Gena

I first met Gena when auditioning for a society band in Columbus, Ohio while working on my doctorate. I received a telephone call from a woman musician who was seeking a good keyboard player for a band. Somehow she had gotten my name through the grapevine from a few other Ohio State musicians. The voice of a woman seeking a musician has always been far more powerful in persuading me to want to be a part of the band. In some situations it has been the only reason I have become involved in a musical project. Music is romance, and without the male/female relationship represented, the band experience is shallow. The prospect of getting laid is always an added incentive. I knew from the beginning something was going to transpire. The chemistry was right, and I knew it. Because she was married she did not readily admit there was going to be an affair. It took a little persuasion, but with patience, love, and true fondness a relationship was founded that lasted over a year. Not surprisingly the qualities that provide a good foundation for a romance were present. There were common interests among one which was the love of music. This we shared, and its common bond fueled the romance like good music should. Gena was a better reader of written piano music than I was. She was classically trained both in voice and piano and began at an early age. She had a masters degree in vocal pedagogy, and consequently was articulate in defining the physical processes necessary to produce a good singing voice. She knew about the various muscular groups, breath support, and vowel and consonant pronunciation. It was a turn on to hear her talk about this musical process and even more of a turn on that she knew how the vocal cords and oral cavity worked. Later it turned out she had a fetish for use of the oral cavity in a variety of situations. Fellatio was our first foray into intimacy, and it was instigated by her. One morning when she dropped by at nine a.m. with good coffee, orange juice, and croissants my penis ended up being her desert. Suddenly and without warning simply she pulled down my white pee-stained sweat pants and began sucking on my penis. Who could complain? She seemed to enjoy having my manhood in her mouth, and although she wouldn’t swallow my ejaculate, she did allow me to expel it in her mouth. Comically and with some disapproval, she then would stagger to the bathroom where she would empty her mouth of my morning protein shake. I thought this was odd seeing as most women say semen has little or no taste. Conversely many porno movies have been made about traveling semen. Allegedly in urban mythology rocker Elvis Costello and his extremely sexual jazz singer/pianist wife have engaged in the somewhat depraved act of “feltching.” When Gena and I were involved I had no idea what this was, because to me sex had always been the expression of love. It was only later with Melanie I learned “love” is an unnecessary burden. Only then such things come to mind. In a “puppy love” relationship feelings of jealousy and insecurity far outweigh the interesting prospect of sexual diversity. If the internet were to become an example of teenage sexuality it would seem any tenant of love was absent. I suppose that defeats the purpose of a pornographic site, viewing a couple who really are in love and expressing such through the act of sexual intercourse. In traditional video-based pornography you used to be able to find a gamut of sexual experiences. I have always felt the best videos were where there was chemistry between the man and the woman. These exhibited passion or animal desire, and that makes for good sex. It has only been recently that on a DVD I purchased in Nassau I discovered a pornographic movie with this element. The few videos I have bought in the last decade have been lacking in this emotion. It is better to watch this than a young man with a web-cam sexually exploiting underage teens for money. At least with a commercially produced video there is a mechanism in place other than just juvenile, adolescent, sexual angst. There is also a maturity and respect for the business aspect of pornography. Much like the personal computer has diluted the process of making music, it has also diluted the art of making love. Watching the women alone or with each other is pleasing, but viewing a self-absorbed web master video-taping himself fucking women while he coos mindless childish phrases is sickening. “Baby is doing good.” “Very nice.” I would almost rather hear something manly and aggressive. If you are performing for the public it is in your best interest to keep your personal intimate moments stealth. A paid prostitute would not show feelings toward her john. Teenage girls having sex with a videographer also should not. They are being exploited, and this can only result in the same kinds of sexual dysfunction that occur in abusive familial relationships. Likewise the perverse acts of mature adults operating outside the theatre of traditional “puppy love” should be reserved until later years. A young couple destined to marry couldn’t be thinking about passing semen from mouth to mouth. I happily partook of Gena’s offerings, and over time they developed into a full bred sexual relationship. Along with her musical talent Gena had an acute awareness of her own sexuality. She knew about her clitoris. When she was becoming sexually aroused she would inadvertently touch her clitoris like a black man fondling his junk. It was queer, but not in a homosexual aspect. It was strange to see a grown woman touching herself like a tough man would. Maybe that is what made her sexually attractive. She had a confidence with her sexuality, and her intent on exploring it. This later I found out came from her first marriage that never was consummated. Gena was hell bent on having those experiences she had missed early as a bride. She was not the first woman musician I have met that missed that boat so to speak. I have another one living next door. Our relationship came to a close after I had eye surgery. I became a “gimp” of sorts, and that was no longer attractive to her. I also made the fatal mistake of telling her I loved her on New Year’s Eve after a gig. All along I had been that one that kept my hand outstretched with no prospect of destroying a marriage. We had kept it objective, and I am the one that yielded the shotgun. In a moment of weakness I passed the torch to her, and she did the right thing. Our last time of making love was unsatisfactorily after our New Year’s Eve gig. We had traveled out of town, and the group had provided hotel rooms for us. Unfortunately the gig turned into a rock concert, and Gena did not get to sing much. She became despondent and tired and was ready to drive home. It was New Year’s Eve, and we had a room alone. What transpired was the prequel to Melanie’s dead fish lesson, except in this scenario the dead fish was not turned on but mostly asleep. I had to roll her on her stomach and physically spread her legs to get my penis in her vagina. I am not sure if she knew what had happened or not. Later she only remarked that it was wet down there. This was not a great send off to a fulfilling year long romance, and as a result I had a small amount of recurrent depression. Goodbyes are important, and everyone should try to remember good experiences, especially those involving love and intimacy. They could be the last ones you ever have. Gena was the last best kisser I have ever had, because we could “suck face” for minutes at a time both standing and lying down. Melanie was a better lover, but music was the guiding force in this particular romance.