New York was my hometown for over 26 years. I’ve been away over 6 years. Everyone has been asking me if I thought it had changed.
“The World Trade Towers still aren’t there.”
That isn’t the answer they seeking, so I concentrated while sitting on a bench in Central Park.
Women passed in all the splendor available to females in Manhattan; Prada bags, Armani dresses, Manoli heels. Their coifs cost more than I earned last week. Not one of them met my gaze and they dropped their eyes to the ground like I was a convicted serial stalker. Then I noticed they were doing to all men. Younger good-looking studs too. Aha! I knew what was different.
New York City had become the city of the unlaid.
I asked unattached men, “When was the last time you had sex?”
“Just last night.”
“I don’t mean masturbation.” I have worked as a physionomiste in Paris. I can tell the truth about some things and sex is one of them.
Some men admitted to an abstinence of weeks. Others confessed to periods of celibacy longer than a Trappist monk, who is having it off with an altar boy. This was a sad state of affairs for the city once known as the Western Babylon, but this non-sexual binge has infected the female side of the equation. Those over 35 couldn’t remember having had sex in years.
“Years?”
And this included masturbation.
Hopefully the young are getting in on, because anyone over 30 ain’t, but even worse there is no sin in this city of the unlaid.
Unless you go to a strip bar for a lap dance. $20 for five minutes and no touching or else the bouncers with throw you out on your ass and that costs another $20 not counting the tip.
“Please don’t hurt me, big big monkey man.”
No touchey no feeley.
I feel like the last sinner on earth and I shall do everything in my power to rekindle desire in men’s souls, for as Luis Bunuel once said, “There is no pleasure without sin.”