I was a fiend in my teens.

And twenties.

Into my thirties.

Now I prefer scotch - and tend to think much more about scotch.

In my twenties, I used to tell my friends a bottle was a poor substitute for a woman. Early thirties the girls were poor subsititutes for the bottle.

But in my teens, everything was about sex. How to get it. How to keep it. How to do it. I was raised funny, though, and had really strange ideas about love and commitment and all that. My parents, especially my mother, razed me to respect women to the point of worship. I put them so high on a pedestal that I was always jumping at them like a lapdog. I learned to write poetry for the sake of winning love (and therefore sex). I was sensitive to win love (and thereby sex). I was macho to win affection (and sex). Sometimes a rogue, sometimes gentleman, always a wannabe casanova. Problem was, I linked sex and romantic love so completely that I realized them (incorrectly) to be the same. And I always thought about sex, whether as a goal in itself or as the reward that came with winning the princess.

I'm really thirsty for that scotch now.

And if I'm taking the time to visualize the sex act, I'm usually too preoccupied to push keys. . . . I far prefer innuendo. And, I'm a leg man from way back (first time I learned what gravity does to the top ).