Ah, Sweet Mystery of Love....

The mysteries of physical love have always eluded me. My sexually active years were the most traumatic and frequently most frustrating of my life. And my performance was rated by experts one evening during the Flower Power Years, during a discussion on the subject after a lovely dinner at the home of two single moms sharing the place, and a third one visiting along with me for the dinner. We had all gained sufficient experience with the subject, as one of the gals pointed out when she said "We all know what Ray is like!" 

Taking that as a cue, I had to ask, "And specifically what is Ray like? May I have a rating, please?" These three lovely young ladies put their heads together, did some tittering and giggling, and finally came up with the verdict.  The one who had begun the discussion, speaking for the group, said, "Our consensus is that you are disgustingly average, with a lot of room for improvement." 

I wasn't expecting a hero medal, but that deflated me some, and I asked, "Is there any remedial program available?" One replied, "Just because two of us are teachers, it doesn't mean we're sex therapists." I tried another tack. "Do I get a look at the Check List?" "What about a Trouble Report?" "How can I fix what I don't know is broken?"

After more silly remarks and a lot of giggling, we decided that I wasn't so bad after all, and very few guys are really as good as they think they are, because the gals are quite good at acting out their own parts in the play. As one put it, "You wouldn't be encouraged if we said 'Aw, Shit! Not this again!'..."

Like I said, the mysteries of love have eluded me, and I never did get that Trouble Report...