The rebound relationship is a time-honored institution that has continued to survive for a reason. It’s a rite-of-passage, an antidote for low self esteem, and whether it’s infatuation or the beginning of a beautiful friendship, rebounding is a tonic for the lame-of–heart who fought the good fight and lived to tell the tale.
Like nothing else I can think of, the act of rebounding drives home the fact that there is such an animal as love after divorce. Whether you wait four years to run headlong into a new pair of arms, or stumble out there after only four days, the parameters of the rebound relationship are still the same. It’s really good for you. And the mere act of kissing someone who isn’t your ex-husband can make you feel almost virginal again. I say "almost" because this is physically impossible (without extensive plastic surgery) but it absolutely feels that way on an emotional level.
Do you ever wonder if staying in an unhappy marriage for years has made you blind to warning signs as you date again? Are you so accustomed to "dealing with" relationship issues and compromising who you are/what you need, that you continue dating someone who’s already bringing you down?
Take Chuck for example, a man who recently wrote me asking for counsel around a woman he’s been dating for a month now. Although he really likes this woman, to his chagrin, she doesn’t like receiving oral sex. When he tried to talk to her about it, she closed the conversation and laughed: “Hey, consider yourself lucky — I’ll never make you do it so you’re off the hook.”
Then, to make matters worse, he’s noticed that they can be in the same room for hours without her wanting any kind of physical contact — not even as much as a hug. "What do you think of her behavior, Delaine?" he asked. “What can I do to make things better?”
Once upon a time in the land of happily-ever-after, I enjoyed a great sex life with the man I promised to have and to hold. What had been a constant in our life ended with a whimper, not a bang, slowly riding off into the sunset until one day I was standing alone in the dark wondering what had happened. By the time I noticed it was gone, any traces of the heat between us had turned cold and I was at a loss as to the whys and wherefores of its disappearance.
“The thrill is gone,” I told my girlfriends, hoping that they might be able to shed some light on the fact that my husband had lost all interest in me. “Maybe it’s just a phase he’s going through like the terrible twos or a penchant for wearing leisure suits,” one of them said. I had to laugh but really, the whole thing was far from funny.
Today I want to talk about a moment during sex that many of you probably haven’t analyzed before: That is, the moment of initial physical mergence. Cause you see, a close divorcing girlfriend of mine recently took a new lover whose ‘entrance’ made her roll her eyes…with annoyance.
To use an analogy, his ongoing technique resembled a Samsung Sewing Machine flicked on at high speed: da-da-da-da-da — you get the picture. Even when she gave him subtle hints of what she wanted, ie, murmuring to ”go slow’ or holding him tight and close, he quick tailed it back into fast-gear.
There were a lot of “B” movies made in the 1950’s that featured a particular type of female character: The Divorcee. She was bruised fruit, used but not owned, who had experiences that a virgin bride did not. A woman with carnal knowledge, worldly in the ways of the boudoir, a kitten with a whip that had moved from the big city to some bedroom community in search of a little peace and quiet.
But in the eyes of everyone in town, her raison d’etre was to lure unsuspecting married men to her lair where she would seduce them to within an inch of their lives, sporting nothing but a flimsy negligee and feather-topped mules. And supposedly, this Pied Piper of the boudoir spent all her free time trolling for sex, heat dripping from her every pore, awaiting the touch of the first man who came her way, while the respectable women in town alternated between scorning her and plotting to set her house on fire.
During a 24-hour period last week, I heard three gloomy outlooks on dating from three different women in their late thirties or early forties. The first was a doctor, never married, no kids. She said the men in her age bracket all seemed to want a woman to “look after them.” And male doctors and successful businessmen didn’t seemingly like the fact she wasn’t dazzled by their career accomplishments or in need of their financial support. “I highly doubt I’ll ever get married,” she said. “It feels like it would be more trouble than it’s worth.”
My two other girlfriends’ outlooks were as equally dismal. They claimed that all the men they met either carried some kind of "wound" or there wasn’t enough mental or physical chemistry to make them a romantic interest.
The headline read: Internet Lothario charged with grand larceny for swindling women out of $140,000.
For the past seven years, Westchester, New York resident Solomon Jesus Nasser has romanced women on various Internet dating sites. Spinning a tale of intrigue and wealth, he was able to sweet talk a number of women into giving him computers, expensive watches, and cash. He’s facing a minimum of five to fifteen years in prison. As his mug shot flashed on the newscast last week, I realized: hey, I know this guy.
About a year ago, on a lark and the lure of three months for the price of one, I signed up on Chemistry.com, which claims to offer a scientific approach to matchmaking. I slogged through the questionnaire, wrote the required essay, clicked the magic button. And presto: I had seven matches who the company promised would provide me with many “jolly times and hearty laughs.”
