all kinds of social experiments. At night when I would stay at her house she would fill her room with candles and we would lie in bed watching the shadows dance on the ceiling. Making love to her was always a slow and artful experience, she orchestrated it that way. And, then there were the seemingly endless days and long motorcycle rides. I remember feeling strong, independent, and wholly unaware that my youth was slowly dying in that California sun. I too had sun blond hair and bronze skin, hardly a wrinkle, and my eyes were bright and blue. Not once did I ever imagine myself as anything but young. Elaine eventually left California for Aspen, Colorado where she became John Denver's personal massage therapist. I stayed in San Diego. A year later I made my motorcycle journey across America.
It's denial isn't it! You think back to those times when you were in the bloom of youth, and it is really annoying to realize that you just aren't as young and fit as you once were. Where you see it the clearest is in the mirror. You can't stand to accept the fact that you are getting older, that even with the best bike money can buy it's not likely that an Elaine Suzuki is going to straddle sun tanned legs around your machine, wrap her arms around your waist, and talk trash in your ear as you cruise the boulevard. So, you entertain the idea of a facelift, knowing that it won't take you back in time; that it won’t really change anything, but at least in the morning when you look in the mirror you won't feel quite so far away from Ocean Beach.
During the formative years and youth, the brain is a very busy organ. It takes experiences and turns them into a network of nerves that are locked in place for the rest of one's life. As we get older, this process becomes less effective and so the ability to recall new experiences diminishes. The result of this decline in neural activity makes it easier for us to remember important experiences from our youth, than it is to remember why you are standing in Aisle 6 of the grocery store. This is one of nature's nasty tricks on us. It's not enough that we get old, wrinkled, worn and tired. We are constantly reflecting on how it was when we were fresh, energetic, and invincible. The comparison rarely yields a positive response. I suppose people eventually come to grips with the aging process, Clint for example. But, the transition, no make that transformation, is a taxing process.
Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the memories. During the ‘70s and ‘80s, for example, I spent a lot of time in Hawaii, and have treasured memories of one adventure after another. It was in Hawaii I met a Hawaiian singer who went by the name Penny Pinto. And, then the country and western singer Dawn Parker, and the actress Kimber Lee and...see what I mean about memories. It doesn't take but a heart beat to be sitting on the black sand beach on the Big Island with a beautiful free-spirited woman who made her living transporting Pakaloa to the mainland. In a blink of an eye I am on the nude beach with Nancy the United Airlines flight attendant who stole my heart and left me mesmerized by her flawless figure and effortless grace. The memories come flooding far too fast. They arrive as a stark contrast to my current, predictable life. What I wouldn't give to
go back there. How many times have you heard that?
So it’s not really a nip or a tuck that I want. It’s my youth. I want the excitement and adventure that I had when I was younger. I want it back. I was just catching on to how to enjoy it when it packed its bags and moved to Melrose Place.
