Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Archive for the category “New love”

03 Apr 2013
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The widower and his pubic hair

SATURDAY, April 3 – So, now we’re talking about the pubic area. Nothing to be ashamed of.  Not really. But one of the first things K said to me when we disrobed on her living room couch was: ‘Hey, you’re not shaved.’

Apparently I’m out of fashion or rather I’ve never been in fashion.  It’s not a department I pay much attention to. The hairy part that is.

That is until now. Suddenly, I find myself in a situation where, as a newcomer in the marketplace of unattached lovers, I have to worry about my dick. Can’t hurt to google the pros and cons – and the risks, if any.  Christ! It’s a whole new world!  The research leans in the direction of ‘shave’.  So, off I go to the drugstore to check out the possibilities.

Examining the merchandise on display, I resolve not to be stingy.  I go for the most expensive razor, plus accessories like shaving gel and after-care products. It’s going to itch.  I remember that from the operation in 2003, when the spermatic chord was blocked and the whole area depilated. First I tackle the bunches of pubic hair while standing under the shower. Then it’s time for the razor blade and the gel.

It didn’t sound like fun:  delicate procedure, possibly life-threatening. I could already see the blood flowing, but it wasn’t half as bad as I expected. It took a while, but the results were worth it.  Reborn and eminently trendy.  I’m going to show it to K tonight.

Posted in New love, Sex
15 Mar 2013
2 Comments

Do I feel guilty after sex?

MONDAY, March 15 – It’s only just after midnight, but let the record show my widower’s virginity has been out asunder. Yep, and it was great. Our emails had crossed, we talked on the phone, and late that evening I dropped by.  Eamonn was already asleep and Sander, who was in the shower, had no objections when I said (ahem) that I was going out for a beer.

I was on my way home when she called. ‘If you have any regrets, I’ll understand.’ That was the last thing that occurred to me!  No fucking way. It was intimate, tender and satisfying, but also difficult. Physically complicated.  To make love is one thing, to come is something else.

‘Do you feel guilty?’ she asked.

Posted in New love, Sex
11 Mar 2013

Feeling a great sensation

WEDNESDAY, March 11 – I text my good friend R:  Let the record show that at 14.30 this afternoon I exchanged passionate kisses with a woman.

It began one evening with coffee, then dinner, a walk and a sidewalk café, and continued this afternoon at her place for a heart-to-heart conversation. Just before I left – there was no turning back – we stood there French-kissing like there was no tomorrow.

A great sensation. It was the intimacy I’d longed for. I leave her house with a big grin on my face. Two hours later it’s still there and my mouth is starting to feel stiff. Can’t get the thing off my face.

He replies: ‘Hear, hear, spring is in the air!’ and as if that isn’t enough, this afternoon the kitchen was installed in our new house.

Posted in New love, Sex | Leave a comment
15 Feb 2013

A strangely pleasant dinner date

MONDAY, February 15 – Went to dinner with lady K. It felt strange, and yet comfortable. She’s kind and sympathetic, and she knows what I’m going through. And vice-versa, at least I hope so. We said our friendly goodbyes. It was enjoyable and that remains the object of the exercise. Just the two of us, man and woman. Enjoyable but strange. She biked home and with a smile I removed the parking fine from the windshield. I had forgotten about feeding the parking meter in time.

Posted in New love | Leave a comment
12 Jan 2013
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Men are men. Hello, sex

TUESDAY, January 12 – According to my colleague, herself a widow, more women than men write about the loss of their partner because: ‘Men are much quicker to find themselves a new sex partner.’ Does this mean that I should stop everything and do what is expected of me ‘as a man’?

Being both ambitious and pushy, should I rather focus on two goals at the same time: writing and screwing?  Why the hell not?  Hmmm… it remains to be seen whether I’m up to it since a certain tendency towards impotence has made itself felt this week.  It takes jerking off endlessly, perhaps, suggesting a teensy ejaculation dip. Is this yet something else that mourning does to you?

Posted in Grieving, New love, Sex
07 Nov 2012
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Thinking about death. And sex

SATURDAY, November 7, 8:30 – A long walk with our dog Elsa.  No pressure, nothing that needs seeing to. This gives me the mental leeway to think about ‘good things’, to reflect on how the past week really was. I think about Jenn, her death, her life, our life, myself.  I also think about how strange it is – or perhaps hopeful – the way emotions can have a physical charge.  I have very tangible sexual desires.  I masturbate and fantasize.  Not that I invent a new relationship or a new partner, but I do speculate on how long it will be before I begin to long for someone else. What will it be like to find someone else, to experience that intimacy again?

My thoughts reach further.  Ludicrous, but still there is this sensation that’s both physical and emotional. I look at women, make a list of acquaintances who might be eligible candidates – some day.  For now, my lad, we’re on manual control.  No idea how someone else would fit into our present life.

Would the status of widower have more advantages than disadvantages compared to that of a divorced man?

17:15 – Sander and I have come up with the ‘taking a shit theory’.  What if.  ‘What if’ is constantly going through our head. It’s the question-of-the-week for me, for Sander, for Eamonn, and for all three of us collectively. What if. What if we had done this or what if we hadn’t done that, then…

A few seconds would have made all the difference.  The difference between life and death.  I’d begun to philosophize out loud when Sander, again, asked that maddening question that I was getting a bit tired of thinking about. The very pointlessness of it.  So, I tried a different approach.  ‘Look at it this way: If Mom hadn’t picked up the phone in Januay 1991 when I called her boss in New York, then we would never have met and she would never have come to Holland and we would never have moved to the States and you would never have been born.’

I could see the light dawning in Sander’s head. Time for the philosophical knockout punch.  I reduced that idiotic ‘what if” to the following scenario.  What if I’d gone to take a shit before calling Mom’s boss in New York?  What if.  Mom had told me that she was just about to go home. What if I had taken a shit before calling…?’

It began to get through to him. ‘Gee. You know what, Papa?’ Sander said. ‘When we went to the park with Elsa, I did have to shit.  If I had, then none of it would have happened.’  Exactly, my son, the difference between life and death is a lousy turd.  Shit happens, and even that doesn’t change anything.

Posted in New love, Sex, Three Guys

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