Notes from a guy with sex goals

Hi I'm Warren,


I was twenty-nine when I lost my virginity, which for a bachelor in the 1930s was quite young. The young lady’s name was Angela, and rumour had it she’d already slept with three people, and she was only forty-two! It sure was neat to get the chance to meet such a slut to help me become a man.


Barbra came into my life three years later and we made love after only dating for seven months. I was starting to think I was quite the stud (which back then was a term reserved for horses but I was very large in the nose so I certainly felt I had satisfactorily complimented myself).


After Barbra dumped me for being ‘shit in bed’ (how can one be excrement in bed? that never made sense to me) I found comfort in the arms of Cindy, all 400lbs of them (I only weighed the arms, I couldn’t get the whole body on the scales, and besides I didn’t want to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable about her weight). Keep in mind in those days men seeked curvier women, and when they turned us down the morbidly obese were the 116th next best thing, right between rabbits (hard to catch) and trees (splinters, ouch).


Sadly Cindy died during the act (sadly for her private cheese dealer). And I found myself at the ripe old age of thirty seven (life expectancy was fifty two then, and I never was an optimist) and I was in a speakeasy one night when I optimistically started chatting to a fine beauty named Diedra. She of course laughed in my face then instructed a random man in the vicinity to beat me to near death, which he did with the glee of a school girl, and as I lay in hospital for the next two years (there was not yet a cure for fifty broken bones) I had plenty of time to think and it occurred to me that had sweet Diedra responded positively to my attempts to woo her, my first four ladies I had made love to would have had first names beginning with A, then B, C & D!


It was a mighty fine thought, as I am sure you can imagine (Apologies if you cannot, I understand that not every man has had such success with the ladies as me).


It was such a nice thought in fact that it inspired a pact (Little known fact: all pacts a factual). I pacted that I would sleep with exactly twenty six ladies in my life, I know, a scandalous sum that I am sure no other man would dare dream of, but it seemed fated (pacts are also fated, unless you make a pact to do something like start the day with sit-ups that’s not fated its stupid) and these twenty six women would have names starting with the letters A through Z. It would be my greatest triumph (and only triumph, triumphs were difficult in those days).


That’s how I found myself making love to the beautiful Diana, the one armed quadriplegic nurse who had recently had a bomb land on her in World War II (Although we called it ‘that shooty thing’ at the time) (Oh and for your information the burns only made her more beautiful so shame on you).


We met in the rehabilitation ward of the hospital and when I asked if she would like to make love she replied “I guess, I mean its not like I have any feeling in my body, so I wont feel it” she sure did have a great sense of humour for a war victim.


Ethel came a few months latter when by chance I was visiting my grandmother in the old folks home and Ethel was in there visiting her daughter. After that things got lean for a while, I mean ‘F’ names were hard to come by in those days. Not like today with your fancy Felicitys and the like, in those days people respected their children enough not to give them crazy crap names! (Sorry for my language, but it makes me mad).


But things turned around thirty odd years later. I was drafted into Vietnam and the army refused to believe that I was seventy four and that there had been a clerical error and sent me over where I had the pleasure of fornicating with a prostitute named Fung.


Now you would think making love for the first time in thirty years would make me happy, but it turned out that these ‘prostitutes’ didn’t only exist in Vietnam and were in fact back in America also and I could have worked my way through the remaining letters with a crazy week in Vegas and spent my life seeking normal relationships or even a wife. But you know what? In old age you realize there is no point holding on to regrets, you have bigger things to worry about, such as your impending death.


Sex goals sure are great.