Tuesday, November 4, 2008


For women of "a certain age" the news that Paul Newman had died, meant more than the death of a Hollywood legend, a talented and incredibly handsome actor, a philanthropist, a daring racer of fast cars.

It meant the loss of the man who was the object of a generation’s first sexual stirrings. Who among us didn’t have a crush on Paul Newman? Who didn’t dream of him at night when the lights were off and the door was closed?

In those adolescent years, a fantasy lover was more satisfying than the pimply boy who made eyes at us in Algebra class or even the boy who didn’t now we existed. Even if we were attracted to one boy or another and we were lucky enough that he was attracted to us, there wasn’t much we could do about it in those days. Remember?

He couldn’t be in our bed, as the case might be today so that was when Paul Newman came into the picture. Not the large-screen moving picture, but that picture in our head, the wonderful imagery called fantasy. It was safe and exciting, and taught us so much about the pleasure our bodies could give us.

As we grew older and found partners in reality, real life and flesh partners, our fantasy life never completely disappeared for we had learned that fantasy could enrich and intensify our sexuality. So new images emerged from time to time. But for many, Paul Newman never quite disappeared from our fantasy life. Perhaps he never will!

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