Quotidian Meanderings

| February 25, 2011 | Comments (0)

 

Today, Dear Readers, I have nothing significant to report, pronounce or announce.

So I will take you off to the gym for a brisk work-out.

But first, a digression while I hold forth on what transpired during a short elevator ride that was to take me on a banking errand. I entered the lift slightly out of breath, having ascended the  mild incline on East 43rd Street that leads to the revolving door of my Credit Union. Being winded and breathing heavily, I imagine  I might have presented a wanton and desperate image to anyone seeing me – wild-eyed, lips  parted,  the hiss of hyper-ventilation swirling about me. As I lunged through the  elevator’s closing doors, I brushed arms with the conveyance’s other passenger, a lone female. She gave me a  wary side glance and moved to  the safe haven of the lift’s far corner standing nervously in front of –  and blocking – the panel of floor buttons.

When I reached toward her face, my arm stretched out with zombie rigidity, to select my destination on the panel, she emitted a shriek and moaned something that sounded like  “stop”  or “cop”. Was she a plain clothes policewoman or was she threatening to call a cop? A potentially explosive situation was defused when the lift door opened and six other passengers entered, squashing frightened lady into silence against the wall of the lift. I exited the car, and with trembling hands deposited my cash and left the building making sure I  entered a lift generously peopled with other passengers.

Lesson learned:  if you are out of breath and look like a rapist, never enter a lift with a lone woman passenger. Which brings me to my friend Rose and her story of the 1960s. She has lots of stories, Rose does, but this one is spot-on when it comes to easily frightened females and how they can lose their fear…. of men.

Rose came of age in the 60s and started her adult life as a faithful wife and model teacher. Then one Saturday night  husband Tony proposed  they go to a “special” kind of party at a rich man’s place in Manhattan. It turned out to be a swingers’ club. Rose was shocked that her husband had brought her to what amounted to an orgy. No “amounting” about it,  it WAS an orgy and there were drugs too. But being the flexible, submissive spouse that she was in those days, Rose went with the flow and got into the mood and soon found herself greatly enjoying the multiple couplings that were occurring  before her eyes. By the time Rose and Tony said goodnight to their host,  Rose had had sex with at least 12 different guys…and several girls. And it was great!

Swinging became a regular part of their lives, so much so that Tony and Rose began to host their own swingers’ parties.  But like all good things, Rose’s swinging life came to an end some years later when she divorced Tony and moved to Asia where she continued her teaching …and a bit of swinging. When I asked her how she felt about the whole concept of swinging and was it moral and all that, Rose said she loved her swinging days and didn’t regret for one minute her participation. Furthermore, she said, swinging had great redeeming social and emotional value. Before her swinging days she had never  socialized with  people of non-white racial backgrounds; her liberal-minded swinger host had invited beautiful people from all over the world thereby exposing her, so to speak, to great diversity. More important, Rose said, by swinging she lost her fear of rape which she felt was deeply ingrained in the female psyche contributing to female passivity which was detrimental to gender advancement and equality. Needless to say, Rose today is a strong woman who also holds a black belt in martial arts.  How can I diplomatically convey to fearful females in elevators that they should participate in orgies? Better leave that mission to Rose.

Our trip to the gym seems to have got side-tracked. Well, it wasn’t worth talking about in any case. After my traumatic elevator ride – I wonder if that woman realized she scared me more than I frightened her- I didn’t feel like working out so I just went in for a shower and a sauna and to watch Kenneth the Sour-Puss comb his hair. Kenneth is a gym character   who has about twenty strands of brightly died hair;  velvet champagne is the name of the color, I believe. He is always in the locker room combing his locks before the mirror; usually takes half an hour at least. You see what we do in the gym?

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