TALES FROM A WINDBAG, Vol. 62: “ROMANCE” (chapter 1)

Romance PIC*


We completed our examination of The Fraternity of the Different with a look at what Santa and Batman had in common in 1968.


We begin a new adventure, with the first story from the monologue “ROMANCE”, from the trilogy “SEX! DRUGS! ROCK ‘N’ ROLL!!!”. This one is all about:


. Of all the charged, loaded subjects, sex has got to be paradoxically the most talked about and the most secretive component of the human psyche.  Ironically, my doing a piece about sex is like proud pornographer Larry Flynt delivering a heartfelt speech about the purity of innocence.  Like randy Larry, mine would be knowledge gleaned from a now distant past.  (Hell, it’s been over a decade since I’ve had a romantic date.  If there’s a lonelier bachelor on the planet, I don’t know him.)  But I do vividly recall, (How could I possibly forget?), the excitement, the bliss, the horror and the redemption of love, romance, sex!  Being in love is the most wonderfully awful experience I have ever desired, enjoyed or regretted: sometimes all three at the same time.  I’ve been a romantic as far back as I can remember.  Though I celebrate it, all in all, I’m not sure this is a good thing.  Romance frankly, has brought me more than my share of misery.  Or maybe that’s just the way it feels.  Maybe love and longing are really manifestations of human suffering.  If not, why would love hurt so, albeit sweetly?

. Love is like a sadistic disease of the heart.  The more it consumes us, the more we crave it.  The more it burns us, the more we long to touch that flame again…


. My first sexual contact happened at five years old, in a bathtub in suburban L.A.- but was it really a ‘sexual’ act if it happened when I had no idea whatsoever what sex was?

. In 1961, “David the Weird” was my next-door neighbor, so any peripheral perversity I have now could well be attributed to his too early influence.  David earned his nickname many times over.  He was just plain weird.  Though my age, David still wore diapers, (and continued to years after most kids were liberated of them!).  He was fond of torturing helpless little animals: frogs, turtles, cats, rabbits, things he could catch, or things his parents were foolish enough to give him.  But the most disturbing thing about David the Weird was his frequent tendency to expose his young penis for public and private exhibition.  I remember sitting on the top of the slide in his back yard, as David was making some pertinent point about his genitals, when his teenage sister Suzy burst through the gate, catching him with a handful of subject matter.  She grew wide-eyed as a bird, and then narrowed her eyes like a lizard, becoming very annoyed.  This was not the first time Suzy had caught David in the throes of self-exploration.  As she banished me from the premises, I saw Suzy grab his ear and twist furiously yanking him away, straight into the clutches of their evil, child devouring Mama: the Wicked Witch of Canoga Park!

. The event in question happened one time I was spending the night at David’s.  His mother, the scary matron, had drawn a bath for us and gone off to do housework.  As soon as she was gone, David leapt from the tub and locked the door gleefully.  The bathroom was the only place in his world that he was able to temporarily banish his overbearing, meddlesome nightmare of a mother, and be the weirdo he was born to be.  Returning to the bath giggling, David suggested we touch each other’s penises.  Not really a surprising request, coming from David, but honestly, it didn’t seem like any big deal to me, so I agreed.  Without a single sexual idea in my head, I was a total innocent.  Though I had some concept of the cultural requirement for privacy and the supreme privacy of the private-parts, five years into this life no adult had ever given me the overt idea that some areas of my body were dirty, or that some uses of them, could be socially taboo.

. Suddenly David’s mother, (the hideous hag!) tried to walk in on our bath, jiggling the locked doorknob.  Rapping hard on the annoying barrier, she called through sharply: “Don’t HURT yourselves kids!”  Mrs. Weird went away, but ten minutes later the handle jiggled again.  Again came the knocking and the ungodly hiss of her motherly voice: “UNLOCK THIS DOOR AT ONCE!  They’ve found little children DEAD in the bathtub!”

. We were only touching each other’s penises.

. In all the decades that followed this initial contact, I have never felt emotionally attracted to a man.  Normally curious yes, but on a good day, I fall in love from afar with several women whose lives barely brush by mine, so I must be hopelessly hetero at heart.  Nearing the fifth decade mark, I’ve experienced about twenty-three carnal affairs, some casual, some promising but short lived, and three long-term loves: right about average, as I gather, for a guy in my generation.  The journey started, of course, so sweet and tender, so fragile and so intense.  I was so achingly sincere, so willing to love and be loved.  Somewhere along the way the journey became a struggle, a long hard climb, apparently to nowhere.  The victory of a newly reached summit was quickly overshadowed by the daunting pinnacle that loomed beyond it.

. My page in the Book of Love has been by turns comic, awkward, confusing, exhilarating, romantic, arousing, pleasing, satisfying, surprising, frustrating, delightful, disappointing and perhaps even a bit degrading, but it all really started with that simple proposition: “I’ll touch yours, if you touch mine”…


A young man learns the visceral details of human procreation, in THE AWAKENING.


© Kevin Paul Keelan and lastcre8iveiconoclast, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kevin Paul Keelan and lastcre8iveiconoclast with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


About KPKeelan

Fool, Philosopher, Lover & Dreamer, Benign TROUBLEMAKER, King and Jester of KPKworld, an online portal to visual and linguistic mystery, befuddlement and delight.
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One Response to TALES FROM A WINDBAG, Vol. 62: “ROMANCE” (chapter 1)

  1. Stacy Fisher says:

    “Love is like a sadistic disease of the heart. The more it consumes us, the more we crave it. The more it burns us, the more we long to touch that flame again…” Get’s right to the heart of the matter.

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