Not too long ago, G descended from his mountain cabin to spend some time in Manhattan. One night, we went to the Metropolitan Opera to see Puccini’s La Boheme. This time the Met did it right. It was a beautiful performance not because of the sets but of the singers. Their voices magically carried the conflicted messages of love and death.
We rarely eat and drink before a nighttime performance because they dull the senses. After the performance we went to G’s favorite hotel, The Michelangelo, to have a bite to eat. This Italian family owned hotel stands above the others because of its elegance and class. While we were reminiscing about opera, I became curious about G’s experience with women and music and whether it played an important part in his encounters.
He smiled very broadly and answered,
“You bet. It’s one of the keys to open the doors.”
Our dinner or supper, as G likes to call it, ended, and he wanted to have his cognac and smoke his pipe, which is his nightly ritual. In Manhattan, the latter could only happen in his suite. The cognac arrived, he lighted his pipe and surprised the hell out of me. He delivered a mini- discourse on the history of music of which I’ll just briefly point out a few of his points. He concentrated on the Roman concept of music and how it impacts not only the individual but an entire culture. It was taught in schools on an equal level as mathematics and science. It was considered a significant moral force which encourages civilized behavior. But the Romans also strongly believed that there is “bad” music which leads to destructive behavior and weakens people and countries. G believes that’s happening in our country, and he’s really worried about this.
After his impassioned delivery, he took a small gulp of his cognac, puffed on his pipe and asked,
“Does that answer your question?” “No, G. You got off the beaten track. I asked about your experiences with music and women and not a lecture on its history.” He burst out into laughter, as he usually does when caught off-guard, which reflects his rich sense of humor. I then asked, “Is there such a thing as good or bad music with your lady friends?”
“Lorenzo, you’ve got to remember that in my heyday day there were no CD’s or cell phones but only radios. I never, and I mean never, turned on the TV. That’s how you lose the rhythm of being with a woman. Though I don’t recall discussing music in our book, I almost always turned on the radio after we entered my suite and searched for soft music with voices that could deliver a mellow mood like Frank Sinatra and Roberta Flack. No Elvis Presley or Jersey boys were allowed!”
“G, here’s a tough question to answer for there may be no words to explain it. What does music do to a woman?”
“Good question and, by the way, it also has an impact on men, though I’m only an expert on me. I have thought about what would be a single word to describe it. It’s receptivity. We talked about receptivity before in detail in the book. It’s when the woman is relaxed and sends you a message that she has crossed the Rubicon and open to further pursuit. Music helps make that happen.”
“How do you know when she’s receptive?”
“It’s all in her body language and what she says or even does not say. Some men can sense it and others can’t.
“Now here’s something that will surprise you. Certain women are turned on by classical and somber types of music. Let me tell you of two encounters that happened not too long ago: I was in my cabin with a lady in her late 40’s. After we ate my homemade pasta and had a few very robust drinks, I decided to play a CD of Beethoven’s 6th Symphony, one of my favorites. It really turned her on, and she asked me to replay it. And would you believe, I did for almost the rest of the night! Recently, here at the Michelangelo, I was with a highly intelligent, uptight woman. I had just bought a CD of the great tenor, Jose Carreras, singing serious, mellow Catalan folk songs. She told me she loved it. She began to become receptive so I played it again- and again!
“Much music today is hyperactive- you know what I mean. Maybe times have changed, particularly in our drug culture, but to spend serious time with a woman listening to hyperactive music for me is counterproductive. It’s got to be calm. William Congreve is famous for his quote but it’s a misquote. The misquote is, “Music hath the power to soothe the savage beast” but what he actually wrote was, “Music hath the power to soothe the savage breast.”’
“G, what’s a savage breast?”
“That’s a complicated question. Let’s talk about it another time.”
We were about ready to call it a night when he once more burst out into laughter. “Lorenzo, I forgot about Ravel’s Bolero. Over 40 years ago, I met a young lady at an opera rehearsal at the grand Ansonia hotel here in Manhattan. One thing lead to another, and I ended up in her small studio apartment. She really liked her marijuana; that I vividly remember. Anyway, she played, at high volume, Ravel’s Bolero over and over again and boy, did it turn her on. To tell the truth I was also infected with the rhythm, and we had an exceptionally energetic session. I almost had a heart attack, even at my then young age. To the readers who don’t know the piece please go to YouTube, listen and give it a try.
“Lorenzo, last point and an extremely important tip: After love-making is over and you’re sitting down with a woman to enjoy some tranquil last minutes together, turn off the goddamn radio right away! I can’t explain why, but it very counterproductive to the mood and even a downer which takes away from the total hit of the evening.”
Though G made love to about 300 women, he claims that very few lady lovers really lighted up his candles on an artful, elevated level. I suggested that maybe it’s because he usually had marathon- intense type sessions paying almost exclusive attention to them, and they simply were too satiated and hapily exhausted to have enough energy to pay sufficient attention to him. But he quickly dismissed this possibility. He firmly believes that the vast majority of women, like men, are mediocre lovers. He said that after their orgasms women are still energized and capable to continue with the sexual act while men are usually big-time relaxed, out of gas and just want to take a break or call it a day.
He said, “Look, Lorenzo, women have many more weapons to stimulate the sexual passions of men than men have for women. No matter what the modern propaganda is spewing out, men are big time hornier and infinitely more easily to stimulate than women. Men don’t have tits with cleavages to sensually flaunt them, beauty- enhancing make-up, particularly around the eyes, and sensuous asses.”
G paused and said, “I may take part of that back. I, would you believe, met a few women who were turned on by Mel Gibson’s ass. They were older ones. By the way, some said the same about my rear end, but that’s all I’ll say about that.”
G was really puzzled why women with so many sexual stimulating weapons hardly use or know how to use them. (Let’s not forget that he’s talking about having sex on a very high, sophisticated level). I decided to cut to the quick and asked, “G, what advice would you give to a woman to make her a bona fide lover like you?”
For some unknown reason, this question rubbed G wrong, and he shot back, “Lorenzo, I don’t like to be called a bona fide lover, and let’s drop that label.”
“Okay; let’s get to the point: How does a woman become a talented lover when it comes to a man?”
“There is no specific physical formula or recipe like, for example, the composition of the earth’s crust or fiori di zucchini. But there is one word that explains it all. It’s teasing!”
“G, if that’s true, why don’t we hear or see this word more often? The literature on sex advice is enormous, and I periodically scan it to see what’s going on. I don’t remember coming across that word except for now and then.”
“Who the hell knows? We can talk about this forever but let me give you the skinny with a few comments, and I’ll try not to sound like a professor of logic. I discussed the teasing art technique with the small number of the women who effectively teased me, and we were all in sync.
“In my vocabulary, teasing is a form of seduction. Generally speaking, during foreplay and the sexual act men prefer to be teased or seduced while women prefer to be dominated. Now there are two parts to teasing- the mental and physical. I can’t emphasize enough that both must generally be performed slowly, unlike delightful orgasm quickies which can effectively rid the mind of agita– for a short time.
“It all starts with the mystery and magic of body language from how she moves to the expression on her face. It’s what she wears, how she walks and how she talks. For example, my lady friends all agree that woman wearing high heels sitting with a short skirt pulled half-way up the thighs with her legs crossed stimulate men more than being naked and walking around with high heels. For the record, whether it’s true or not, the ladies tell me that the more sophisticated males are not that much turned on by stiletto heels. They also agree that regardless of breast size, it’s best to wear a top that has a suggestive cleavage, which becomes more effective when leaning forward. I can tell that in the foreplay phase, a bare-chested woman is nowhere as sensual as one with partially covered breasts which are seductively exposed. If done right, breast size, my friend, doesn’t matter. It’s all in the presentation along with her other wares.
“And then there’s the face and the eyes, those mirrors of the soul. The whole hit has to be inviting. Either you have that look or you don’t. It’s interesting to note that this quality, unlike some others, many women naturally have but don’t employ it, which is both a mystery and tragedy!
“Lorenzo, there’s so much, much more that a woman can do; for example, when and how to disrobe and how to twang instead of twerk. Once more, all these movements must be done slowly. I can write a book about this. Don’t get your hopes up, my friend, it ain’t going to happen!”
‘G, one more point. You’re talking about foreplay but what about initiating the real thing?”
“Okay; then I’ll say no more. The hands of a woman are extremely important in this phase but, now don’t think I’m going overboard, but they’re not great at using them. It puzzles the hell out of me. My lady friends, by the way, tell me the same about men. Hands should be receptively and firmly soft slowly probing men’s G spots including the face. While doing so and with a soft tone of voice, she should ask questions like, ‘Do you like this?’ or ‘Am I getting close?’ or ‘Shall I move on?’ while her her hands are still on the body parts either moving or at rest.
“And the man must be convinced that she is entirely selfless and dedicated to her goal to teasing him not with the language of a therapist but with sincere vocal tones that she really means it. I believe a woman will really enjoy the teasing approach once she learns and gets comfortable with it. To repeat, why they don’t do these enough puzzles the shit out of me. And let me repeat; I’m talking about high level sex which is an art form that must be developed and nurtured.”
I then asked, “G, can this approach be taught or is it an innate instinct?”
“That’s a great question, Lorenzo. Somebody, and I’m serious about this, should open “The Art of Teasing School for Women”, and my gut feeling is that a man should head it: Maybe with a woman. It could earn a ton of money which then can be franchised like McDonald’s!”
As a goad, I asked, “G, would you like to establish the first one?”
He laughed heartily and answered, “Lorenzo, I’m happy with my cabin in the mountains and my pad in Manhattan. These modern women who I’m meeting are certainly different than my 300 in the past. But, on second thought, not fundamentally so. Not yet. Who knows?”
*Part 2 on men will follow.
High volume sex in the United States is a first time historic phenomenon. I, very much concerned, extensively cover and wonder about all types of sex patterns and where they are leading us. Not too long ago, I had an intriguing conversation with a mother and her daughter who were open about their sexual experiences with multiple men describing a few scenes in impressive graphic detail. Please don’t ask me how this happened! I was somewhat uncomfortable for it was a first for me, and I decided to just listen and ask a few pointed questions. Curious as hell, I asked the daughter, “Does it bother you to hear your mom talk about her sexcapades with different men particularly the one in which she was sodomized and talked about how she loved it?” She replied, “Doc, you’re in the dark ages. This is normal these days, and mothers and daughters should discuss their experiences. Why not?” The mother agreed. I then asked about whether this also happened with the father-husband. He left town when the daughter was a teenager and was not involved.
A couple of days after, when I was having my martini, I wondered where we’re heading with men and women having large numbers of different sexual partners. Is there a difference if a man beds with fifty women than vice versa? Is it more harmful to men or women? Now I’m going to piss-off some women- and even some men at our universities- with my answer. I concluded it is much more harmful to women!
“Where’s the evidence?” you ask. “According to your posts you’re a big guy on producing evidence by clinical studies. Where are they?” My immediate reaction is that my judgment is based on observation and experiencing human behavior over four generations. As women age their interest is pursuing sex partners significantly diminishes while that of men decreases far less. Menopause tells us that. Now I don’t need a clinical study but only my observation and experience to make that judgment. For example, if an unaccompanied blindfolded man crosses Broadway in Manhattan, he has a greater chance of being hit by a car and killed than a person with normal vision.
Because of its complexity, I decided to write three posts in order to develop a convincing argument to warn women about the negative side of having multiple sex partners. I define the negative side as experiencing stress, instability and unhappiness. I began to write a draft covering many aspects of women’s and men’s sexual revolution ranging from psychology to the menopause. Half-way through my writing, I decided what I had to say was not sufficiently enlightening, let alone convincing, to me. It was also too boiler- plate for women. There was something missing, and it bothered me. I couldn’t figure it out and decided not to continue with the post and move on to another subject.
That night, however, I went to my local bar-restaurant where I sometimes do my writing. It’s a delightful place where both the rich and not- so- rich mingle and dine on tasty, inexpensive Italian food. The waitresses there work hard to make money on the side to support their families. They’re good, upper gals, and I truly enjoy the banter with them.
Then it happened! I decided to ask the waitresses who they thought would experience more harm. It was a busy night, and they were moving to and fro like the wind. As my favorite waitress, Robyn, flew by my table she, almost shouting, said, “It’s women. It’s expectations. Women have greater expectations!”
This hit me like a lightning bolt, and I had an Archimedes’s Eureka moment. Robyn hit it on the nose regarding what was bothering me. In my long life’s sojourn there is little doubt in my mind that this characteristic is biologically integrated in the female mentality much more than in the male’s. As I frequently do, I called others for their opinion, mostly women, including Heidi, a lady of class and intelligent feminist who lives in Zurich, Switzerland. All, including Heidi, and without hesitation, wholeheartedly agreed.
Dinner with Bobby Thomson Who Hit the Most famous Home Run in Baseball History, “The Shot Heard Around the World.”
About 10 years ago, the late Bobby Thomson and I had dinner in Manhattan at the now departed Il Menestrello restaurant. It was one of my favorite restaurants because of its consistently tasty food, ambiance and class waiters. Bobby became a legend after he hit that home run and was idolized by his fans until the day he left us at age 86.
When we got to the subject of his fan letters he told me he’d been personally responding to them, by hand, since his retirement. He also told me it was a full-time job, and sometimes he almost ran out of gas, but felt it was his duty to respond to each and every one of them. Though I didn’t ask him, we must be talking about thousands of letters.
He did, however, have one pet peeve. We must appreciate the fact that he was not a wealthy man like today’s baseball players. In the letters many fans asked him for a signed baseball expecting him to pay for it as well as the mailing cost. Multiply that by many thousands of baseballs, and we’re talking about big-time potatoes!
During martini time, I asked him about some of the common themes of the fan letters. He unexpectedly paused and drifted off into the world of thought. For the record, his general public image is that of a good guy with impeccable credentials of character, which is certainly true. But let me add that he was a very wise man and a superb reader of people. After all, he was my friend!
When he returned from outer space, he didn’t look like a happy trooper. He said that up until recently most of the letters dealt with baseball issues such as how did he feel about hitting that famous home run or some with practical problems frequently seeking advice such as making career decisions. But awhile back the pattern had dramatically changed, and fans began, in large numbers, to write about very personal problems forcing him into the uncomfortable and unwelcomed position of becoming a therapist. Many of the letters dealt with downer man-woman problems ranging from jealousy to infidelity.
Now I’m a firm believer that dinner should be an upper event, so I changed the subject. Fortunately, the white asparagus parmegiano arrived along with two glasses of cold Vernaccia. Boy, was that combo a gustatory hit! As we were talking about lighter subject matter such as golf – which would you believe, he was not good at- the tagliatelle with truffles was served. ( They were, of course, black truffles and, though expensive, not the really expensive and world’s best tasting white ones from Alba, Italy).
After dinner, Milan, the genial owner, offered us a grappa on the house. We accepted but asked him to make it a small one along with some tasty biscotti. I then told Bobby about my interest in the broad impact of the sexual revolution on America and whether he could recall one letter which dealt with sex that disturbed him the most. Without hesitation, which surprised me, he said there were a number of them but the one that jumped to mind involved a 16-year-old girl.
She was desperately in love with an 18-year-old guy who, however, was having a sexual affair with her best friend. The guy was also an avid fan of Bobby’s. She asked him to send her a signed baseball with the guy’s name, and she would offer it to him as bribe to relinquish his affair with her friend and switch to her, instead.
We then both sipped on the grappa and I then asked, Bobby, “How did you answer that one?”
He leaned back, took a deep breath and replied, “I didn’t.”