Gang of Four - Men in Uniform

In discussing the development of my musical esthetic, I left out a key group from my college days, the Gang of Four and their piece de resistance, I Love a Man in a Uniform. I also left out the Bus Boys - Minimum Wage Rock and Roll, a tragic oversight. I think I mentioned Los Lobos, but am too tired to go back and check.

But back to I Love a Man in A Uniform, an ironic and anti-military song (not in the same vein as Oliver's Army, but it's there) and returning to my previous subject of the search for a partner for adulterous liasons on the web (btw, I'm not taking applications here; thank you), I have noticed something interesting now that the applicants (hee) have been winnowed down a bit. Okay, more of them have been dropped than died of the Black Death, at least proportionately. Some (4) have had the intelligence to reject me or cease all contact after meeting me (one of whom I actually liked and felt a real attraction). To them I say: I'm glad there are some evidently sane or at least partially moral men out there who, contrary to all stereotypes to the contrary, will not do anything to get laid. Because, let's be honest, this is like a series of interviews and tests, with me holding most of the cards (and the evil part of me, which isn't that small a part, really, really likes that). With in excess of 250 applications received (no more coming in, I think I succeeded in disconnecting the account), 30 could write well enough and didn't at first blush scream "serial killer", "stalker", "clingy-needy-creepy-guy," "angry-guy-who-the-world-has-wronged", "pathetic whiner", or "complete and utter loon." I'm thinking the APA should replace the DSM-IV diagnostic manual with my categories. They work better.

After deciding on requirements, I have noticed a trend, although it's probably too small to be statistically significant. Of the 30, I met 12 and am going to meet between 2 and 4 more (two of the four probably aren't going to make the cut because they suffer from the common capital ailment of being chronically busy and important, and I am not a woman for whom it is an aphrodisiac to be put on hold or rescheduled, Henry Kissinger's belief that power is an aphrodisiac may be true, but I think it has to be real power, not just "partner-in-a-law-firm-power). The 14 who were deep-sixed prior to any meeting suffered from certain common problems: (1) inability to decide on what to do to meet, even after I told them acceptable methods; (2) trying to avoid my explicitly stated requirements ("what do you mean, I have to provide the place?" or "we don't need to practice safe sex, we can just get tested"); (3) inability to make reservations at a restaurant or give a cell phone number; (4) not understanding that I'm going to use *67; (5) not understanding that they aren't learning my real name right off the bat and aren't going to learn my last name possibly ever; (6) wanting to meet whilst skulking around a bookstore; (7) wanting explicit sexual information prior to meeting (i.e., discuss sex positions, etc. before we've met and I've decided whether he can shake my hand much less touch any other part of my aging anatomy); (8) wanting me to just run over and meet them for sex on first contact; and (9) just generally seeming a bit too smarmy and slick.

Of the eight remaining men I met, I am actually attracted to one who is really making an effort, two others are charming and have not been discounted, although I'm not as enthusiastic (but you never know, these things can change), and the two remaining correspondents (the ones who actually have made definite plans to meet; i.e., they picked up the phone and made reservations someplace I'll feel comfy) seem possible, although who knows. Of the three, so far, mutually successful candidates (don't worry about sluttiness, only one guy, the one I was attracted to who decided he just wasn't cut out for adultery or found me unattractive, even tried to touch below the waist) all have been in the military (Navy or Marines all) and all are super-duper techies. Engineering, physics, chemistry, IP. Now, unlike any military guys out on the town I've ever had the misfortune to run into, these men seem, in their different ways (and each one is an individual of course, we wouldn't want to paint with too broad a brush) sensitive, thoughtful, witty, and very respectful of me, a woman they met through an online swingers site. Now these guys are over 40, they're not stupid (like adolescent boys); they're not going to screw up a good thing by making the woman who might actually fuck them feel bad about it in advance, but this is such an evolution from the fraternity boys of the early 80s, and military men all through my single years (80s and early 90s), that I have to wonder. These guys read poetry and literature, can discuss other things than semiconductors, and generally seem like fully formed human beings.

The creative-artisty guys just didn't seem to be able to make coherent plans, figure out what they wanted (Me? it's a binary question: yes or no, very easy. Make a choice. Move on), or be discreet enough to manage an extra-marital affair. You have to plan in advance. You have to communicate at other than the last minute. This just wasn't something they could do, apparently.

Were these the same sailors and marines who would fondle anything in their path in Georgetown or whereever? Is it just age? Is it the fact that they are ex-marines and ex-sailors that let the sensitive, courteous side out? Have I discovered the secret recipe for finding a better class of military man? And my listing made it pretty clear that I'm a knee-jerk liberal kind of woman. Maybe it's the whole strategy and tactics training. These guys, having decided on an objective, go about doing what is needed (flatter me, feed me, amuse me, act like they want to be around me, gradually increase physical contact, rinse, repeat) to reach that objective. Since that's how I do things, I guess it's not surprising that I find this kind of behavior admirable and attractive. Dithering indecisiveness? Not a turn on for this chick. But then, I'm Foilwoman. Most women seem to want a certain level of diffidence. Not me. I want enthusiasm. As a superheroine, however morally askew I might be, I think enthusiasm is the bare minimum anyone allowed to touch my physical person should be expected to show.

Well, even if I never get around to narrowing the field down and checking into a hotel room with one of these gentlemen (of course, I would never, never, never conduct concommitent affairs; the scheduling problems alone would overwhelm), the experience has been strangely pleasant and definitely flattering. Who knew a middle-aged matron had such drawing power. I wonder how many responses women in their 20s and 30s receive (the women who post on that site)? Also, where were all these good kissers when I was single and dating? I remember some truly slobbery kissers, and everyone has been skilled. I guess practice. Which brings us back to safe sex.

So I am in the morally ambiguous position (okay, that's an oxymoron, the whole situation is a mortal sin, morally wrong, planned cheating on the spouse, so why get my panties in a twist about how I handle multiple suitors for my potentially adulterous hand?) of knowing which of my three current beaus is the favored one, but am sort of keeping the other two in reserve, just for back up. You never know when moral qualms, work, or family commitments might remove my favorite from the arena. And I still have two scheduled new meetings (and the faint possibility of two more, although that seems unlikely at this time). I mean, it's not like any of us can ask for a commitment or exclusivity, can we? We're all supposed to be exclusive with our spouses, and we're not doing that or at least thinking about it with real intent.

So, pragmatic and directed? Or just plain slutty? The most hilarious thing about this whole thing is that I am so non-babe-a-licious . . . I'm a plump, mid-forties, suburban matron. With a good education, a smart mouth, and a sensual nature -- all assets that I'd like to have be more in use and in evidence.

At least I'm enjoying this whole "courtship" phase. The lovely emails. The presents. The discreet lunches and early drinks at elegant places where I get complimented way more than I probably should. The narcissist in me is just having one big happy. But I'm just loving my former men in uniform. Maybe I'll get to see one shoot.