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BOOMER BABES
True Tales of Love and Lust in the Later Years
by Maria Grazia Swan
Leisure Books: ISBN: 0843959711

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Introduction: Why I Wrote This Book

Tell all the truth but tell it slant-Emily Dickinson-

I get out a lot, and I’ve got the stories to show for it. The other day I heard a woman declare that Baby Boomers invented love. Whoa, that’s a big load to carry around, inventors of love. So what filled human hearts before the Boomers came along? Surely love existed before, maybe under a different name or maybe under cover. Under cover, yes, that must be where baby boomers found love, under the covers.

Even if boomers did not invent love, they did bring the art of loving to a new level. Can you think of any other generation that openly acknowledged-no, let me rephrase that, openly embraced- sex over fifty, and over sixty? And I bet the seventies don’t stop us, either. Nothing will stop Boomers from loving, save the Grim Reaper, and some of my friends would even hit on him.

But while on the surface all appears well and drama free, the path to this long-brewing sexual freedom is the result of careful planning, intelligent budgeting, risk taking and incredible self-love. Gone is the hush-hush of our parents’ bedroom etiquette; today’s lovers are open and almost flaunting of their sexual activities. And they look good doing it! I offer this book as a form of recognition; no, as a celebration for the new sense of joy boomers have brought into the love lives of everyone over forty. My goal is to write something that inspires boomers to think young, act young and embrace sexuality at any stage of life.

For each Baby Boomer in a happy, fulfilling relationship, there are at least three boomers still looking, or looking again, for love. Although they aren’t looking very hard, and in my opinion, they aren’t  really looking at all. It’s not a conscious decision; our daily routines simply don’t facilitate romantic liaisons. We make choices designed to make our lives faster and, usually, less interactive. We drive more, walk less. We cyber talk instead of visiting in person. We shop online to avoid crowded malls. We use drive-throughs while talking on our cell phones. Most of the time we are totally oblivious to our surroundings and to the people around us. And to top it off, even if we do notice someone interesting, we are so bombarded with warnings of “stranger danger” that we don’t dare approach him or her. Our resistance to actual face-to-face intermingling is so high that we even date online. Yes, we are introduced, date, and break up without ever having actually met the object of our desire.

Maybe that’s a positive thing. The fantasy can remain unspoiled. I’m as guilty as anyone else of playing the game to my advantage. Shave a few years off the birth certificate, use a photo of your smiling face from younger times, spice up details of the daily routine to make life sound more interesting. By the time we are done embellishing our resumes, we sound so desirable we almost fall in love with ourselves. No surprise that when the time arrives to actually meet our potential mate face to face, we lock the doors, unplug the phone and computer, and hunker down in our bedroom like a kid on time-out.  On that note, I like to compare the routine of our daily lives to bricks that we stack around us. While we stack with security in mind, we create walls that keep the rest of the world out. We feel safe inside our self-built castle, safe and lonely. Then one day we ask ourselves; ”Is this all there is?” We may become depressed, eat more chocolate, drink another glass of wine, acquire one more fluffy cat or curly haired dog, add more channels to our cable service, read the latest book on relationships, sign up for one more Internet dating site, and generally make our fortress stronger. That’s part of the reason matchmaking businesses are sprouting up and growing by leaps and bounds. I had an interesting conversation with the CEO of one such enterprise. We discussed, what else? Single Baby Boomers. She said that any man over fifty who is single, self supporting and in good health, should be offered compensation, as opposed to paying a fee, for the privilege of being entered in a matchmaking data base. That tells you how scarce male-single boomers are. Scarce, but not extinct. Don’t take this statement as a sign of surrender. Men are out there. They aren’t hiding or playing hard to get. They are as much victims of modern circumstances as their female counterparts.

But, there is a whole rebellious movement out there. After all, these are the same women who fostered and embraced the women’s movement back when it was called “Women’s Liberation.” They are still liberated, and they did a lot more than burn their bras; they fought stereotyped images of how women should live, work, marry, remarry, and reproduce. Today’s Baby Boomers are realizing their inner strengths, their hidden powers. Women are hitting on men, often younger men. Men are getting face lifts, hair transplants and buying skin moisturizers!  It is a generational revolution, and there is strength in numbers. In this very decade, there will be more people over 65 in the United States than people under 20.  All we need is a little push, some encouragement, and we can all work toward enriching our daily lives with love. Okay, maybe you are more interested in sex than love, or maybe to you they are one and the same. Whatever your interest, I’m hoping that you’ll recognize yourself in one of my stories and perhaps be inspired to new romantic ventures by the others. 

Because I am single and female, most of my stories come from my female friends, single, quasi-single or single-minded.   As time goes by, it becomes more evident that in the case of Boomers, age really is a state of mind. They enjoy more sex, with more partners, without making a big deal out of it. Love and sex, not necessarily in that order, are a vital part of their lives. Since the love lives of my baby boomer friends are instructive, often hilarious, and occasionally titillating, I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t share them with the world. I figured, hey, what a way to learn while being entertained.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent…and the totally guilty.

The Trailblazers

There is nothing half so real in life as the things you’ve done…inexorably, unalterably done.  Sara Teasdale

No, I’m not talking about the roaring zoom, zoom, zoom of motorcycle racing, or the off-road exploits of four-wheel-drive trucks, and none of these trailblazers bites the dust. Okay, maybe some do, but only the bad guys. These trailblazers are ordinary people, coping as best as possible, but when unforeseen circumstances arise, instead of running or hiding, they respond with genuine creativity. What sets these people apart is the way they act or react to life events and go on to create it a win-win experience for everyone involved. Okay, almost everyone.  Have no idea what I’m talking about?  Would you like an example of an ordinary person, unforeseen circumstances and an astonishing out come? The story I’m about to tell you was narrated to me by a professor when I was living in France.

It is not the story of Joan D’Arc, although, come to think of it, she certainly fits in quite well with trailblazer discussions, except for her untimely end. No, this is about an artist. A female artist whose name I can’t remember. Let’s call her Colette. Young Colette was a painter; she painted with oil. This is beginning to sound like the introduction to a bad movie, but stick with me, it gets better. The professor never said where Colette’s studio was, but I picture her in a tiny room, up high in a sunny attic somewhere in Montmartre; I smell paint thinner in the air, and see floating blond hair a la Deneuve; she has a Mona Lisa smile on her pretty face. This young artist had a lover, like all French women apparently do, and on this particular day they were to meet for “lunch.” Colette went to put her paint brushes in the jar filled with acetone before leaving for her rendezvous. In her rush to see her lover, she bumped against the jar, and it tipped over spilling acetone on the table and everything on it. One of the things on it was a small pink hair comb. Since this happened a long time ago, before the discovery of plastic, Colette’s small, pink hair comb was made of celluloid. When celluloid comes in contact with acetone, it melts. Our artist-who-looked-like-Deneuve tried to contain the mess and while doing so, got some of the melted celluloid on her fingernails. She stopped and admired the bright pink spots on her nails, and being a saucy little thing, left the pink in place and went to lunch. And there you have it, the discovery of modern day nail polish. Is this story true or a myth? I’m not sure, but it is a nice tale, and it helps to make my point: seeming disasters can lead to new fun discoveries if you have an open mind.

Want to know if you have what it takes to be a trailblazer? Here is a short quiz.

Don’t cheat: take the quiz BEFORE you read any further about trailblazers.

Trailblazers 101

A Quiz

It’s your day off and it’s pouring rain. You:

a- Decide to spend the whole day at home cleaning your closets¾after all; it’s a wasted day.

b- Cut head and arm holes from the drop cloth left behind by the painter. Put on your newly created poncho and go splish-splashing in the streets

c- Call up your close friends and organize an impromptu skinny dipping party in the backyard pool. Hey, if rain is good for plants, it must be good for your skin and hair also.

You are in your car, waiting for the traffic light to change when you notice that a young mother and child just missed the bus. You:

a- Flash them a sympathetic smile and drive away when the light changes.

b- Roll down the car window and assure them the next bus will be around soon.

c- Offer the young mom and the child a ride.

Your significant other announced, for the hundredth time, that you would be perfect if only you’d lose fifteen pounds. He promises you $5,000 toward a new car if you lose the weight. You:

a- Tell him the best way to lose some extra weight is to get rid of him, storm out the door, and vow never to go back.

b- Lose the weight, cash the check, and tell him he is no longer significant.

c- Join a swanky gym with an advance on the $5,000. You use the rest to buy new clothing with a slimming effect and start dating your personal trainer from the gym.

You go shopping with a girlfriend and you both fall in love with the same dress. The two of you can wear the same size and this is the last one available. You:

a- Tell her it was your idea to go shopping; therefore you have first rights to buy it.

b- Get into a cat fight over the dress and accidentally rip it. You both quietly leave the store and go for ice cream.

c- Since the dress fit you both you’ll split the cost and co-own it. You decide to spend the savings on matching accessories.

Your co-workers are organizing a bridal shower for your boss who gets married and divorced about twice a year. You

a- Think it’s a pathetic waste of time and money so you decide to call in sick on the day of the shower.

b- Buy a very inexpensive gift and go to the shower to see who the fool is that fell for your boss this time around.

c- Figuring one of these days it will be the real thing, you go with an open heart, an open mind and a sterling silver photo frame. He can always replace the photo if he changes mates again.

Every time you show up for family gatherings you get picked on because everyone else is a couple. Thanksgiving is coming up and you are expected to make it home. You:

a- Are working on finding a good excuse not to go home, even though it means so much to your family.

b- Are seriously considering borrowing an engagement ring from a friend and telling your family you are engaged to a foreigner whose flight was cancelled and therefore couldn’t make it.

c- Called home and announced you were bringing guests. Then, you invited Tom and Jeff, your good friends who are in a loving, committed relationship and asked them to be your chaperones. You know you’ll all have a good time and you three will be on your way back to the city before  your family can figure out if this is a manage a trois or something else.

Your best friend set you up for a blind date. She claims she knows you so well that this will be a perfect match.  She has been wrong before, more than once. You know she means well. You:

a- Tell her thank you but no thank you.

b- Ask to check photos, back dating history, financial background, even a dental chart¾you’re a stickler for good teeth¾before committing to a meeting.

c- Decide it may be a total waste of time, but you never know¾he could be your soul mate. You put on your favorite outfit, wear your lucky scarf and show up at the appointed time with your brightest smile, linked arm-in-arm with your two single girlfriends who are dying to meet someone.

Are you Trailblazer material?

If you have mostly C answers (5 or more) you are a true trailblazer and you’ll probably see yourself in some of the stories you are about to read.

On the other hand, if all your answers are A, you need to take a good look at what’s going on here. Carpe Diem my friend. If there ever was a time to take chances, this is it, here, now, at this stage of life. Lighten up. We are not suggesting you jump from a plane without a parachute. As a matter of fact, we are not implying you jump from anything. We are simply encouraging you to be more open to new experiences.

Mary McCarthy said it best: We are the hero of own story.

Be that hero.

If you answered B to more than five questions you are Trailblazer material, still rough around the edges. A little encouragement goes a long way. I bet after you read about the adventures of our Trailblazers, you’ll be ready to hit the discovery road at full speed.

Oh my! Your answers were the perfect mix of A, B, and C. You are totally in touch with yourself and can be whoever you want to be, when you feel like it. All we can say here is; good luck, enjoy the book and have a happy, fulfilling love life.

Hair to Dye for: Lisa’s story

Innovative solutions for graying hair down there. 

Boomers Babes is yet another boomer-gals group. Contrary to the Blue Thong Society and the Red Hat Society, Boomers Babes have no official chapters, no dues, no age requirements, and no specific clothing to wear. They get together monthly at a trendy establishment, and their main goals are to chat, eat, drink, share information and sometimes gossip. In other words, they like to have fun and do girls stuff. I’m happy to tell you that I belong to this group of Boomers. I discovered the gals and their tattoos at the boutique gym where I work out regularly. Working out keeps me in physical shape; lunch with the Boomers Babes frees my spirit of mental frump.

Here’s the scene: stylish Scottsdale in the fall: the shaded, misted patio of the “in” restaurant du jour; a group of picture perfect female boomers exchanging enlightening rumors and tedious realities. No, this is not a scene from Desperate Housewives of the Southwest; it is a monthly get together, usually on Thursdays, after yoga. The “Boomers Babes” as we brand ourselves, are all 40 something…plus something something. All single, either by marital status or state of mind. Lisa, who is legally single, is telling us about her upcoming trip to Las Vegas with Jeff.

Lisa and Jeff met at one of those electronic stores. She was shopping for a gadget gift for her techie son, and, we assume, Jeff noticed the look of bewilderment on her face and came to her rescue. She, however, insists he fell prey to her big blue eyes—twice enhanced. Whatever the reason, he asked her out for drinks, one thing led to another and now they’ve had several dates. Then Lisa found out Jeff is married, but on the road to divorce.

Now his divorce is about to be finalized, and they are flying to Vegas to celebrate. This will be their first time staying together in close quarters for multiple nights, and Lisa is nervous. After all, she explains, she feels crowded just sharing a bathroom, and she can’t possibly suggest separated rooms, can she?

We, her wise and discerning Boomers Babe friends, aren’t buying it.

“Lisa, what’s really bugging you?” Kathy asks.

“Nothing.” Lisa isn’t a very good liar. “Oh, I’m not sure I want Jeff to see me without

makeup.”

“Say what?” That’s from Sam, a serious outdoor lover who drives a stick shift and has been known to camp out alone. Her idea of makeup is tinted sun screen and pink lip-gloss. “Hasn’t he already seen you without make-up? Doesn’t he spend the night at your house at least once a week?”

“Yes,” says Lisa, “but I shower and remove my makeup, you know, after. In the morning, I get out of bed before him and make a beeline to the bathroom, where I put on my full makeup.”

“Before coffee?” Sam is clearly shocked. I hush Sam, Lisa is bringing up some real issues here, and she isn’t done yet.

 “And then,” she says “there is the intimacy factor.” She actually blushes.

No one says a word. We know we’re about to get a juicy tidbit out of her.

“I’ll be, naked, and...”

“Excuse me,” Sam again. The rest of us groan. Why must she get her two cents in now? “You are concerned about being naked? What, have you two been having sex with your clothes on? What else are you going to tell us?  Clothed, in the dark, and with the curtains drawn, just in case? Do you put duct tape over the alarm clock for complete darkness?”

The rest of us feel sorry for Lisa; Sam is merciless. She once confessed that she eats at truck stops when she “needs her fix.” Her none-too-delicate way of saying she’s in the mood for sex.  And Sam can stretch and twist on a yoga mat like the tail of a kite on a windy day. She’s a truck driver’s dream.

Feeling I need to come to the rescue, I say, “Lisa, you have a great body; you are full of energy; Jeff is a very lucky man.”           

“He is so young,” Lisa sighs—and not the good kind of sigh that means ”Yowza, so young, so beautiful, so strong.” No, this was the sad sack sigh that means, “And I’m such a wrinkled old prune; it’s just a matter of time until he sees me in good light and thinks ‘Omigod, have I been drunk for six months?’”

Now we are beginning to get to the real story. The same old story. Age difference.

“Maybe, but he looks older than you.” I retort. And it’s true. Jeff is one of those guys who, no matter what crowd he’s in, looks like he must be someone’s older uncle.

Lisa sighs again and runs rings around the rim of her glass with her well-manicured fingernail. “He has all his hair.”

“So do you. At least, I think you do. That is your real hair on your head, isn’t it? Not yours as in you paid for it? I mean, it’s attached to your head genetically?” Sam is getting too personal, I think.

“It’s my natural hair, but not the color.”

“Big deal, so you color your hair. Most women our age do the same, more or less.”

“It’s the ‘more’ I’m wondering about,” Lisa says, blushing again. She leans toward us.” Do they color just their head,” her voice drops to a whisper, “or do they color all their hair?”

It takes a moment to hit us; Lisa is concerned about her hair, not the ones on her head. Sam is the first to break the pensive silence.

“If he notices  that color difference, he isn’t, well, let’s say in that case, he couldn’t be fully engaged in loving your…hairstyle girl. Trust me on that one.”

“I sometimes dye mine,” states Michelle, a well-groomed realtor, with a mix of pride and embarrassment, her chin slightly thrust out. There is a wave of recognition around the table. Of course she does! Michelle’s nail color matches her lipstick. Her shoes are dyed to match her Ann Taylor suit. She never wears gold with silver. We suddenly realize her once-brunette eyebrows match her newly light auburn hair. Involuntarily, we all glance down at her lap.

Then a multitude of questions.

“You do it yourself? What do you use?”

“Does it stain your skin? How do you keep it off the inside of your thighs?”

“Does it hurt? Do you have any allergic reaction down there?” The questions are popping like jumping beans in a Tijuana vendor’s cart. We quiet down when we notice people at other tables starring at us.       

“It’s not a big deal,” Michelle says, now slightly smug in her new role of worldly wise.” I only do it once in a while, for special occasions.” She smiles, a smile of double-entendre. Yes, we got it.

Now that we’re on the topic, ideas and questions flow from our glossy lips. Roots touch up? Coloring shampoo? Salon professionals? Solitude? Sam exclaims, “Grecian Formula” We all laugh. Kathy says she just plucks her gray ones with tweezers. Ouch.

Then Susan, the quiet one, drops the bomb, “Brazilian Bikini wax.” Conversation stops.

“You do that?” My voice is squeaky with imagined pain.           

“Actually no. But I have a friend who swears by it.” What a relief! But she has our attention. We’ve all heard stories about the pain and the gain. We watched  Sex and the City. But there is a lot we’ve watched Carrie Bradshaw and her friends do that we haven’t, and won’t try. Still, we want to know more: prices, duration, side effects. Susan promises us she will talk to her friend and get the skinny, so to speak.

Our lunch breaks up after that, because just what can you talk about after this kind of topic? A few days later Lisa calls me. Susan had kept her promise and obtained the phone number of “the best waxer in town.”  I’m not even sure what that means! Three of us are ready to commit.  We call for appointments, but Monica, the lauded waxing expert, is booked weeks in advance. She has one cancellation. We considerately give the opening to Lisa; after all, she has a romantic emergency on her hands. Only two days ‘til Vegas. Lisa seems to think we’re just a bit too happy to hand over the time slot, but desperation drives her, and she takes it.      

Aware that we are behaving like teenagers, Susan and I go to the appointment with Lisa. The place looks pretty much like any nail salon from the outside. The gold lettering on the window does mention waxing along with the other services, but unless you were looking for it, you probably wouldn’t notice that this place offered mild torture for a price. The receptionist gives us a curious and slightly disapproving look when Susan and I insist we wanted to watch “the procedure.”

Once in the room, we stand in the corners to allow enough room for the aesthetician to move around the table where Lisa, naked from the waist down but for a hankie-sized washcloth placed where Roman and Greek artists used to place the ‘leaf,’ lies trying to relax.

“Deep breaths,” I say. Lisa and Susan both comply.

Soft classical music is playing, no Girl from Ipanema for this place. The room smells good, not too sweet, not too musky, a clean scent from candles burning. The gloved technician stirs the wax. Lisa has chosen clear wax. You get to choose the color when you make the appointment. One more customized detail to drive the price up? Monica moves over to the table and leans over Lisa. I’m holding my breath, but not until I hear a slight whimpering from Lisa do I realize I’ve also closed my eyes. I open one eye and see that Lisa’s little triangle of salt and pepper hair is now covered in wax. Monica lays strips of paper on top of the wax. “Okay, this will hurt a little.” No kidding. Rip! “Ow!” That was Susan. Lisa’s lips are clenched shut. Her hands are gripping the sides of the table in a death grip. Three more rips, and three more flinches from Susan and me, and the deed is done. Lisa no longer has to worry about the color of hair below her waist. Monica is explaining that Lisa will need to repeat the process every 20 to 30 days, depending on her personal growth rate, just like a haircut. Right. Haircuts don’t usually make childbirth look relaxing.

By the time we leave the place, Lisa is very happy in that giddy “I survived” sort of way. Susan has made an appointment, and I buy some special touch-up color that I can use to make the hair down there match the hair up here.

Lisa was exuberant at our next Boomers Babes lunch. She said Jeff sent flowers to the wax woman upon returning to Scottsdale. But the other details were too hot to divulge.

In my sex fantasy, nobody ever loves me for my mind.  —Nora Ephron

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